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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "School Days"  "I appreciate it, but I'm way too tired," you tell Blackwell. He shrugs but doesn't argue. "Tell you what, if you want to borrow Jared for the night—" He smiles. "That is very kind of you, Will, but no thank you. I think, like you, I will stay in and make an early night of it." The visitor appears in the doorway to the library, holding a few shopping bags. She is not very tall, but she is astonishingly well-built: prodigious breasts in a sleek sleeveless blouse; strong legs framed by a short skirt; long blonde hair. She looks like a cheerleader. In fact she looks like— "Lucy Vredenburg?" you blurt out. Blackwell looks at you in surprise. "You know her?" "She went to my high school! She was a couple of years ahead of me." You notice that Lucy is giving you a puzzled but appraising look. "Hey Lucy," you say in some embarrassment. "You don't remember me, I'm sure." "That doesn't mean we can't get to know each other now," she replies. You blink, and it takes you a moment to remember that you are wearing the Jared mask. "Lucy is one of my students," Blackwell says, "and she is kind enough to occasionally run errands for me. I'll show you where to put those, dear." He leads her up the stairs; her gaze trails back toward you as she goes up the steps. Yeah, you feel a quickening in your cock, and twenty minutes later you dash out of the library and wait alertly in the hallway when you hear her heels clacking again on the stairs. "Hey, the professor was suggesting I take the night off," you say, blushing a little. "I'm doing some private studying with him, you know. Maybe we could—" Her smile is warm but her eyes are cool. "That would be nice, but, um ... Well, he told me you were off limits." "You always do what he says?" you growl. Her smile grows lazy. "No. But I like to keep on his good side, and in this case ..." She bites on a smile, and reaches out to run her finger down the front of your shirt. "Maybe some other time, sport. But not tonight." Your nostrils flare as on swaying hips she strides off toward the foyer. You stare after, trying to swallow your tongue. Blackwell joins you a few minutes later. He's yawning. "Ho hum," he says. "Now, if you'll go upstairs, er, Will, I'll get the lights down here." "How come I can't go on a date with Lucy?" you ask him bluntly. He blinks. "Because she lives at home, of course." "We don't have to fall into bed together. I just want to, you know, see her." He scratches the back of his head. "It's a little hard to explain, Will, but it's not a good idea for two of my students to ... combust." "Is she a witch?" He chuckles softly. "No. Not the way you mean. Though she does possess a witchcraft of a more familiar sort, doesn't she? No, if she were a witch it would be easier for the two of you. But what I require of her, well, it doesn't make you two a good fit. It's best if you put her out of your mind." But it's very hard to do that, and not until your third ejaculation do you spend yourself into sweet oblivion. * * * * * Sunday is the big day: You finish your mask, seal it, and bind a mind-strip to it. Now you can use it to copy any person you wish. "I've been thinking," you tell Blackwell, as you rub your fingers against the burnished metal strip. "I can copy somebody and become their perfect duplicate with this. But how do I get the original person out of the way?" "How?" he asks darkly. You smile. "I'll rephrase. I want a state in which the original is not around." "Good. But I've told you that the logical form cannot include a negative predicate." "I'm thinking out loud. Give me a break. I want the original to be ..." "Dead?" "No. That's what I'm trying to avoid." "You still have scruples?" "Maybe I want them to come back." "Ah, a practical reason. Good." You think long and hard. "I want them to be hidden. Can we fold space around them? Cloak them? Disguise them?" You sit up very sharply. "Disguise them! Yes. Disguise them as another person." Then, almost instantly: "Disguise them as me! Then my disappearance is also hidden!" Your face falls. "Oh, but if I put a mask of myself on them, then they would know everything I know, which would fuck me up totally." You chew your fingernail. You are aware that Blackwell is saying nothing. He wants to see how far you get toward a solution, and that's what you want to see too. "They must be like a golem," you say slowly. "They must know only what the mask knows when they are wearing it. They must forget everything the mask has shown them when it is removed. They must obey a master." You are conscious of a heavy breathing coming from Blackwell. "I could put them inside a golem," you muse. "Put them inside a golem and then put the mask on the golem. Wait! I could put the golem inside the mask, and then both would go onto the person when I put the mask on them." You turn to Blackwell. "That is what I want. The golem is bound to a mask, and the golem binds itself to the person who dons the mask." You see him swallow. "Brilliant," he says in a very quiet tone of voice. "In fact—" He turns several pages in the Personae. "You have just described this ... one quite advanced spell. Which even I have not yet attempted." "Whoa!" You seize the book and pore over the ingredients. "We've got all this stuff already! We can make it right now!" You start to turn the page, but he stops you. "You still have not learned how even to make a golem." "I know what I want," you tell him bluntly. His eyes flicker and lower. "Very well." * * * * * It is a very easy spell to prepare, and despite Blackwell's protestations you bulldoze ahead and quickly complete it. "It's the hair that determines the master, so we'll use mine," you tell him, brushing aside his attempt to use his own clippings in the spell. When he tells you that it takes many days to burn the impurities from a golem, you snort. "It's obvious the spell uses the victim's body for the bulk of the golem's mass, and that doesn't need to be purified. In fact, it only casts a thin shell over the victim, to prevent the mask from binding directly to the victim. If four hundred pounds of graveyard dirt takes four days, then two ounces of graveyard dirt should take only a few minutes, if that." And so, an hour later, you have all the ingredients prepared. "I need to use the mask we made of me," you say, and you're thinking so quickly you are almost feverish, "so I can hide my victim inside a replica of myself." It will also prevent anyone from using that mask to snoop into your head—anyone who dons it will be turned into your golem-slave—but you don't mention aloud this side benefit. "You've got it nicely figured out," Blackwell says, and his tone is pinched. "But who is your victim to be?" "One of the alpha dogs," you shrug. Of course, you can't get close to them. Even if they moved in your social circle, they are too afraid of you to let you get close. You'll have to use a bridge. That means using one of their friends; or using a girl. Or a teacher? Or ... one of their parents? Next: "A Yumi Choice" |
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