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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Final Touches on a First Scheme"  You call your doppelganger and have it drive out to Blackwell's so you can modify its mask, sprinkling its insides with a special mix, some of your hair, and a bit of earth taken from one of the graves in the back corner of Blackwell's lot. You set it alight and, as you'd calculated, it burns only briefly. The inside of the mask is now the color of a golem's skin. You place it against your own face, giving yourself the memories it has picked up since Friday—oh, you're gonna make Robert pay for adulterating your body wash with Tabasco sauce—then put it back on the golem. The main golem itself was made to obey only Blackwell, but your modification should override that when it is wearing this mask. As a test ... "Suck my fat fratboy cock, you twig," you roughly order your duplicate. It pales, but kneels and pulls down your shorts. You wait until it has sucked at it for almost half a minute before breaking it off. "Don't worry, we won't be doing that it again," you assure it. "Let's go check out the clubhouse." The "clubhouse" is the old abandoned elementary school near your house. It houses a rec center in one of the wings, but under another wing is a basement accessed via an outside door. A few years ago you broke the lock off and explored the dusty, junk-filled spaces. As a lark you put your own lock on it, and discovered that apparently no one ever goes down there. You and Caleb and Keith sometimes hang out down there. You're pleased when you arrive to see that your lock is still on the door. It will be the perfect place to make a switch. * * * * * It's Monday after school, and you linger near your truck until you see her crossing the parking lot. "Hey Yumi," you call, springing out. "Wait up, do me a favor!" Her face is taut and she steps back as you jog up to her. "I need a huge favor," you gasp. "My truck won't start and I can't get anyone on my phone. Can you give me a ride home? Please?" Her eyes dart and don't meet yours. "Yeah, sure." "That's swell. Everyone else just gave me the stink eye." Her smile is tight and humorless as you get into the car. "Say what's up with that anyway," you ask with genuine curiosity as she puts the car in motion. "I know I'm not the most popular guy in school, but lately everyone's been treating me like I've got zombie farts or something." "You must be imagining things." "You're doing it to me now. Where's the girl who used to smile when I bounded up to her locker and asked for answers on the math quiz?" "Where's the guy who—?" She stops herself with a snap. "What was the deal last week, in the cafeteria? You know, with Gordon and Chelsea and them." "I dunno. Me telling Black I wasn't gonna let him kick me around? Don't tell me that's what's got people pissed, that I stood up for myself." "No, it's— What did you do to him, Will? Gordon doesn't—" Again, she breaks off. "Gordon doesn't what? Let guys like me stand up for ourselves?" This is fucked up, even for an A-list cheerleader. "So you think it's unnatural and wrong that I didn't get my face punched out the back of my head?" "It's not— Look, Will, I know what Gordon is. He's an asshole and a bully—" "And you love to hang out with him," you mutter under your breath. "—and so, yeah, it is unnatural, not wrong, but unnatural for him and the others to, well, to freak out when you show up." "So you're freaking out because they're freaking out? That's nice of you. What were you doing when they were slamming me against lockers? Feeling mildly concerned on my behalf?" "Don't, Will." She is very red in the face, and her jaw clenches and unclenches. "Look, it isn't even like you stood up for yourself, so don't start bragging. You gave them money to leave you alone, which is a ... a ... a pussy thing to do." She must feel strongly, to throw such an uncomfortable word out. "They were all bragging about it, you know, showing the bills and passing them around." "Did you touch one of those bills?" you ask sharply. You have a sudden hunch. "Yeah, so? They were passing them all around the table at the cafeteria. In class. So like I say, don't go bragging about how tough you are." "But they're scared of me now. How come? You're scared of me too, it sounds like." She gives you a sidelong glance. "No offense, Will, but suddenly there is something kind of ... creepy about you." "Well, I don't want to invade your personal space any more, then. You can just drop me off here." "Will!" "No, I mean it. Just pull up there. I gotta pick something up here anyway." You didn't mean to pick a fight with her, but it is pure serendipity that you can end the conversation and pull her up next to the old school all at the same time. You ask her to wait a moment, and run over to unlock the basement door. That prepared, you run back and kneel next to the driver's side door. She rolls down the window. "I got something I want to show you," you say brusquely as you unzip your backpack. Her attitude might have something to do with those twenties you were passing around, some second-order effect of the curse, but you're still pissed at her and feel no regret about what you're about to do. "I want you to like me, Yumi," you say as you draw out the mask. You lean in the window and show it to her. "So I'm going to give you something." She flinches a little at it. "What is it?" "It's a mask. Oh, did I say 'give you something'? My mistake. I meant 'take something from you'. Everything, in fact." You shove it against her face. She's very light, so after the mask vanishes it is very easy to lift and carry her into the basement. You haven't much time, so you lay her on the table, stripping her of shoes and stockings and skirt; her sweater and the light blouse beneath it. Her bra defeats you, though, and you're still fighting the clasps when you hear a clatter and see the mask fall off her face. Shit, she'll wake in no time, what with you fumbling around her undergarments. You snatch up the other mask and drop it onto her face. The effect is nearly instantaneous: her body bows and flexes and suddenly it's not Yumi Saito but Will Prescott laying on the table. He blinks and looks around. "So what did I miss, boss?" He looks down, to see the now limp bra and his cock slipping out from behind the skimpy thong underwear. "Ooh, kinky!" "You didn't miss anything," you retort. "Get out of that stuff." It slips the garments off while you also strip. "Do I at least get to see her naked?" it asks as it pulls on your shirt. "No. She's pissed at you, and you're walking home from here. In fact, you'll need to find a way back to school to pick up the truck." You take another mask out of your backpack—another mask that you made yesterday and which needs polishing. "And when you get back home, here's your homework." It groans. "Don't tell Blackwell. He doesn't like these things leaving the house, but I say every slave should earn its keep." "Lemme just see her boobies. All work and no play makes Will a dull boy." "My Will, my way. After we start getting the school reorganized we'll get you something." "You sound like Dad. 'Maybe later'." It shakes out its hair, takes the mask, and trudges from the basement. * * * * * You twirl in front of the mirror, admiring the way the soft, pleated skirt spins up to briefly flash your shapely thighs. You pat down the front of your sweater; your bosom is small and pert, but bouncy. You put a dimple in one cheek and strike a cheerleader pose, then follow it up with a quick and easy back flip. "Too stiff my ass," you mutter. "Suck it, Chelsea." You bounce back out to the car on the balls of your feet—your new sneakers are just so adorable—and check your purse for the cell phone. Three messages since leaving school. One from Jenny Ashton, one from Lin Pol, one from Paul Davis. You make a face at that last one. Paul would be cute if he didn't look like a carsick puppy every time he tried asking you out on a date. You buckle yourself in and scope yourself out one last time in the rearview mirror. Then you relax. The mind of Yumi Saito—the limp but detailed sock puppet you'd pulled over your own mind when you put on the mask—drops away, and without shame you grab and squeeze an apple-like breast. "Oh God, Yumi," you moan. It is her voice. Blackwell is expecting you at the house within the hour, but he has to understand that your first adventure under a mask can't be cut short. You could easily go hang out with your new friends until you have to go home, and only then run back to Blackwell's to switch out with a golem for the night. Next: "A Yumi Life" |
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