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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Cheerleaders Galore"  Would it be wiser to settle for Yumi, or some other cheerleader who is easy to get to? Probably. But your gut tells you that Chelsea should be your first target. She's in charge of the squad; she knows all the relationships inside of it; once recruited to your coven-Brotherhood, she could tell you which other cheerleaders should be added to it. You wait until the coast is clear, then wedge yourself into the foot well of your truck and put a blank mask to your face. * * * * * You are groggily sealing the mask up and applying a layer of that enslaving paste—and trying to not get too creeped out by the sight of your name embossed to the inside of the mask—when you are startled by a sound like lawnmower racing past your truck. It's an orange VW Beetle—a restored classic. You cuss to yourself as it parks in front of you. A minute later, the door opens, and Gordon Black unfolds himself from inside the Beetle. How he manages to fit into it, you can't guess. It's a small thing, and Gordon is more than six and a half feet tall, with massive shoulders, a barrel-like chest, and legs like tree trunks. To your relief he turns his back on you and lopes up the front walk to Chelsea's door. He doesn't bother to knock or ring, but just shoves himself inside. You run a nervous tongue over your bottom lip. The pedisequos that is to replace Chelsea is going to have to deal with having him for a boyfriend. You're soon finished with the mask, and a nervous boredom sets in. Your leg jogs hard and you twitch all over. How are you going to get to Chelsea? That was supposed to by Sydney's job, and she did get into the house, but Chelsea filled it with additional cheerleaders (Why?) as well as her boyfriend. What excuse will you have to come up with to try getting to her alone again? Almost you gesture Lin Pol over when she comes out the front door—she would be a good recruit, surely. But it's as well that you hesitate, for a moment later she is joined by Cindy and then by Yumi. The latter squints at you, and for a moment you think she's going to come over to talk, but Lin distracts her, and the three girls walk slowly off to their cars. They still haven't departed when Michelle Estrich and the Garners come out. So the party is breaking up. Will Sydney be left alone with Chelsea? No. She comes out with Gloria Rea right behind. She's wearing a very tight expression as she approaches. "Well, that was a fuck up," she snarls as she clambers into the truck with you. "What happened? What was that all about?" "It was a fucking ambush. Pardon my language. I told Chelsea— Pfah!" She has to collect herself before resuming. "I told Chelsea I wanted to talk to her about the cheerleading squad, that some people had suggested I {i]talk to her, since I'd been on a squad that'd gone to regionals. I didn't expect her to want to talk to me, but I didn't expect her to— Tchah!" Again she has to collect herself. "So without warning me first, she has the whole squad there, and she introduces me and plays me up as this expert who captained a squad that went to regionals and then she sits down and asks me to give my presentation on what the Westside squad should be doing." "Jesus." "I had to do a freaking tap dance, I'll tell you what. I didn't have anything say! I wasn't going to talk to her about stuff! I was just going to get you and me alone in a room with her, you know, and— Gah! Freaking humiliating is what it was." "I'm sorry." You stroke her thigh. "Maybe we shouldn't have tried this. I'm sorry I had the idea, maybe we should go find someone else." "No, we're definitely doing it to Chelsea now." Sydney crosses her arms. "Move down the street," she orders. "Park where we can watch. When everyone's gone we'll go back in and try again." * * * * * It's a longish wait. Twenty minutes after Sydney came out, Kendra Saunders leaves; another ten minutes, and Maria Vasquez goes. That's the last of the cheerleaders, but Gordon is still inside. Another half hour passes before he comes out. But he's got his arm around Chelsea. They're a real contrast. The top of her head doesn't even reach the top of his shoulder, so that he looms over her like a megalith. She's small and blonde with pleasing, melon-like bulges at her chest and hips; he's a slab of sun-darkened muscle. Together they get in his Beetle and drive off. You glance at Sydney. She sighs. "Let's see where they go." It's a slow drive, all the way across town, but long before they've reached their destination, you have guessed it. It's the school. Westside. "Oh my God," Sydney mutters. "You know where they're going?" "Inside," she says. "Right? The gym?" "You've heard about that?" She nods, and her lips curl with distaste. It's a part of school lore, rarely spoken of but not often far from the mind, and it bubbles like an undercurrent through student gossip: The fuck room. Gordon and Chelsea are on their way up to the fuck room. It's a loft above the gym—or, that's what you've heard; you've never been up to confirm—with a padlocked door, behind which the top athletes at the school can entertain themselves and each other at any time of day on any day of the week. Does the faculty know about it? Rumor has it that the head coaches actually provide the key, bestowing upon the favored jocks a semi-formal endorsement. You're the best we got, the implication is. Here's your reward. Of course Gordon and Chelsea would have a key. Who else? Probably Steve Patterson, but you can't say for sure. Gordon pulls into the student lot; you pass on by, then do a U-turn and follow them in time to see Gordon and Chelsea walking up to the gym's side door. Gordon unlocks it, and they pass inside. You park on the other side of the lot from the gym and look over at Sydney. "Let's wait a bit," she says. You shut off the engine and settle in. But you've not long to wait. To your surprise, Gordon reappears only a few minutes later, his head down, to trudge back to his Beetle. With both hope and puzzlement, you watch as he gets into it, starts it, and backs out of the parking space. "Don't stare," Sydney warns you as he drives slowly past you and turns back onto Borman and back toward town. You look at each other after he's gone. "He forgot something?" Sydney suggests. "He's going to get something?" "Condoms?" She makes a face, then slaps you in the shoulder. "Let's go see what's up inside." You roar across the lot and park next to the tennis courts. Your skin itches with fear and anticipation as you hustle over to the side door. The handle is cool under your palm as you grasp it and pull. It's open. Inside, the gym courts are dusky despite the afternoon light pouring in through the windows over the rafters. It's empty, though, and you glance around. The door behind you shuts with a loud clank, and you jump. Sydney hisses at you, but her hiss is interrupted by a call that echoes through the empty court: "You forget something, pookie?" Sydney pokes you. "The changing rooms," she whispers. "Where's the masks?" "Out in the truck." "Go get them!" Without waiting for you to move, she runs lightly across the court toward the girls' changing rooms, her sneakers squelching softly on the polished boards. The court is empty again when you're back with two masks in your hands, and your heart is jackhammering in your chest. There is a very faint murmur of voices from the far side, though, and you sprint across the floor to the changing room. You're just skittering to a stop when someone comes round the corner. You collide and bounce off each other. Someone squeals. It's Chelsea. She's still wobbling on her feet as she glares up at you. "Watch where you're going!" she snarls. Sydney steps around the corner now, and her appearance galvanizes you. Hardly conscious of what you're doing—the instructions are coming from somewhere in the back of your skull, it feels like—you thrust one of the masks at Chelsea. Her head snaps back under the blow, and a shock runs up your arm. For a moment she stands there with a slack expression on her face. Then she folds up and falls to the floor. "Oh, Jesus!" Sydney gasps. "Did I fuck up?" She covers her mouth as she stares down at Chelsea. Then she says, "No, I don't think so." You gape down at Chelsea too. She is curled up on the floor like a heap of discarded clothing. "Come on," Sydney says. "Help me pull her back inside." Together, with you taking Chelsea's wrists and Sydney taking her feet, you lug the head cheerleader back into the changing room. She's as heavy and ungainly as a large sack of cement. "Uff," Sydney says when you drop her again. "Moment of truth, Will. Her boyfriend'll be back in ten, fifteen minutes. What do we do with her?" Next: "The Skin You'll Live In" |
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