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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Little Tea Shop of Horrors"  You don't even have to call or wave them over: Alec nudges Laurent, then saunters over to your table. You feel your face warm and your mouth stretch into a wide smile as he twinkles down at you and your friends. "Hey," he rumbles in his growly baritone. "Awesome Saturday." "It's kind of wet, though," Jamie says. She sounds short of breath, and her face is shining, probably as hard as yours is. Meghan beams up at him too. Brownie. That's what everyone calls him, girls and guys alike. Guys call him that because it's a friendlier name than "Alec"; girls call him that because he's "scrumptious as a." He exudes a butterscotchy warmth through his golden tan and his dark blonde hair—shorn in a buzz cut—and his hazel eyes set deep under a strong brow. "Hey bro," Laurent calls from the counter. "What're you having?" "Coffee and a bear claw!" Brownie shouts. "Get you girls anything?" "God," Jamie gasps. "I wish I could have a bear claw. Guys are lucky you can eat like that." Brownie drums his stomach. "Just got back from a run in the wilderness. Six miles up and down some hills. Gotta have something to recharge with." He hooks a foot around the leg of the one empty chair at the table and pivots it around. "I thought you swam," he tells Jamie as he falls into the seat and rests his arms on its back. "I still can't have a bear claw!" "You can have a bite. Yo! Make that two bear claws!" he shouts back at Laurent. "I can't!" "I can." Your heart goes into your throat as Brownie shifts his gaze at your interruption. "I mean I shouldn't, and I can't have the whole thing, just a—" You feel yourself blushing hard. "You'll help me, won't you?" you beg Meghan, but she just laughs. "What you don't eat," Brownie says, "I'll take home. I got brothers." Laurent saunters up with a plastic tray. Like his friend, he has the burly physique of a championship wrestler. He is part Iroquois, and his toothy smile—bracketed by deep dimples—shines whitely in his olive complexion; his coffee-colored hair glistens as though oiled. With strong hands he sets donuts, bear claws, and coffee cups around the table. He and Brownie have had a busy twenty-four hours, they inform you in the talk that follows, busier than either Will Prescott or Deanna Showalter could stand. A Friday-afternoon football scrimmage with friends, followed by a night and early morning of partying at the Warehouse, followed by a hard, early-morning run. They only shrug and grin as you and the other girls gush and coo appreciatively. "Same plans for today," Brownie says. "Nn, no football," Laurent demurs. "Gotta take a nap." "Pussy." "You're going out to the Warehouse again tonight?" you ask; your heart hammers in your chest. "Maybe." Brownie shrugs. "Maybe some other party." Laurent turns to Meghan. "The party you had last Saturday was awesome," he tells her. She blushes and thanks him. "You could come out to Kelsey's tonight," you blurt out before you can second-guess yourself. "Kelsey's throwing a party?" "Well, sure. Every Saturday." Neither boy says anything right away, but the lines tighten around their eyes. "I didn't know she called those 'parties'," Laurent finally grunts. "Well, they're not parties, not like Meghan had. Oh my God, no one's had a party like she had yet." You grin at Meghan, whose blush deepens. "But, you know, it's still a party out there." "Well, we don't wanna crash anything we're not invited to," Brownie says. (A lie; he and the other wrestlers are constantly crashing in on parties. But maybe it's because he assumes—or just flat-out knows—that guys like him are always welcome.) "You wouldn't be crashing," you gasp out around the blockage in your throat. "Not if you're coming with me." A silent ripple seems to run about the table. Brownie's eyes crinkle up. "Are you asking me out tonight, Deanna?" "I— I—!" Through the roar in your ears you hear Laurent say, "I think she is." Your face feels like its melting off the front of your skull. Then Brownie leans in to peer at you, which makes it worse. "How about I ask you out, and you pick where we go," he says. Jamie whinnies like a horse. Someone else—Meghan, probably—kicks you a couple of times in the ankle. "Um," you stammer. "So, you wanna hang out, do something tonight?" Brownie asks you. "Sure." You almost vomit with excitement. "And do what?" Brownie asks. "You pick." The world seems to go gray, and pins and needles prickle all over your scalp. "We could, um, hang out at Kelsey's?" Brownie shrugs. "Could do that. We could do something else." "I'm supposed to go out to Kelsey's." "Then I'll take you out to Kelsey's. What time?" "Seven o'clock? Oh, but I have to check with her." On instinct you scramble for your phone. "She might want me to help set up, or pick something up, or—" "So text me when you know for sure," Brownie says. He takes out his own phone. "What's your number?" You give it to him, and he gives you his. There's a momentary silence—a silence that makes you wish you could vanish in a puff of smoke—before Meghan picks up the conversation by asking which bands are playing at the Warehouse currently. You're too dazzled to contribute to the conversation that follows, and Brownie is also pretty quiet, only putting in a word or a comment here or there and letting Laurent carry the burden of the talk. You hardly notice, and are too numb to react, when Laurent asks Jamie out, and tells Meghan he'll scare up someone to squire her along too to whatever party they find for themselves. "Salvation is right," Meghan smirks when you're outside the donut shop and working up the courage to dart through the pouring rain for your cars. She kisses her fingers and touches the SALVATION DONUTS frosted on the front window. "Salvation from a Saturday night of nothing to do." * * * * * "Where the fuck do you get off asking someone out to my house, to my party, Deanna?" You cringe and hold the phone away from your ear. As soon as you saw Kelsey's name on the caller ID, you knew you were in for a rough time. If she was going to be okay with your inviting Brownie out, she would have replied to your text with one of her own. Or maybe, you gulped to yourself before answering, Carlos wants to talk directly to me about stuff but doesn't want to leave a trail in Kelsey's texts. "Well?" Kelsey barks when you don't answer. "Is there someone there with you?" you ask in your most timid voice. Maybe Carlos is having to dial up the Kelsey act because he's not alone. "The fuck does that matter? But yes, I've got people out here helping to set up because— Look, I have to take this." Her voice retreats. "You know where to put the—?" Then her voice vanishes and the line goes muffled. You sink onto your bed and nurse the stress migraine that you feel building up behind your right eye. "Okay, I'm alone now," Kelsey says when she comes back on. She's brusque, but calmer. "Is there some business we need to talk about? Is that why you invited—?" "No, I just texted you about that. Is that going to be a problem, me bringing Brownie out there tonight?" "I don't give a shit, man, though it's pretty fucking hilarious, if you ask me. You asked him out?" "It just popped out of my mouth. I was being Deanna." Same as you were being Kelsey just now. "Well, you shouldn't even be coming out here, period, not with Deanna's reputation being the dumpster fire it is. I can tell you to go hang your clit on a hook if you want an excuse to back out of tonight. In fact, if I want to be character, I would." "No, I want to come to your place tonight. Anyway, if I don't go out to your place, then I'd wind up going somewhere else with Brownie and them." "Oh, Deanna," Kelsey says, and the vicious simper returns to her voice. "Such an awful, awful thing to have happen to you." "Fuck you, man. Except, is it really going to be a problem if I bring—? Who was with you when you were yelling?" "Olivia and Brooke. And Amanda. And Ricky. Lemme guess." She snickers. "You wanna come out so you can watch Mike trying to scrape Ricky off'a him. But seriously, I am going to have to give you the death stare if you show up tonight with Brownie in tow." Next: "Bait for the Bastard" |
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