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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Reluctant Master"  by Masktrix “Holy shit.” You’re standing in your room, in your underwear, staring at the mirror. Except this time it’s not your reflection. You are looking at the face, body, everything, of Coach Acuna. You reach up and peel back your new, pouting lips; squeeze your sculpted cheeks; flick back your long, silken hair. It’s only then that your gaze falls further south, and to a pair of impressive breasts. You breathe in, watching your borrowed face darken into a blush, and feel the heightened sensations of your assumed sex. One moment you were putting on a mask. The next you woke – about 10 minutes later according to your alarm clock – and were an intruder in age, sex and race. “I’m Coach Acuna,” you say, your feminine voice registering perfectly, though without the Latina accent that was so recognizable. You cough and see if you can act a little better than Shelly. “Ee am Choach Acunaaaa. I em Choch Acuuuna. Aaaaand I sound like a racist stereotype when I try to do my accent.” You give up – your attempt at Spanish is painfully bad, and only draws attention to it. Running your hand down your sides and patting your now ample, firm backside, you turn in the mirror and pose. James Lamont would have given anything to have the view you now hold. But you’ve got more important matters to attend to. Magic, as Shelly repeated over and over, is freakin’ real. And Coach Acuna is just the first of a million possibilities that you have. Fortunately, your dad isn’t home yet and mom has taken Robert for a run to the Dollar Save. You pull on Acuna’s tracksuit trousers before rushing downstairs to the laundry. There, close your eyes and reach in to your mother’s clothing, grabbing her sports bra. It feels wrong, but once on it makes your life far easier. Then comes the staff polo shirt, leaving only shoes. Damn. Shelly must have been Acuna’s size and used her own, but Acuna’s feet are far too small for your own. Instead, you grab your mother’s pink-flash jogging trainers and slip them on. Then you rush back to your room to check your appearance. Coach Acuna looks back at you, without makeup but otherwise indistinguishable from the real thing. It’s an incredible imposture – and you just hope you can pull it off. You shake your long hair to try to get it ordered, but it keeps flopping back into your face, covering your eyes and slipping into your mouth. You spit out the hair, pull the mane back, and decide you aren’t enough of a woman to do it the cool way. Instead, you dart into your parents’ room, grab a few hairpins, and waste another five minutes trying to get them to stay in. It’s only then that you rush outside to make your appointment, Shelly’s backpack over your shoulder, the book in its protective pocket. You see Shelly at the Dairy Queen before you walk inside. She’s taken a window seat, and her head is pressed up to the glass, looking out eagerly as she works her hands furiously upon something under the table. You press on, about to open the door when it opens and… “Coach! I didn’t expect to see you here.” Kelsey Blankenship stares at you in shock, a speck of frosting on her lip. Your heart skips; as the star of the Westside tennis team, she’s just about the last person you wanted to run into. A wrong word and she could penetrate your disguise instantly. “Kelsey,” you say, knowing Acuna prefers to call players by their first names. “I could say the same about you.” “I was just in for five minutes to see some friends. I know it’s not part of the diet regimen you set up, but…” “Relax, Kelsee,” you at least try a light accent, even if you feel you’re doing it entirely wrong. “It’s also a Friday. You can have a treat once in a while. They still serve strawberries and cream at Wimbledon.” Kelsey’s face relaxes. “I thought you were going to bust me, especially with the interschool cup coming up on Wednesday.” “No, you’re good.” You try and say as few words as possible to get through the encounter. Kelsey flashes a smile and steps past. “Well, I was just getting going. I’ll catch you later. Oh… I was going to call you. Is there any chance we can move Tuesday’s one-on-one court session to Monday night? I want to get a full rest day, and maybe Brooke could use the extra session. She’s still making too many double faults.” The question, not to mention the casual shade thrown at Brooke Galloway, Kelsey’s main rival on the team, throws you completely. If you were thinking, you’d have come up with some excuse – the coaching staff have complete rosters. But you panic. “Of courz,” you say in your stupid accent, giving a reassuring smile. “Great! I’ll see you Monday, then. Have a great weekend, coach. And, uh, nice backpack. Didn’t know you were into the wizarding world.” You wave goodbye as Kelsey heads to the parking lot, wondering how you’re going to get out of the change in schedule. Then, steeling yourself, you enter the Dairy Queen. Sure enough, various gaggles from Westside are there – including a group of cheerleaders, Lin Pol among them, talking eagerly about something conspiratorially. You walk past, and head to where Shelly has her face pressed up against the mirror. “Miz Nolan,” you say, trying to stay in character. “You left your backpack in my office earlier. Here. Try not to be so forgetful in future.” Shelly spins around in surprise, dropping something on the floor. She looks at you, and you see a trio of emotions shoot across her face – shock at being disturbed, fear that it might be the real Coach Acuna and somehow she’s been discovered, before the widest grin ever as she realizes who she’s talking to. “Will!” she blurts as you set the backpack down on the table. “I mean… uh, I will. Coach Acuna. Which is who you are. It’s, uh, good to see you!” Then her head vanishes under the table as you take a seat opposite. She emerges a second later, clutching the object she dropped. It’s another mask, this one glowing a very faint blue. “I’ve been… working… on the… next craft project,” she says, before giving you the most unsubtle wink in history. “So I see,” you say. “Did you still want to talk about private lessons?” “Lessons?” “Tennis lessons,” you emphasize. Shelly finally gets your meaning. “Oh, tennis lessons. YES! I mean, yes that’s why I’m here. Sorry. Tennis just makes me, y’know, super excited. I want to learn tennis so badly! I'll do anything!” “Well, perhaps we should go somewhere we can talk in private?” “Right. A good idea, Coach Acuna.” You motion for her to follow, and head to the back of the Dairy Queen, away from anyone you might know, so you can talk privately. If anyone saw you, it’d look like a coach talking to a possible tennis recruit. Unusual, but not really weird. And it’s then the questions come flooding in. “So, what is the first lesson?” Shelly asks. “Are there lessons? Am I doing it right? Except the part where I couldn’t get the mask off, but that was a fluke, right? I won’t do that again, I swear. Why did you get rid of the book? Is this mask ready yet or do I need to keep polishing?” You bite your lip and try to decide how this conversation will play out. You could admit to Shelly that you’re just in the dark about magic as she is. Or you could continue letting her think you’re some master wizard who was just discarding old spells. Next: "The Apprentice Becomes the Master" |
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