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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Paranoid World of Prescott and Nolan"  by Masktrix “This is SO FREAKIN’ AWESOME!” The two Shellys are holding hands and bouncing, staring at each other intently. They spin around to the point that, if they weren’t wearing different clothes, you wouldn’t know which is which. A quarter of an hour earlier you both used the masks again, which potentially means there will be two sets of your doubles walking around. Good you, actual you, and – somewhere, lurking – evil you. “Shelly.” The twins stop their jumping around and look at you. “C’mon, Will. This is cool. I’ve got another me.” “This is like in Harry Potter and the...” “No,” you say, stopping the golem in her tracks. “This is real. Right now Shelly and I are in danger. We don’t know who has the masks and we can’t track them down. Your job is to be Shelly’s decoy, in case they come back. You see anyone doing something suspicious, you call me. You see or Shelly or me, what do you do?” The golem holds up the scissors, rolling her eyes. “Call you or test you’re who you say you are. I know.” “Other than that, just... live your life. Be Michelle Nolan. Tell Ian you got rid of the book and you won’t hang around with me. Oh, and tell Kim Walsh you want her as a mentor. She’s one of the few people at school who’ll actually look out for you.” The golem looks disappointed. “Fine. I was just hoping I’d get to be the Witch of Westside. You’re taking everything awesome that’s happened to me, ever, and telling me to act like it doesn’t exist. Which I totally can do, but it kind of sucks.” You turn to the real Shelly. “Hope you can keep yourself busy while I’m gone.” “Duh, I’m going to do magic. And don’t worry, I have my insulin pen, and if I need to get something to eat I’ll wear the Ruth mask.” “Just stay safe. I’m going to drop the replacement off then make sure my life’s still in one piece. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” The new Shelly Nolan talks all the way home. About magic and how awful it feels to be left out of the coven. How it’s gross Ian is into her and she doesn’t know what to do. How the past week has been, hands down, the greatest freakin’ week of her entire freakin’ life. She’s still going by the time you reach the lane. “Good luck, Shelly.” The golem smiles. “Thanks, Will. For what it’s worth, I’m really happy you’re the Chosen One.” You laugh. “See you round. Oh, and give Mrs Nolan a hug for me.” You watch as it walks down the lane, straight up to its apparent mom, resting on the porch of the house, and squeezes her tight. Then you head the short distance to your own house, coming in through the front door as usual. “Anyone home?” Your mom sticks her head around the corner. “Oh, hey, honey. I thought you were back already and up in your room. I’m making a sandwich if you want one.” The words hit you like a bullet. You can’t breathe. “Will?” “No, ah… no sandwich. Thanks.” You rush up the stairs, straight to your room and burst through the door. Nothing’s changed. Nothing’s been disturbed. No one has been here. You check the rest of the house, every room in a blind panic, as your mom walks out of the kitchen and watches you bemused. “You lost something?” she asks, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. You look at her and feel the cold bite of doubt in the pit of your stomach. How do you even know this is your mother? You stare, jaw slack, unsure what to do. You can’t exactly cut her hair to see if it vanishes. You flounder for words. “No,” you say in the end. “I thought I had. But everything is right where it should be.” Your mom shrugs and goes back to the kitchen. You decide to get out of the house again. Somewhere. Anywhere. Just not here. *** You take your time getting back to the church storage. Shelly’s working in the basement, and the golem is probably finishing the epic paper you started about why Medea was justified in murdering... you can’t remember, but when you were Shelly you felt very strongly about it. Instead, you end up heading over to Northgate and hang around, trying to get your head straight and think of a way to track down the thieves. You fail: the masks didn’t come with a homing beacon and you have no leads. You doubt the police are going to do much either, although you suppose you could always change that. Just become the chief and make it the number one crime in Saratoga Falls. You’re still laughing at this dumb idea as you go back to the church and Shelly. You need the levity given you’re now too scared to go in your own home. If the thieves have used the blank mask to replace your mom – or anyone else in the house – they could get you in your sleep. “Shelly, I’m back.” The basement is quiet when you come down the stairs. At first you wonder if your coven-mate is out, but the frazzled lightbulb still casts its dim glow, and she would have turned it off when she left. Yet again, your heartbeat pounds and but you feel cold. There’s no way someone would have thought of this hideout to track you down. Not unless they thought of using the blank mask on Coach Acuna… “Shelly?” You rush down the stairs of your new lair, convinced you’re in jeopardy again. Your eyes try and adjust to the gloom, turning broken ping pong tables and stacks of boxes into potential threats and enemies. You bound forward, noting the book out on the table… and the small figure strewn on the floor. “SHELLY!” You rush over to pick her up, but she doesn’t move. She’s petrified, her entire body hewn into stone, soil loose over her. You grab at the torso, terror in your eyes as your fingers touch cold stone, a sculpture of Michelle Nolan. Because it is her. Because she’s turned into a golem. You rush to the book. It’s open at the sixth spell, Shelly’s hastily scribbled translation next to it. Duh, I’m going to do magic. In her brilliant, racing mind, she must have soared ahead to the next incantation, the familiar words and phrases coming easily to her. You can tell that the spell must turn a living person into a golem. Shelly must have misinterpreted it or thought that it would help you both somehow. There’s got to be a way to undo this. You turn the page in desperation, the next spell releasing and revealing itself. Your brain translates the Latin seeking a countercharm, but it’s just another fucking mask spell. The book wanted this to happen. The evil fucking book that you bought at Arnholm’s. That was stolen from you. That was returned to you. That you buried. That was exhumed. That was given to Ian Cowdray. That was given to Shelly Nolan. That tricked her into doing this. You grab the Libra and hurl it against the wall. Then collapse next to Shelly, screaming until your mouth aches, sbbing until you’re blinded by tears. You sit, cold and alone in a storage basement, and wish you could turn back time. Next: "The Wildcats of St. Xavier" |
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