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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Paranoid Roommate"  by Mastrix You gnaw your lip, then decide against taking the mask. You’d never get ten paces. Chris is going to come back in any minute, and he'll go to move it once Todd is through chewing him out. Besides, Abi can’t pretend to be Kristen if she’s trapped under a mask. And, as much as an obedient Abi could be fun – and you drift through all the perverted options Jacob suggested earlier – you’ve also got a track record of bad things happening when you try to outsmart people. But that doesn't mean you can't use the mask to firm up Chris's belief that you are really Mark Pederson. So you're twirling the mask on the tip of your finger when Chris returns. "Forget to lock up your gimp mask?" you ask as he freezes. "Is this what you pricks were wearing at your party? Or have you and Abi got some weird-ass Phantom of the Opera roleplay going?" "Mark," Chris says, his voice slow and on edge, "please give it to me. That’s mine." "Like those rubbers Baldwin found are yours?" You hurl the mask at him, and he fumbles the catch. "It’s a good thing it was Todd doing the search. Or was that the idea, he can cover for you and everyone else who was at the party? Marius or Lucas would have busted you if they'd found that thing. It's practically a signed confession of what you and your asshole friends got up to the other night." Chris pales, and a feverish light blazes in his eyes. "Just keep your hands off my shit, okay?" he says in a half-strangled voice. "Blow me." You grab up your jacket. "I’m not the one who shoved his condoms in my locker, or started snooping through my cell last night. Y’know what, Fiore? You’ve been acting like a complete ass all weekend. I’m still tired out from you stomping back in here on Friday night at, like, 3am or whatever." "I said I was sorry." "Mmhmm," you mutter. "As long as you're apologizing, maybe you can try asking my permission before you start using my locker as a hiding place. I might even say yes, as long as you keep your creepy-ass shit to yourself. Jesus, are you jerking off into that thing?" You flick a hand at the mask and shudder. "At least have the decency to use a sock." With that, you storm out, and as you round a corner into the main hallway you almost careen into a half-dressed figure. "What the—? Loki! Why the flip aren’t you wearing pants, man?" Sure enough, Loki Swain, the resident space cadet, is swaggering around in nothing but two towels, one around his waist and the other swaddling his head like a turban. "Yo, Mark!" He grins and chucks his chin at you. "Just coming from my morning ablutions. ’Sup?" "We’re in the middle of a dorm sweep! You really think this is the time for a shower?" His chilled, stoner's smile only widens. "Oh yah," he laughs. He points past you. "That explains how come Marius's going through my shit down there, I guess. Won’t stop with just a dorm search, though. After that party on Friday, you know the prefects’ll be crackin’ down. Smart money says we’re going to be confined to the school for a week." "And you’re okay with that?" Loki laughs. "Not like there’s anywhere to go, anyway. Saratoga Falls? It’s, like, the boonies. Might as well just kick around here. Later, dude." He’s relaxed about it, but he has a point – Todd and Abi’s Halloween party will bring more heat than just a dorm sweep. Chances are, the prefects will cancel all exeats – which if they do means you’ll be trapped in the school. The thought preys as you watch Loki swagger back to his room. He drops the towel, briefly mooning the hallway, before closing the door behind. Then comes the explosion. "Jesus Christ, Loki!" That's Marius Hall, his voice and words muffled by the door but clearly audible through it. The door bangs open again and Marius charges out, flushing deep. He glowers at you, then swings around to bang on the next door down. "Room sweep!" he barks, and lays his hand on the knob. But he hesitates, and doesn't open it. Genius, you think. Loki walks in with his cock flapping, and stops his room search cold. The idea never would have occurred to you — or Mark, either — and you grimace with vexed admiration at Loki's cleverness. You also grimace a little to realize that it's probably Mark's side of the brain you're sharing that figured out Loki's tactic, not yours. *** You're preoccupied with Mark's annoying habit of being better than you, you're unprepared when Emily Dustal calls to you as you round down the stairs to the first floor. She's leaning against the vending machine. "Making a run into town, going to get the new iPhone. You want anything?" She’s talking about a new phone like it’s shopping for groceries, you think. You’re about to reply in the negative, when you notice the girl standing beside her. She’s as preppie as the rest of you, but dressed head to toe in black, with a curling line of kohl at the side of her eye that contrasts her short blonde hair, and little silver crescent moon earrings. Margot Corrigan. A part-time goth at best, nowhere near all-in like some of the kids at Westside, attire still within the school dress code. And yet for St. Xavier’s, that slight hint of eyeliner is enough to qualify her as the bride of Satan. She's also one of your suspects — one of the girls that Tyler noticed going in and out of the library the morning that the Libra vanished from Kristen's hiding place. Emily notices you staring. "Margot wanted a ride. I said if she paid for lunch, I’d take her." You smile at Emily. "Got room for one more?" *** The ride into town is completely unhelpful even if, on the face of it, it couldn’t start better. As you climb into Emily's sedan, Margot mentions her Latin homework, and, in passing, the name of the school’s resident honor student: Davina Macklin. Your ears perk almost instantly – Latin and Vee! But Emily revs the engine so hard you think she is going to stall it, then after peeling out of her parking space launches into a non-stop litany of raw hated on the subject of your nemesis. All the way to Saratoga Falls, and through it to the mall on the other side of town, Emily spews venom at Vee. Every so often you cast a glance into the back seat at Margot, who is sitting awkwardly on her hands. But whatever Margot was going to say, there’s no way she’s going to dare finish it now. "And I will tell you another thing," Emily concludes as she pulls into a parking space at Northgate Mall. "She waxes her eyebrows. She’s got a fucking monobrow. So there that is." "’Uhm, okay," Margot says, not really sure how else to dodge Emily's rant. "Uh, where should I meet you for lunch?" "You’re not coming in?" you ask. "Actually, I’m going to head over to that clothes store." She gestures toward Northgate Place, where Thrifty Nifties is located. Emily turns in her seat. "A strip mall?" she says. "Margot, you’re gonna get knifed there. Or tetanus. Or some kind of rash. Eesh, I feel sticky just looking at it." Margot blanches a little under Emily’s sharp tongue. "Cut it out," you tell Emily as you unbuckle your belt. "Jesus, why’s everyone being an ass today? First Fiore, now you. How about this: you go get your new iPhone, I’ll go with Margot, and everyone can be happy again." Emily shoots you a look but doesn’t argue. Soon, you’re crossing the wide parking lot alone with Margot, and you’ve finally got a chance to speak with her. "Sorry about Emily," you say. "Just don’t say the words ‘Vee’ or ‘Macklin’ near her. Ever." The goth girl’s eyes widen. "Yeeeaaah. I picked up on that. I guess she must have a lot of stuff to hate her for, given she feels that strongly." You blow out your cheeks. "No, it's a simple story, really. Emily was captain of the soccer team. Now Vee’s the captain. That's all." Margot rolls her eyes. "Sports are so dumb." You nod and let the conversation hang for a few beats before striking. "Why was it you mentioned Vee anyway? Something about Latin homework?" Margot shoves her hands down the front pockets of her black denim jeans and shrugs. "It’s nothing, really. Just this book I’m stuck on." Jackpot! "You know I take Latin, right?" you say as your heart starts to thump. "Why don’t you tell me what’s the–" But you break off when you spot the guy hanging around outside Academy Sporting Goods. Your blood turns to ice. It's Ian Cowdray. He looks skittish and nervous, with blue wheals under his eyes. If it were any other person you know, you wouldn’t give it a second thought. "You okay?" Margot asks, and that's when you notice that you've stopped in mid-stride. You nod at her, and resume walking, even as the pavement seems to warp under you and your heart thuds harder and harder. Ian Cowdray, a 14-year-old boy scared beyond reason, convinced thieves in the night are coming to steal his life. A boy unable to run or tell his parents about the danger he sees in the face of every stranger. A boy who could probably use a kind word and a little reassurance. Next: "Using What You've Got" |
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