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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Close Encounters of the Vee Kind"  I can't believe what I'm about to do, you think as you dodge through the halls, looking for Jacob. He had Art last period, and he always hangs around that classroom during the break, so— Sure enough, you find him slouching in the back of the room with his cell phone while Mr. Morley occupies himself with paperwork at the front. Jacob does a double-take as you slide into the seat in front of him. "Hey." You jerk your chin in greeting as you zip open your pack. "Got something for you to put in your stash." His eyes widen. "Shit," he mutters as he looks over your shoulder at the teacher. "Not here!" "Yes here! Anyway, it's nothing contraband. My asshole roommate's been leaving his shit around my side of the room, and I wanna teach him a lesson." You draw out the masks. "Put these in your room, will you. And keep them out of sight!" Jacob whistles as he takes the masks. "Nice work. Where'd you get them?" "I told you, offa Fiore. And don't play them! They're, like, bondage gear or something. Some sick sex thing he's got going with Abi." Jacob's eyes light up. "Really?" "Chill thy ass, man. And take this too." You hand him the Libra. "So what's the story?" he asks as he tucks the three items into his pack. "Beats me, and I don't want to know either, not after seeing where he's been keeping them. But now he's started hiding them in my footlocker, and it's pissing me off. So hang onto it, will you, until I tell you to give it back. I wanna teach him a lesson about respecting boundaries." Jacob smirks and nods violently. Almost, it causes you to change your mind about entrusting the stuff to him. * * * * * With the incriminating items now safely hidden with Jacob, you feel a little more confident at being able to pass yourself off as Mark Pederson, misunderstood classmate. Still, you pass the rest of morning break in a state of fear, expecting hard hands to be laid upon you at any moment. Nothing happens, though, and you're still in one piece when you head off to third period. That's a Politics class, which you share with Abi, but none of the other goons are in there. She looks up with an alarmed expression as you come in, and beckons you over. "What the hell did you do to set Vee off?" she hisses as you settle into the desk behind her. "She thinks you're—" Her eyes dart about. "Not yourself." "I freaked out around her in Chemistry, okay?" you confess. "You know how creepy she is. And she had me tied up in a storm drain for a whole day and night, telling me all the horrible shit she was going to do to me!" "Well, she thinks you're not yourself!" she repeats. "How'd you hear about this? Did she come find you?" "Yes, she ran into me and Chris while looking for Todd." Fuck! "Did she find him?" "I dunno. We told her she was full of shit, but I don't think she believed us. I don't know what Todd'll do when she tells him." Your sphincter loosens. "Will," she says, and lays a hand on your arm. "Do you think you can keep bluffing them?" You lick your lips. You are assailed by sudden doubts. But you've already disarmed yourself. "I'm going to have to try," you tell her. You pull your arm away. "And don't call me 'Will'. That's how Vee bluffed me into giving myself away." * * * * * After third period is lunch. You have no appetite—you're feeling quite nauseated, actually—and you only pick at your food. The others at your table—a more or less random collection of sixth- and fifth-formers—are too wrapped up in their own talk to pay any attention to you. Surreptitiously you glance around, and notice that neither Abi nor Chris, nor Vee or Todd, are in the dining hall. You don't know whether to be relieved or terrified by their absence. You approach fourth period, Latin, on dragging feet. It's another class you share with Vee, and she glares blackly at you from the other side of the room as you enter. But Dr. Shutt maintains a seating chart, and you drop yourself into another row and affect to ignore her. When you can't maintain that pretense any longer, you return her a very long look and a shrug of bafflement at her manner. Her lip curls, and she turns away with an audible hiss. "You're not fooling anyone, Will," she mutters as she falls in beside you when class ends. "What the flip are you talking about?" you demand, and you have to fight to keep the quaver out of your voice. "You know what I'm talking about. And you're stuck in here with the rest of us. No exeats, remember?" Her dark eyes glitter. You have Abi for fifth period, and you are almost frantic with worry when you drop into the desk beside hers. "What's going on?" you ask. "Where were you guys at lunch?" "Chill, we were having a conference in my room," she says. "Just hang loose. Nothing's going to happen." "Vee's threatening me!" "She's just mad because none of the rest of us would go along with her." "Go along with her at what?" "At trying to tear your face off. She's paranoid, W— Mark. They all are. Except me and Chris. We're on your side." "You and Chris?" you gape. She smiles. "I don't know what you told him the other day," she says, "during the room sweep, I mean, when that mask turned up. But he thinks you're who you say you are." That should be a relief. But that nauseated feeling comes back. And you almost puke all over yourself when you return to your room for afternoon break to find Chris Fiore and Todd Baldwin both waiting for you there. * * * * * "Room search, Pederson," Baldwin says. "Open your foot locker." "The hell?" you demand. "You made a sweep yesterday!" "Just your room today," Baldwin says. "Open it." You roll your eyes, and kneel to open up the locker. You stand back with folded arms as Baldwin squats to paw through Pederson's stuff. You give Fiore a long, hard stare. He doesn't speak, though, until Todd looks up from his search with empty hands. "What's this about?" Chris asks, and holds up the sticky note you left on his pillow. "It's what it says," you retort. "I'm sick of you hiding your shit—your sick, pervy shit—in my things. Your flipping rubbers, your flipping bondage gear—" He flushes. "What bondage gear?" "That flipping mask! I open up my locker this morning, and I find it—I find two of them—in there! Keep 'em under your fl— Under your fucking pillow, douchebag! Not in my—!" Your voice dies in your throat as a sinister figure appears in the doorway: Davina Macklin. So much for no one going along with her plans, you think with a sinking heart. "What kind of masks?" Todd asks. "Gimp gear?" "I don't know, I'm not into—! It was two masks, blue, like the kind hanging over the stage in the theater. You know, Grecian tragedy masks, or whatever. And a book," you add, figuring that you might as well go all in. You jab a finger at Fiore. "You keep your fucking rubbers out of my shit, man, and keep the rest of your f—" "Where is this stuff now?" Baldwin asks. He turns a hard stare on Chris, who has paled and is looking at you in astonishment. "I asked you a question," he repeats, turning to you when you don't answer. "Where is this 'stash' where you keep contraband?" You hesitate under Baldwin's glower, then break down. "I gave it to Drewlin, during morning break. I wanted to teach you a fucking lesson!" you yell at Chris. Then you cast a quick glance at Vee before rounding on him again. "And you wanna know how fucking sick it made me, carrying around your sick, pervy shit in my pack all morning? Just fucking thank me, you douche, for not hauling it out and showing it to Vee in Chemistry, and telling her all about what kind of kink you're into!" Pale, astonished looks are exchanged among the other three. Then they charge out into the hall, Vee the last to follow. You are shaking hard as you sink back against the window sill. But you leap back to your feet when Baldwin returns to summon you to follow. He leads you to the door to Jacob's room, where Vee and Chris are waiting with nervous expressions. Todd bangs on the door with the side of his fist. "Open up, Drewlin!" he barks. "This is unofficial business, but I can make it official by getting Reeves!" Your eyebrow goes up. Threatening a student with Dalton Reeves ought to be against the Geneva Conventions. Baldwin turns to you. "Get him to open up," he says. "Jacob!" you call through the door. "You in? It's me, Mark. I just want to get that stuff back I gave to you this morning. Jacob?" There's no reply. "Maybe he's not in," you tell Baldwin. But even as you speak, the latch scratches, and the door opens a crack. "Jacob's not here," says the figure who peeps out at you. Baldwin sighs—it's more like a bark—and shoves the door open. He barrels inside, then freezes. "The fuck is going on in here?" he says. "Who are you?" Your heart falls. You sidle up behind Todd and peek around his shoulder. The occupant of the room has fallen back and is cowering against the blonde computer desk. He wears the uniform of a Mutant, but the unkempt hair doesn't meet code. Nor does the unshaven chin. As for the dark, rabbity eyes that peer up at you in terror— As nauseated as you, Mark Pederson, feel ... judging by his expression, Will Prescott must feel a hundred times worse. Next: "Joining the Club" |
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