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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Stonerhenge"  Jamie Rennerhoff isn't a "stoner," and he isn't anywhere near the top of the list of people you wouldn't mind fucking with or fucking up. But he is on it. He may be a beta-class scum-sucker, but he's still a scum-sucker. This is going to be tricky, you think as you unzip your pack and close trembling fingers around the mask. You have no idea what will happen if Jamie puts it on. "So I got this thing here," you tell him as you pull the mask free. "I, uh, found it in, uh— And I was going to, you know, show it around to people, maybe Justin or—" You blush at your stammering idiocy, and almost change your mind. But Rennerhoff is already grinning at you expectantly. "It's, like, a mask," you lamely conclude. His nostrils flare and his grin widens. Jump him, you tell yourself. Lunge at him. Get it on him before— "Lemme see." Rennerhoff darts his hand out and snatches the mask away before you can react. "Cool," he declares as he turns it over and studies it. "Where'd you find it at?" You gape. The last thing you were expecting was for him to just grab it away from you. "A ...uh ... thrift shop, or like that?" you stammer. "It needs eye holes." He points. "See?" "Uh ... Yeah. I guess you could probably punch some into it." "You know how to do that?" You blink. This is definitely not going the way you anticipated. "Well ... no." "I could do it," Jamie declares, and taps one of the eyelids. "This stuff it's made of— What's it made of?" "I don't know. But I don't want to fuck it up by—" "I'm not gonna fuck it up!" Rennerhoff's grin flips over into a frown. "Tell you what, I'll buy it from you." You almost fall over. "What?" "Sure! How much you pay for it?" Your jaw falls open. "I— I'm not—" But Jamie is already digging a long hand into his front pocket. But before you can tell him it's not for sale at any price, a thick voice sounds behind you. "Hur!" You look around, and flop sweat pops onto your forehead. It's Jeff Spencer. There are worse guys at school to run into, but there's something specially terrifying about Spencer. He's a special-ed case, for a start. Or, at least, that's the impression he gives. His eyes are dull and his jaw slack in a way that makes you expect a long, viscous stream of spit to about to come drooling out at any moment from behind his fat, chapped lower lip. And there must be something wrong with him genetically, for even though he can't be more than eighteen, his close-shorn blonde hair is already receding fast from his forehead. Garbage DNA, you can't help thinking. He's glaring dully as he trudges up to you and Rennerhoff. "Watcha doon?" he mumbles. "Nothing," Rennerhoff replies with a light whinny. "Just hanging out. Justin was here a minute ago, but he left." Spencer's filmy eyes swivel in your direction. "Where's Call?" "At work?" Rennerhoff says. "Fuck." Spencer's glare deepens. "Said he was gonna meet me here." Shit! It's sometimes possible to reason with the Molester; there's barely any reasoning with Spencer; but from what you've seen there is no reasoning with Joshua Call. "Well, I need to get home," you say with a pretended yawn. "Me too," Rennerhoff says, and slings his backpack onto his shoulder. But Spencer grabs your shoulder with a meaty hand. "Got a cigarette?" he demands, and his breath, foul with tuna fish, washes over you. "Uh, I don't— G'uh!" Spencer shoves you against the side of a portable and jams his fingers into one of your front pockets, to grope and fiddle and feel. You almost do a standing high jump onto the roof. With a grunt he brushes you aside, and stoops to pick up your backpack. He turns it over and dumps your books and papers all over over the ground, then kneels to paw through the mess and batter your bag inside and out. "Fuck," he concludes, then hurls it away, and stalks off with a furrowed brow. Not until he's gone do you drop to the ground and start shoving your things back into your bag. You don't dare look up, and only when you've zipped the bag and stood again on trembling legs do you discover you are alone. Spencer has gone, but so has Rennerhoff. And not until you're home and recovering with a day-old donut up in your bedroom do you realize that the mask you so painstakingly made is not in your bag. * * * * * Naturally, you're damn sure that Rennerhoff ran off with it while Spencer mauling you and your shit. But what has he done with it? That's the question that keeps you awake most of the night. He finds you the next morning, at the start of third period. He's loitering inside the door of Mr. Peters's classroom, and his eyes pop when he sees you. That Joker-like grin splits his face. "Hey man!" he calls out. "So how'd you make out with Jeff yesterday?" He puts his fist out for a bump. "Um, he asked me for a cigarette," you reply as you awkwardly return the gesture. "Yeah?" "Then he dumped my shit all over the ground when I didn't have one." Rennerhoff cackles unsympathetically. "What lunch you got?" "Fifth?" "I got fourth. Aw, fuck it." His grin widens. "Meet me out next to the Music building, your lunch period. I wanna ask you about something." * * * * * He doesn't have to say what it's about, and you don't have to ask. When fifth period comes you half-run, half-lurch out to the Music Annex. Rennerhoff is pacing by the front corner when you arrive. He chucks his chin at you as you run up, then squats next to his backpack. You join him as he unzips it. "So I accidentally ran off with your thingamabobby yesterday," he says. "Sorry to leave in in the lurch like that, but it's no fun being with Jeff when it's just you and him, you know? Anyway, like I said, I wanted to buy it off you," he continues as he pulls the mask out. "So I wanna ask you about it. Like, where you got it." "It's not for sale," you tell him. "Just tell me where you found it." "At a shop." "Where? Because," he continues when you don't answer, "I took it home and was goofing off with it, and something really weird happened." The hairs go up on your neck. "Yeah? What?" "Well, look at it." He thrusts the mask at you. You take and examine it. It looks like it did yesterday, and you're about to ask what the deal is when you freeze. There's an odd kind of reflection inside it; the light glinting off it has formed something that looks like an image. Your jaw falls open a little when you recognize it. It's an image of Jamie Rennerhoff. "So where'd you get this thing?" he asks. Next: "The Start of an Unlikely Partnership" |
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