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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Two Things Off Your Chest"  "I don't understand," you tell Laurent. "What—?" "The gear you loaned Garner last night," he says, pronouncing each word slowly and distinctly. "Loan it to us, along with your book. That way it's like you're along with us when we—" "I get that!" you exclaim. Then you look around, and lower your voice. It's lunchtime, and you're out at the creaky old portables that are rotting away behind the school. Lots of people like to hang out here, and the last thing you need is someone overhearing you talking about magic. "What I'm asking," you continue in a lower tone, "is what you're planning on doing? You say you want to do the next spell?" "Right. We picked up the stuff for it, me and the rest of the guys," Laurent says. "We, uh, bought it out of the money we owe you for the shit you made for us. So we're all ready to do it, and we want you along for when we do it. Oh, and we need the book back from you." Your rub your temples. It's like it isn't even your book or project any more. "What's the spell do?" you ask with a sigh. "I dunno. Don't you? We just copied down the ingredients, and—" "And I'm grounded." Laurent bites his lip, and it looks like he's trying to corral his temper. "I know that," he says with exaggerated patience. "That's why we're offering to cover for you, if you—" "If you cover for me," you interrupt, "does that come out of what you owe me? The two times you're going to cover for me for making that gear of Jessica's, would this count as one of the two times you'd cover for me?" Laurent sucks long and hard on a tooth, and his dark eyes bore into you. "Yes," he says at last. "It comes out of what I owe you." He's daring you to argue. Fucker is probably a hard-core poker player, and he's reading all your tells as your willpower crumples. "Then I'm not going out with you," you tell him. "I want you to cover for me for when I'm going out and having fun, not for doing work." Laurent makes a face. "I'll let you have my gear, if you think that'll be enough," you add. Laurent smiles, but it's a tight smile, and he looks disappointed. "That's great," he says. "That'll work." He claps you on the shoulder. "Pick it up now?" "After school," you tell him. "That way I can be a little bit late getting home." * * * * * You hand him over the book and your other magical gear when school lets out, and you give him a bit of a bonus, having snuck out during seventh period to recharge the metal strip with your most recent memories—that way whoever puts it on will at least know that you're kind of pissed off at them. Then you drive home. Your mother says nothing about your being ten minutes later than usual. The evening passes like any other, which is kind of depressing, since you'd hope to feel your grounding a bit harsher. Basically, it just reminds you that you don't go out and do all that much, so that the difference between being grounded and not being grounded is hard to spot. About the only difference is that your dad confiscates your cell phone and kills the wifi, so that you're not able to text anyone or get online. Speaking of your phone ... Laurent is waiting for you the next morning in the parking lot, and he calls you over. "Do you ever turn your phone on?" he asks. You roll your eyes and take your cell out. "My dad makes me turn it off at home because I'm grounded, and I keep forgetting to turn it back on." He grunts, and looks a little abashed. "Because, um, I really wanted to talk to you last night." Your heart freezes in place. "What happened?" "Oh, everything went off okay," he hurriedly explains. "I guess. Um, I brought your gear back. But your book—" "What? Happened?" you repeat through gritted teeth. "You didn't look at the spell yourself, did you?" he asks. "Well, it calls for a whole bunch of dirt. Uh, which Brownie and Ratfucker picked up the other night, when you were staying with me." His eyes dart furtively. "And we took all the shit up in the hills behind the Suffolk Wilderness, 'cos it wasn't the kind of thing we could do at any of our places." Now you really do begin to feel alarmed. "But, you know, the book always has you use those wheel-things to do the spells in, so we had to—" ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ "Fuck," Brownie sneers. "No way we can get all this shit into that itty-bitty circle!" "You wanna argue?" you retort. "You wanna fucking argue with me?" Brownie jumps forward to catch you by the neck. "Do you wanna try arguing?" he chortles as you writhe and twist in his one-handed grip. "You really wanna try arguing, you scrawny little—?" He shoves you away with a merry laugh. "But come on, seriously, how are we supposed to do this?" he asks. (But I wasn't there to answer, you remind yourself as you sink deeper into the memory. Even though I remember being there, and remember answering him, and I remember everything that we did out there in the Suffolk Wilderness. It's all so clear that even now—as you zone out in your seventh-period study hall with the memories that you discovered inside the memory strip when you put it to your forehead in the restroom—you can almost smell the zesty scent of earth, grass, and underbrush that hung about the crest of the hills, looking east toward Lake Covington under the vast, mirroring blue bowl of the sky. Except it wasn't me who was there with Brownie and Laurent. It was Chris Ratliff, he's the one who—) You throw the book onto the ground and flip to the last open page, the one with the spell you're trying to execute. "Just pile it on," you tell the guys. "I don't think it all has to be in there." "Why not?" "Because, you dumb fuck! Like you say, it can't all fit inside!" Brownie and Laurent exchange mirthful looks, and bust out laughing. "Oh, fuck you guys!" you shout as you feel your face burning. "Oh come on, man, don't take it personal." Laurent grabs you and puts you in a headlock. "And it's your own fault for trying to cut rocks with scissors." "Psht! I should just take this thing off, if you're not gonna listen to me." You grab at your face. "Now hold on!" Laurent grabs you by the wrist. "Think long and slow and careful there, man. What would Will say about how to do this?" You glare down at the pile of earth. It's rich and loamy, with flecks of grass. "Pile it on the book," you tell them. "It's the only way to do it." "And set it on fire?" Brownie asks. "And set it on fire." "Hold it." Laurent catches you by the neck again, and you cry out as he rips a hank of hair from your scalp. "This is the other thing we need you in the mask for." He shows you the hair, then bends over to push it into the dirt. "There." "Couldn't we have used yours?" Brownie asks. Laurent shrugs. "It's Will's book. Seems safest to use his hair. So come on. Grab a shovel." Over the next ten minutes, you and Brownie and Laurent (but mostly Brownie and Laurent) shovel dirt atop the book, then soak it in lots of flammable powders and liquids. They stick a fuse in it, and the three of you skedaddle behind a large boulder just off the trail. Laurent lights the fuse, and you all duck as the sputtering spark reaches the pile. When nothing happens, you cautiously look out to find the earthen heap swathed in ghostly blue flames. When you examine them, you find they give off no heat. "Must be magic," Laurent grunts. "Come on." "Hold it," you say, and flop onto the ground. "I wanna change before we head down." "Scared someone'll see you looking like that?" Brownie asks with a grin. "No, I just don't wanna get winded is all," you retort. You start pulling off the clothes that Laurent handed you when you woke inside this unfamiliar body, and when you're stripped to nothing you lay a hand across your forehead, squeeze your temples, and pull. * * * * * And that's how the book came to be buried under a pile of burning earth. You've no idea how long the fire will last. But Laurent and Brownie jog along that trail every morning before school, and they will check on it tomorrow. So at least it seems like the spell is going to work out. And best of all, you didn't have to hike up to the top of some steep hills in order to help. Just the false memory of it leaves you feeling wiped out! So why are you feeling moody and disquieted? It's because Laurent didn't warn you about the other memories that were waiting for you when put that memory strip to your forehead to see if you could get the false memories out of it. But then, maybe he didn't know that a copy of Will Prescott popped back into existence later that evening. He was parked at Potsdam Park, and after changing into running shorts and a t-shirt that were a better fit for his frame, he left his car behind and jogged a couple of blocks down to where the Garners live ... Next: "The Anonymous Benefactor" |
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