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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "One Body, Two Brains"  "So which of us gets to be Chen?" Caleb asks. "You can't be serious," you exclaim. "Not about putting Chen under your mask, taking over your life, are you?" "Give me a little credit! No, we put Chen under Dane's mask, but I step in for Chen. You can, you know—" He turns shy. "Do like you were doing last night." "I thought you didn't like that last night. You seemed really creeped out." "No, I didn't like that, but what I hate even more is the way you keep getting us into deeper trouble every time we make one of these changes." You're so insulted you can't even reply, so he just keeps talking. "Look, Chen is really bad news," he says. "If you couldn't handle Dane—" You shove him in the chest. "Fuck you! You think you could do a better job of it than me? In what fucking universe? Anyway, this time is gonna be different, I'll have Chen's brain in there with me, I won't have any surprises to deal with. That's how come I fucked up as Dane, 'cos I didn't know he was in business with fucking Fin Fang Foom!" Caleb looks pissed, but he relents. And maybe he's a little relieved as well, for quickly falls into accord as you plot out how to catch Chen. * * * * * You grin widely as Chen gets out of his Jeep. "Hey! You made it!" "Of course I made it, you fucking lunatic," he says, and slams his door hard. He advances on you menacingly. "So where's the shit?" You're up at Westside, so you point toward the nearby gym. "Back at the portables. Don't be mad at me." You try putting your arm in his. Bad move: Chen swings at your face. "Ow! Don't be so—" He grabs a fistful of your hair and hauls you close. "You take me to the fucking stash, and if it's there, and if it's all there—" His voice dissolves into a strangled choke, and he twists your hair until your scalp screams. "If this isn't another colossal fuck up, Matthias, then maybe I'll only twist your arm off and shove it up your ass. Shove it up so far you'll be able to blow a guy and give him a hand job at the same time. You got that, you dumb-ass shit?" "Yeah, yeah, it's all cool!" You get to your feet, and now you keep your distance from him as you lead him across the deserted campus toward the creaky old portables. You and Caleb have chosen the usual portable as your trap: you've had good luck catching people there, even if you've had only bad luck with them afterward. With exaggerated caution—extreme tiptoeing and shushing—you push open the door of the one you chose, and gesture Chen inside. "So where'd you put the stuff that you can't get to it?" he asks. "Up there." You point to a ventilation duct in the wall just under the ceiling, hanging partially off its one remaining screw: It took you and Caleb nearly ten minutes to spot the duct as a possible "hiding place," and another five minutes to get it loose. Chen's eyes narrow as he turns on you. "No fucking way you got it in there. It's too small." "You'd think so," you giggle. "But I did, I shit you not!" "So why can't you get it back out? Is it stuck?" "I guess, kind of. And it's way deep inside." "Fine." He pulls the old teacher's desk over so he can stand on it. "What are you doing," he asks at the sound of you pulling a drawer open. "Oh, just looking for shit, in case someone left something." Someone did: a blank mask with a blank brain band attached to its inner surface. You make loud rummaging noises with one hand as you silently pull the mask out with the other. You whisk it under your shirt, lest Chen catch a glimpse of it. But he's too busy fiddling with the duct. He rips the ventilator cover away and sticks a hand in. He discovers—as you did—that it's very shallow. "The fuck? There's nothing—" "No, you have feel around, go up," you tell him helpfully as you climb onto the desk behind him. "Here, lemme show you." You thrust an arm over his shoulder— —and around his head to press the mask into his face. Chen jerks back, then sags against you. The sudden onslaught of his full weight almost knocks you off the desk, but you catch him and yourself just in time, and sag with him onto the desk. You disentangle your limbs from his, and leap for the door. "Caleb!" you call, and your friend dashes in from the portable opposite. Chen isn't a big guy—he's about your height—but he's strong without being bulky or sculpted. Getting him undressed is a bit of a production, for he's wearing a dark-green, heavy canvas jacket over his red t-shirt; dark denim trousers; and combat-style boots. You whisk away the gray ski cap he's got pulled low over his forehead and are about to tackle the jacket when Caleb waves you off. "Just get out of Dane's things," he hisses. "Don't you need my help?" "Yeah, but first things first. I won't let you sleep." So you quickly strip yourself of Dane's loose gear, lay in the filthy floor, and grab your face. * * * * * You come out of your swoon slapping hard at Caleb: to rouse you, he's covered your mouth and pinched your nose shut. Effective, but it leaves your brain feeling like it's been stuffed with dry leaves and set on fire. You ache all over as you rush over to help get Chen undressed. It turns out you didn't have to rush too hard. The mask is still copying Chen by the time you've got him completely disrobed and into Dane's clothes. He never wakes or stirs, even when you accidentally drop his head hard onto the desk. Once you've got Chen changed, you get yourself into his clothes. There's a rough, grimy feel to them. They don't seem to be dirty—not overly much—and there's no smell off them. But they're not the kind of clothes you'd wear, and they're associated with someone you are very much not like. You feel like you're playing a very unconvincing game of "dress up" as you tighten the laces on the boots and wrap yourself in the jacket; you feel lost in them. You pull the ski cap down around your ears, tuck your hair into it, and turn to Caleb. "How do I look?" "Like a sad little douchebag wannabe. Go wait in his car, I'll be along with his mask when it's done." "Don't you want me here to help?" "I don't wanna be seen with you while you're looking like that. I'm not sure I wanna be seen with you after you've got Chen's mask on, either," he adds in a grumble. Chen drives a battered red Jeep with a fabric top and doors. The interior of the cab isn't much different from the interior of your old truck, with the floorboards on the passenger side being buried in papers and old fast-food sacks. You may be dressed like Chen, but you don't look like him yet, and it would never do if someone spotted you sitting behind his wheel. It wouldn't do for them to spot you dressed like this out in the open, either. You try compromising by sitting in the passenger side, but even that leaves you feeling exposed, and you slouch down as far as you can, then lay on your side so that you'll be entirely invisible to casual passers-by. The time passes uncomfortably, but it's only a few minutes before there's a scratching at the fabric of the door, and you sit up as Caleb opens it. His look of surprise changes to a sneer of exasperation. "And you're going to take over for Chen," he snorts. "I'll believe it when I see it." He hands you a mask. "Look, you don't want to piss me off, not if I'm going to be wearing this mask," you retort. You turn it over to look at its inner surface. Your jaw drops a little. "Yeah, check it out, Chinese characters and shit," Caleb says. "Gimme the keys, I'll drive." "Can't I drive? It's gonna be—" "I wanna be far away when Chen wakes up," Caleb says. "Gimme. We'll finish up back to the clubhouse." As he puts the car in motion, you open up the plastic tub filled with the sealing goop, and with a brush that shakes from the movement of the car you paint its interior. You move fast, and the Jeep is still on the street when you're able to wriggle down firmly into the seat and raise the mask with both hands to your face. The blue flames of the Chinese characters dance and burn and blur as they rise to meet you. Next: "The Coming of Gary Chen" |
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