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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Piled Higher and Deeper"  You don't actually need a cigarette, not badly, so you hunch back over the sigil. "We were talking about Kelsey. What's everyone in the group saying about her and Hennepin?" "Nothing," Caleb says after another long pause. "I think everyone is watching, and everyone is kind of embarrassed. Kelsey thinks it's a secret, but everyone in her group knows about it." He falls silent again. "So Chen knows about it, huh? I didn't think he'd be interested." "He's not. Actually, what I wanna know— Hey, write me down a list of all the guys who show up to Kelsey's pot parties." "How come?" "Just curious. Also, how did Gardinhire get hooked up with Trantham?" You're concentrating on finishing up the last few squiggles in the sigil, so you don't immediately notice Caleb's silence. You look up to find him regarding you thoughtfully. "Nothing," he says when you ask him what he's looking at. "But Trantham, he heard from someone about Kelsey's parties, that I— That Gardinhire was in charge of buying for them. He went to Gardinhire, said that his own guy had been busted and he needed a new supplier. He asked where Gardinhire was getting his stuff. I— He said he could take care of it for Trantham, get him the stuff and pass it along. So he went to Chen and added a bunch to his order. Started getting a serious discount 'cos he was buying so much in bulk." "Yeah, I know. Fucker. Do Kelsey and them know that Gardinhire is also selling stuff into Eastman?" "I don't think so. He hasn't told them, and no one's said anything to him." "It would be fun if they found out," you grin. Silence for a little longer. Then: "Are you seriously thinking about fucking these people up when we let them back out again?" "I don't know what I'm thinking," you confess. "I guess we'll see when we get there." You straighten up from your work. "And I guess we can get started on that now." Together, you spend almost thirty minutes at it. You clear out a wide, open space on the concrete floor and get as much flammable stuff away from the spot as possible. You lay the copied sigil on the ground and—one bag at a time—cover it over with four hundred pounds of cemetery dirt. You douse the pile with chemicals and liquids. "We got hair like it asks for," you ask Caleb. "Whose? Yours or Gardinhire's?" "Mine." "Good, I don't want his shit mixed up in this." Caleb takes out a match while you stand by with the armed fire extinguisher. You look at each other. And look at each other. "Well, come on, fucker, do it," you exclaim. With a hand that is visibly trembling, Caleb strikes the match. It hisses and flares into life. Gingerly, he stands over the pile and drops it. Almost simultaneously he flings himself backwards. You're no chickenshit, and stand your ground. So when a massive, purple bloom of flame explodes off the pile, you get it full in the face. * * * * * "Jesus, man, are you okay?" Martin Gardinhire seizes you by the shoulders and stares into your eyes. He and the rest of the world seems to be enveloped by a sickly ochre haze. You blink. "Yeah, I guess I— Fuck!" You jump backwards and try batting out the flames that envelop your body. You are on fire, aren't you? No, you seem to be fine. You look over at the pile of earth. It's being licked by violet flames. "What happened?" "You got a face full of that crap," says Caleb. "Big ass mushroom cloud came off it." He peers closely at you. "Doesn't look like it burned you or anything." You push past him toward the burning earth. There is no heat. You even stick your hand into one of the petal-like flames. Nothing. "Fuck, this ain't gonna burn the place down or anything," you say. "Is it supposed to be this cool? I mean, naturally?" "Not with the shit we were pouring on it." Caleb puts his own hand into the flame. "Yeah, this is—" "Booyah, this is real magic," you exclaim. "Gotta be that sigil, man. I toldja—" "Yeah yeah," says Caleb, but he still looks worried. "You think it's safe to leave it?" "We can't babysit it. I can't spend the night here and neither can you, I bet. Not unless we find some poor fucker to hang Gardinhire's mask on so you can hide out—" "I'm not getting into the kind of trouble you got into," he says firmly, and picks up the grimoire and studies the spell again. "Right. We gotta relight the thing if it goes out, until it doesn't light up anymore. I wonder how long this is gonna take." "You can keep an eye on it. I gotta get home for dinner." "So do I." You look at each other. "We can't just leave this thing," Caleb says. "What if it turns nasty, starts burning stuff?" "Then we keep our fucking mouths shut and pretend we were never here." You look around. "We should clear all our shit out first." It takes you longer than you'd like to gather it all together, and a lot of it is unlabeled. There are powders and liquids and mirrors and tools; things for making masks and brain bands and sealants and glues; raw materials and half-completed materials and things that are used to make other things and a few completed items, like a plastic tub of sealant and another of glue and a few brain bands. You and Caleb gradually get it all organized. And something nags at you until you finally remember it. You snap your fingers at him. "Where's that mask of Chelsea?" He doesn't reply, but bends his head to study the contents of a sack more closely. You ask him again. "Chelsea? Oh. It's out in my car. Gardinhire's car, I mean." "What's it doing there?" "I was moving it," he says in a voice that's almost inaudible. "You know, I couldn't leave it at, uh, at my house for Gardinhire to find." "The fuck was it doing at your house?" His lips compress and disappear, and he avoids your eye. The penny drops. "You were getting in and out of— Oh, fuck me!" You explode with laughter. "You were putting on her mask every night and fingering her pussy, weren't you?" He turns so red so fast it's like watching a cuttlefish in action. "Oh, Jesus, that's awesome," you gasp. "I wish I could do that! No wonder you didn't wanna get into Gardinhire's mask." "That has nothing to do with it," he sputters. "Not being Gardinhire, that's a totally—" "You're not taking it home with you now, are you?" "Why not?" "Christ, man, what if you get caught?" "I'm not gonna get caught, I'll do it in a locked bathroom like I was doing at—" "Were you taking bubble baths as her?" you ask with a grin. His face is almost black. "You can take it home too if you want, Prescott, if you think it's so funny and so awesome." "No, I can't, really, though I'd love to. I don't got the same expectation of privacy." You whoop a little more, then draw up close to him. "If you wanna put it on for me, though, lemme sample summa what Black's been—" He shoves you away, and you hoot and holler and stomp around the basement. "Oh, fuck me," you gasp when you're exhausted. "But you won't. I'll go get it. We should keep it safe with the other shit. But stay out of it, man." You run up the steps and out the basement door. You've just time to see a blur behind you when you hear a hoarse voice: "There, grab him!" You turn, and your vision fills with something big and burly barreling down on you. * * * * * He doesn't know what to do with his arms and hands, but it doesn't matter. He's too strong for you anyway, and he's got you pinned pretty hard. You can scuff at the ground, and you can grimace hard, but the guy with Gordon Black's body is not going to let you go. That would be bad enough, but Gordon keeps giggling and exclaiming, "This is so freaky!" "Shut it, Matthias." That hoarse voice sounds to the side, from a guy who looks like Dane Matthias. He's got his arms around someone who looks like Martin Gardinhire. And then there's the fifth of the bunch: Caleb Johansson, looking like he wants to throw up, sways on his feet in front of you. "Hit him, ya' fuckin' pussy," Dane yells. "Kick him in the balls. You gotta make 'im hurt." "Hey, fuck you, Matthias," you shout back. "I get outta this, me and your cousin—" "This wasn't my idea," Gordon protests. "I wasn't talking to you, Black!" you snarl. Voices rise and overlap. Then Johansson punches you in the stomach. Talk about sad. It makes you go "Oof", but that's about all. "Ah, Christ," Dane says. "You'll never— If you can't fuck a guy over better than that— Get over here and do it on this guy. You can break him at least." Johansson turns even whiter. "I can't," he croaks as he stares in bug-eyed horror at Gardinhire. "It's too weird! I mean, that's— That's me." "Which is why you wanna fuck him over," says Dane. "So get over here and—" "Oh, man," Gordon gasps. "How can you keep straight who's supposed to be who?" He giggles some more. Johansson totters over to Gardinhire. "Don't do this," the latter says. "Come on, Caleb, what are you doing hanging with these—?" At least your partner is trying to bluff the guy he trapped in his mask. It won't do any good, you suspect. You get confirmation when Johansson bends Gardinhire double with a blow to the solar plexus. Caleb is bound to give up the goods eventually. So why make him suffer? Shouldn't you just give up now and save him the pain? Next: "Dealing with a Devil" |
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