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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Taking Care of Business"  Chelsea nibbles on some fries while you tear chunks of juicy brisket out of a sandwich. "You doing any better at the character stuff?" you ask. "When it matters," she says. "You're right, it's like the longer you do it, the more of a habit it is. I still have to remind myself, though—" Her cell phone chirps; She looks at it, and stabs it with a finger. Not very dainty, you reflect. Is that how Chelsea does it, or how Chen does it? Then you wonder what tiny little things of Chen's you've managed to miss. "How about Matthias?" you ask. "Which one?" "Either." "I haven't seen the one who looks like Matthias. Have you?" You shrug. "What about the other one?" She sighs, says nothing, then leans forward to talk quietly and urgently. "You know what sucks, what fucking blows about being here? All these fucking cunts just waiting for me to fuck up." She scoots forward, puts her chin in her hand, to speak in a quiet murmur. "I'm the fucking head cheerleader, right? I sure as fuck had better be dating the head of the basketball squad, you know? 'Cos the way everyone around here feels about the squad—" You remember the threats Kirkham levied against Jonas Martin and Luke Bennett yesterday. "I mean, we're talking huge fucking prestige. So when the captain of the squad throws it all away, turns himself into a—" She snorts. "I dunno. Maybe it's this cunt's instincts running all over me. I mean, I could give a shit. But it crawls all over me, knowing what they're thinking. I oughta be able to keep him in line. Look at me, look at this fucking body, this perfect body to fuck. If I can't make him shape up, if I can't whip him back into line, what does that say about my desirability?" "You're pretty fucking desirable, dude. I'd throw you down on this table right now—" She flips you off. "Isn't there something you can do about Matthias?" she asks. "Something to give him so he can do Black's stuff on the court? 'Cos that's what he told me, that he can't do any of that shit, can't even dribble a—" "All that stuff's on the inside somewhere. He's just got the looks." "Can't you give him implants?" "It's complicated," you lie. "I don't know." "What about undoing and doing it again, to give him a full package?" "It's complicated. I'd have to figure something out. By the way, should we be seen in public together?" She looks around, and catches sight of what you've glimpsed: Half a dozen tallish guys standing at the register. Most of them are in letterman jackets, the imperial purple and emerald green of Westside's crosstown rivals, Eastman High. "I don't think they know who I am," she says, but pulls the ski cap down to her eyebrows and puts her chin back in her hand. "But what can you do about—?" "I don't know. I'd have to think about it. What can you do about it?" She buries her face in her hands, ignores another ping from her cell. "I can't let my boyfriend go wandering off," she says. "He's hanging out with Hennepin and them, you know. That's something you could do, you could scare him off of guys who are giving him—" "I don't think I can scare off Gordon Black from anything he wants to do." "Sure you can, he's not Black. He's got the parts, but he doesn't know what to do with them." "He doesn't?" You grin. "Is that something you've found out, him not knowing what to do with his parts when Chelsea— Aigh!" You pull your foot back and nurse the spot where she kicked you. "There's no use me talking to him. You gotta be thinking about what Chelsea would do." She finishes your fries, and you finish your sandwich during the long silence that ensues. "You want some gossip about Chelsea?" she says at last. "I know you would, 'cos I know I would, but you keep your fucking mouth shut and don't make any stupid jokes about who I'm looking like, okay?" "I won't say 'em out loud." She glowers. "Alright. You know how we heard her giggling the other day, when we caught her up in the loft?" "Yeah. Oh, no way. They were doing it?" She raises a claw at your face. "No, did they have their fucking clothes off when we busted in on 'em? No, they were laughing because, God damn it, Chelsea was actually having fun with him." "I bet." "I mean," she says, turning red, "that she was actually liking the goofy Gordon Black more than the old one." "Well, Matthias is a lovable guy." "I guess. Gordon's got this power, you know, big guy, takes no shit, stomps on the plebes, and Chelsea gets off on that. But he's got these goddamned moods, hates to go out, hates to party, just sits around and makes faces at everyone. Chelsea likes to party, and I will rip your fucking balls off if you don't stop smirking." You adjust your expression. "But Matthias loves being with people, so suddenly Gordon loved being with people. So he was driving her crazy because he wasn't doing all the things she was telling him do, and he was fucking up the squad, and she was screaming at him over it, but all the time she was also digging the fact that he was finally fun to be with." She shudders all over. "He was cute all of a sudden." You suck thoughtfully on a tooth before speaking. "I gotta tell you, man, this isn't the kind of gossip I'm really into. I was hoping you were going to tell me about all the dyke sex Chelsea's been secretly having with Kendra." "Oh, Kendra!" She shudders again. "Never mind that. I guess, being where I am now, maybe I'm more interested in Chelsea's fucking moods than normal. Reason I told you, I guess, is because you asked what Chelsea would do." "You mean she might stick with the new Gordon, have fun with him even thought he's—" Chelsea's expression grows very pinched. "Or do you mean she'd break up with him? Is she that cold?" "Listen," she hisses. "I'm only telling you what Chelsea would do, not what I would do, or want to do. But this bitch wouldn't just dump him. She'd start going out with Patterson." You rear back with surprise. "You're fucking—" "Shh!" She pulls you forward. Her cell pings again, but still she ignores it. "Not one fucking word, Prescott. Not one smirk, or joke, or even a fucking thought." She pushes you back. "But she'd do it. To punish Black, to show everyone she's all about punishing people for fucking up the team, and to keep herself at the top, because Patterson's the new captain of the squad, and all the birds at school are perched and leaning forward, waiting to see if it sticks, if Black's gone for good. Then they'll all jump on Patterson—" Her eyes blaze. "Oh, that fucking beanpole's gonna have three helpings of pussy a day for the rest of the year. He's gonna audition every fucking cunny in the school and give every one of them a call back just to be sure his dick remembers them right. That's what all these calls are about—" She gestures at the cell. "Chelsea's gangbangers telling me who's been doing what and saying what, how they're jostling to the front of the line so they can be in position when the gun goes off. By Monday morning—" She makes a little noise in the back of her throat. It sounds like she's trying not to vomit. When she raises her face, she's gone very pale. "By Monday morning," she says, "I'm gonna have to decide if I'm gonna take Patterson off the market pre-emptively." * * * * * You can't say you really sympathize with Chen, but you understand where he finds himself. And you don't tease him about it: it's not a good idea to piss him off. In fact, you tell him you've got a present that will make him feel better. He stares suspiciously when you hand over the ornately wrapped gift box you'd prepared just before this meeting. He gasps girlishly, though, on opening it. "Where did you—?" "From Gardinhire, yesterday," you say. "That's this month's profit he made off the Westside trade. I told you I could take care of things." You don't mention the two-seventy you held back from his Eastman profits. "You've got other things to take care of," Chelsea says slyly, but smiles as she slips the box into a pocket. "But this is a nice gesture. I'd kiss you, but—" She glances at the Eastman crew. "Those guys might recognize me. They play for the Eastman squad." You glance over at them; it must be Chelsea's memories that recognize them, for their faces mean nothing to either brain inside your head. Bad luck for Eastman, though, you reflect; one of the guys has his arm in a sling. You leave soon afterward, and drive to the school to check on the fire; it's still burning. Your old house is nearby, and you find yourself thinking about Black. You could, actually, transfer Black's memories and abilities into Dane's mask; you just didn't want to tell Chen that, at least not right away. It would be complicated, for you'd have to get Black alone, and get your mask off him, and use a brain band on him. And as you think about it all, you find yourself wondering what's going on with him. He wasn't with Chen when he and Gardinhire and Matthias attacked you and Caleb. Of course, Chen didn't know at the time that "Will Prescott" was a fake. He knows that now, though. Does he care? Has he talked to Gordon? And if he has, what has Gordon said? Next: "Making New Made Men" |
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