The Book of Masks (Vol. 3)

Twenty Questions (At Least)

Previously: "The Eavesdropper" 

"Motherfucker!" Joe howls. "Son of a bitch!" He seizes your throat with strong, meaty hands."God da—!"

"Joe!" The shout is like a peal of thunder, and even as you writhe inside Joe's grasp you are jerked off your feet as though yanked by a rope. Joe grabs and throws you to the floor. He pushes your face into the carpet and sits on you.

"Son of a bitch!" he seethes. "The fuck? What the fucking fuck?"

"That's enough, Joe."

"He was standing right—! Ulp!"

Joe's weight vanishes from your shoulders. But before you can lift your face, you are seized by the back of your shirt and hauled up. Frank lifts you by your belt buckle, as easily as though you were a bag of feathers, and smashes you against a wall, pinning you in midair with your feet dangling and kicking. His expression, though dark, shows no anger, only confusion and puzzlement. "Who are you?" he demands.

"He's that pissant who was hanging out with the girl!" Joe shouts. "And he was standing right—! Watch it, Frank! He was fucking invisible!" Joe lifts his hand, and a brilliant globe of blistering bright light, like a miniature sun, blazes forth from his palm. "You just try something, motherfucker!" he hisses at you, "and I will burn you where you stand!"

"Calm down, Joe," Frank says, but his coal-black eyes glitter, and he doesn't take them off you. "Alright, what's your story? Spit it out and make it fast."

"He was spying on us, Frank!" Joe hollers "That's his story, and I'll bet—!" He dances in place like he has a hot-foot, balancing that fiery globe in his hand.

"Check the rest of the house," Frank says. Joe gives a curt nod, and vanishes.

Literally. There's a bright blur in the air, and then he's gone. But only a couple of fast heartbeats later, he's back. "Seems secure," he says. But still he glances around with a sharp, watchful expression.

"Okay, kid," Frank growls at you, and he tightens his grip on your belt. "You got a name?"

You've been too terrified to think properly, let alone cry out. But you manage to stammer out your name. "W-w-will! P-pres-s-s-c't!"

"And how long have you been hanging out in here with us?"

You dart a quick glance at the front door, which is hanging open. Do you risk pretending that you had just now sneaked in?

Frank shakes you like a doll. "I'm losing my patience, Will Prescott," he says. "And when I lose my patience—"

"I c-came looking for h-him!" You jerk your chin at Joe. His eyes blaze even more brightly. "And I c-came inside—"

"When?"

"Earlier?"

"While we were gone?" His frown deepens when you nod. "Doors were locked."

"The back door was open. And I was, uh—"

Frank's gaze turns very, very cold.

"I'm going to ask you one question," he says. "And you'd better answer it fast and you'd better answer it true. If you were here when we got back, how come we didn't notice you until just now?"

He releases you and steps back two paces. But you remained pinned to the wall, suspended halfway to the ceiling. It's like an immense, invisible hand is holding you up and pushing you against the wall.

* * * * *

But you don't know the answer to his question. You can only plead that you were standing right inside the doorway when they came in, and that they almost ran you down without seeing you. And how is that your fault?

Frank listens with a brutal and obvious disbelief. Joe seethes. "Lemme burn him, Frank," he says. "He's a witch! He's been playing stupid with me, but he's in it with her! Their whole story stinks now, and—"

"He'd better come up with a new one," Frank agrees. "Well?" he says to you. "How about it?"

"I told you the truth!" you howl. "We told you the truth! I—! I don't—! That stuff is Sydney's!" You point a shaking finger at the instruments that are strewn on the table. "I don't know about any of it, I don't understand it! She—!"

"She sent you out here?"

"N-no! It was my idea!"

"It's too bad you said that, Will Prescott." Frank's temper is clearly heating up. "Because if you said that she sent you, I might believe you. I might believe that you don't know how you made yourself invisible. So you wanna try again?" The invisible claws that have fastened you to the wall seem to tighten around you.

"She didn't send me!" you insist. "And I don't know how—! Mmmfphggg!" Another invisible hand welds your jaw shut.

Frank looks back at Joe. "You wanna take over the interrogation?"

"You mean do it my way?" Joe shakes his head. "Too late. He's too scared."

"You hear that?" Frank turns back to you. "When my brother conducts an interrogation, it is very soft and very easy. But when I'm asking the questions—" That hand squeezes your head until you feel you're about to pass out. "It hurts you a lot more than it hurts me when you tell a lie."

The grip relaxes, enough so you can open your mouth. "I'm not lying!" you pant. "I really don't know—"

"You know how to use those things?" Frank points to the instruments.

You hate the way your eyes are darting. "Sydney showed me a little. But she just showed me how to look through them! And how to find—! I don't know how they work, though!"

Frank growls. "You don't know any more—" He rolls the word around in his mouth before uttering it. "Magic?"

"No! I—!"

But then you freeze. The book and the masks and the thing you're making in the basement. You do know more magic than just what they're asking you about.

Frank has caught your hesitation, and that iron fist closes about your face again. "What?" he says. "What else do you—?"

"A book!" you mumble. Your jaw in pinched almost closed. "It's how Sydney and me met! I found a book in the bookstore, and it had some spell type stuff in it, and we—"

"What kind of spells?"

"Uh—"

"Real spells?" Joe asks. "Real damned, black, twisted, evil, ungodly stuff?"

"Uh ... I guess?"

"Is it at your house?"

"Yes. No! It's at—"

"Tell us where it is so we can go get it."

You writhe, unwilling to give up your treasure. But you can't hold out for more than three seconds. "It's in the basement of the old school! Near where I live!"

"Address?"

"The Acheson Community Center."

"Then let's go get it." Frank glances at Joe and says a word you can't recognize. Joe nods, and sprints from the room. When he returns, he's got a bag, made of a supple, silvery material, like silk. You fall off the wall to your knees. You raise your head just in time to see him open the bag and shove it over your head.

* * * * *

You see, hear, feel, and know nothing until you wake again with a snort and a start. It's dark and you have no idea where you are until a hard hand seizes you by the back of the neck and drags you to one side. You fall off a high place onto your hands and knees, then are hauled to your feet. When you look around, you find yourself standing next to the open door of a truck.

It's parked on grass next to a wall, and it takes you a moment to recognize the Acheson Community Center. Strong fingers close on the back of your neck. "Where's this basement?" a hard voice mutters in your ear.

You shudder all over, and fight the urge to retch. "Over this way," you stammer, and on staggering steps lead Frank—and Joe, who materializes by your side—to the black pit where the short flight of steps leads down to the basement door. "Uh, it's locked—"

"Got the key?"

"My pocket," you mutter. You reach for it, but your hand is forced aside and another's hand plunges in to feel for your keys. A soft light comes on—a glow from Joe's hand, like the blazing ball he threatened you with before, but softer and paler—and by its glow you are forced down the steps. Joe takes the lock off and opens the door. He steps inside.

"Any surprises or traps down there?" Frank asks. You shake your head. "Recon, Joe."

"Already on it," Joe says, but doesn't move from his spot just inside the door. "Whew! Lotta junk. So what shelf do you keep that book of yours on?"

"It's— I'd have to show you."

"Where?"

You squirm. "I've got a project going, and it's— There should a fire going. A purple fire."

"Ain't no purple fire down here," Joe says. Frank's grip on your neck tightens.

"Under the windows. On a big table. It—"

"Okay, I think I found it, but there's no fire. Just a big old lump of— Stuff."

You blink. This is bewildering. How could Joe have "found it" when he's still standing at the top of the stairs?

"Don't stop to try to think, Will Prescott," Frank warns you. "Just tell Joe where this 'fire' supposedly is."

"I guess it's gone out," you gabble. "It does that, then you have to relight it. It was a pile of dirt when I started it, I don't know what—"

"Okay, so you're forging something," Joe says. "Where's the book?"

"Under the dirt."

Joe sucks in his cheeks, and gives you a sidelong look. Then with a heavy tread he descends the steps.

Frank pushes you inside and watches as Joe, still balancing that globe of light in the palm of his hand, threads his way into the bowels of the basement. At about the spot where you set up the spell, he bends and feels around, then pulls something loose. He sets it on a flat surface and bends to examine it. He freezes, then looks up with a bright but serious expression.

"Paydirt, Frank," he says. "It's the Personae."

"You are in such deep shit, Will Prescott," Frank says.

Next: "Bad Cop, Worse Cop" 

*
"Table of Contents (Vol. 3)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 3)"