The Book of Masks (Abridged)

The Boy With Two Brains

FUCK IT, it's an excellent chance. You pull the band out and lean over him. He jerks a little as you put your hand to his forehead. Then he falls forward.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you wait, using the time to roll him over and knock the hardhat off. You hear the outside door open, and footsteps, and you hold your breath, wondering if this Jack person is going to materialize. But no one comes in. When the band reappears on Sean's forehead, you sweep it back into your pocket and bend down to slap lightly at his cheeks.

With a groan, he opens his eyes and sits up. "Dude, that sounded like it hurt," you say in a quaking voice.

"What happened?"

"You started to stand up again, and whang--" You tap the edge of the shelf. It rattles lightly. No way it would knock someone out.

He looks up at you suspiciously. "I thought--" He frowns, looks at the shelf, looks down at his hardhat, and blinks. "Huh."

You wince at the way he brushes you off as you try to help him to his feet. "Well, that's enough for today." He leads you back out, nodding briefly at Jack--who turns out to be a portly man in his fifties--and striding purposefully toward the front building. For the rest of the day Sean is very brusque, and most of the friendliness has drained from him.

* * * * *

Your dad is waiting for you at the front office, where he greets you with gruff cheer and asks about your day. You do your best to be enthusiastic, though you are rather daunted at having to talk in front of Sean and the receptionist. He then asks Sean about your first day; Mitchell says good things about you, but both his words and attitude are very muted.

Your dad accompanies you to your truck, and leans in at the window after you've gotten in. "Alright, what did you do?" he growls.

"Do? Nothing!" Your dad bores holes in your denial with his eyes. "What? It was just a first day. You think I screwed up already?"

"Mitchell didn't seem that pleased with you."

"That's just Mitchell," you retort, and twinge internally at the unfairness of what you said.

His eyebrows go up. "You know your supervisor that well already?"

"He's not my supervisor. Look at him. I go to school with him. He knows me."

"Oh, God," he groans.

"Dad! Just give me a chance! Jesus!"

"Watch your language. But keep your nose clean and your hands in your pockets when they're not asking you to use them."

"Okay!" You roll your eyes, and with a snort he turns away.

* * * * *

You finger the band in your pocket after he's gone, but the conclusion to your workday has left you feeling sour, and you want to get your mind off Mitchell, not crawl into his. You don't want to go home and you don't want to see Caleb either, so you go find Keith at his house. "How was your first day at Caleb's job?" he teases.

Fuck. "Shut up. It was lousy."

"Really? After that huge build up Johansson was giving it, I thought you'd see angels blowing trumpets overhead."

"Yeah, well, it's just manual labor. Oh, and you know Sean Mitchell? Get this, he works there, I'll be seeing him every day. Fuck."

His brow furrows. "Sean's a good guy."

"Yeah, but I think he's got a grudge against me now." You give him the airbrushed version of the accident in the warehouse. "He thinks I sucker punched him or something."

"Pfft. With your arms? You couldn't sucker punch a Girl Scout."

"Some of those girls are hard core," you retort, surprising even yourself with the screwball turn. "Like, I saw this twelve-year-old scout the other day, and she looked like a sumo wrestler who got hit with a shrink ray." That marks a permanent evolution in the conversation, and you feel much better by the end of it, good enough to broach the subject of Sean again. "You have Sean for any classes?"

"Yeah, Santiago, first period."

"Can you talk to him tomorrow, tell him I feel really bad about this first day and what happened?"

Keith's expression falls. "Don't you believe in talking to people yourself? You got Caleb trying to find out about Lisa--"

"That's another thing," you exclaim, snapping your fingers. "Chelsea Cooper was-- No, never mind. What were you saying?"

"Chelsea Cooper was what?" You shake your head, and he grips you by the shoulders. "Chelsea Cooper was what?! Naked? Touching herself? Kissing another cheerleader?"

"She was just at my locker the other day, made a smartass comment about me and Lisa."

"Chelsea Cooper talked to you?!"

"To insult me, yeah!"

"I'd let Chelsea Cooper cut off my left nut if she asked me herself."

"And she'd fry it and eat it," you snap. "It wasn't fun. But what were you saying?"

"I dunno," he shrugs.

"Well, will you talk to Sean for me tomorrow?"

"Oh yeah. No, I won't. Talk to him yourself and apologize if you're feeling so bad."

"I will. I just want you softening him up by asking what happened, tell him I was obsessing about screwing up with him. You know, call me a neurotic if you want. Bitch about me, the harder the better so he'll know I feel sincerely horrible about it."

"Do you? Do you feel sincerely horrible about it?"

"I don't give a shit. But it'll be easier working out there if he's not being a dick to me."

* * * * *

You stare in the mirror, and the reflection bores holes back at you. You let your eyes drift over your features: irregular, a little dopey. Stiff blonde hair that sticks out of from under your hat the way straw sticks out of a scarecrow. A nasty patch of zits erupting on your forehead. Your lips are chapped.

Slowly you look down and rub your arm. A thing of no muscle, but you push up your sleeve and grip the bicep. As you flex you press your hand to your weak chest. Not an impressive body. A least you haven't a belly, even if there is no definition to your stomach. You pull up your shirt: oh, a cute little innie. You pull your jeans down slightly so that your boxers show. You like the effect; a baggy-jean look might suit you.

But these aren't baggy. They are very tight as your cock thrusts outward, distending them. Dammit, you're turning yourself on by scoping out your own body!

You shake your head, trying to clear it, and jump back onto the bed, hugging your legs and biting your knees. Damn, being in another body is so exciting, even one as mediocre as Prescott's.

No, as mine! you have to remind yourself. But after putting on Sean's mind band it's been a little hard keeping your identity straight.

His mind had come in a rush after you'd put the band on, and then it had vanished. You opened your eyes and wondered where he had gone. But after you'd sat up and started looking around, a sort of double vision enfolded you. It was your room, something so boring and familiar; but it was also a strange place you'd never seen before. As you flipped through the papers on your desk you felt a small illicit thrill, as though you were snooping. It was much messier than ... than your other desk. You'd blinked hard at that thought.

You knew exactly what Mitchell's bedroom looked like, where he kept his stuff, what the ceiling looked like when he lay back in bed and ... Yikes. You'd probed only a little further, gently, as you strolled around your own bedroom, taking it in with a stranger's eyes. Then your gaze had been caught by the mirror.

You take a deep, ragged breath as you grip your legs more tightly. And you thought you were excited by the discovery of the book. Sean's head would explode ...

Moved by curiosity as to what your secret alter ego is up to, you shift over to the computer and check his email and log into his Facebook account and some of the message boards he frequents. They don't tell you anything you don't already know, though it's gratifying to see the nicely encouraging replies to his latest bit of fiction.

Then you sit back and trawl for the information you intended to find. Yes, some (though not all) of the elements you'll need for the next spell are out at Salopek. Getting them would be no problem for Sean, as, despite what he'd implied, he's checked out to handle them. For Will Prescott, though ...

You glance over at the blank mask that is now fully polished. You can now think of at least one very good use for it.