The Book of Masks (Abridged)

Odd Man Out

Previously in "In Which You Try to Wash Your Hands of It All"  In Which You Decide You picked up an old book in the used bookstore that promised to show how to make magical disguises. But when it demanded a blood sacrifice, you decided to try giving it away to a friend.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"THE PICTURES ARE PRETTY FREAKY," Caleb says. He peers closely at the title page, and his eyes swim in and out of focus. "Cool optical illusion."

"I told you, I don't think it's an illusion," you insist. "The next page, the one with the sentence about 'possessing with blood'? That page wouldn't open until I bought the book."

"Uh huh," Caleb says. He closes the book and runs his fingers over the cover. "It's a nice looking prop, though. How much did you say it cost?"

"Cost? Two hundred dollars." His head shoots up, and you just return his stare. Then you up the ante, slightly. "Originally it was two hundred twenty-five, but I talked Arnholm down."

He tosses it back to you. "Pff. No way I'm paying two hundred. Take it back to Arnholm."

"He won't give me two hundred for it," you retort, truthfully enough.

"He'll give more than I can afford."

"And how much is that?"

"I've got forty bucks--"

"It's a deal."

He blinks, and his eyes narrow. "That wasn't an offer. Take it back to Arnholm."

"Arnholm won't give me anything for it," you reply, and then kick yourself.

Caleb's eyes gleam with malice and amusement. "Why won't he pay you forty for it when he can turn around and sell it again for two hundred?"

"Okay, I paid a couple of bucks for it after he saw all the pages were stuck together," you admit. "Look, it's a magic book. It has to be, with that talk of blood and stuff. That's why the pages won't open."

"Bullshit. There's no such thing as magic."

"Well, it's freaky. You said so."

"I said the pictures are freaky." But he looks back down at it. "Okay, I'll give you five bucks. It'll look good on my bookshelf."

You're about to take the offer, but hesitate. You'd like to leverage that other thirty-five out of him. "You still interested in that job out at my dad's work?"

"Is it still available?" Caleb asks sharply. "Tell your dad they should hire me."

"It's just scut work," you say, then quickly add, "but if I'm going to get it for you, I want a finder's fee."

"I can just drive over and put in an application!"

"Then why've you been bugging me about it? Look, I talk to my dad, and your application goes to the top of the pile. Maybe they don't even look at the other applications."

He chews his lip. "It's not worth anything if I don't get it."

"Okay, how about this? You give me forty bucks if you get the job." He cocks an eyebrow. "It gives me an incentive to whine really hard on your behalf."

"I think being my friend you'd do it for me anyway," he grumbles, "but okay."

"Excellent. You can have the book for five bucks now, and then you can give me thirty-five when you start at Salopek."

"Oh for God's sake!" But he digs into his pocket and pulls out some worn bills. "Here's three. I'll give you thirty-seven when I get the job."

* * * * *

At least you made a meager profit on the book, and that's all you care about. Your life, which had briefly wobbled off its axis of normality, rights itself as though nothing had happened. And then--

"We getting together this afternoon," Keith Tilley asks as he materializes at your school locker.

"I'm hooking up with Lisa," you say. "Ask Caleb."

"He's supposed to start that new job."

"What new job?" you ask, twisting around in surprise.

Keith stares back with a characteristically dumb expression on his slack face. "That job at your dad's work that he's been bugging you about?"

It's been two weeks or so since you sold the weird-ass book to Caleb. "Fucker owes me thirty-seven bucks! I got him that job!" You peer over Keith's shoulder, on the off chance that Caleb will appear in the swirling maelstrom of the school hallway.

"Maybe it's some other job," Keith shrugs. "But what about you? Us get together?"

"I told you, I'm hooking up with Lisa."

"I thought she was hooking up with Mansfield."

"This afternoon?" Your eyes bug out of your head.

"Permanently. Didn't she dump your ass at the end of the summer?"

The blood rushes up the back of your neck. "Since when the fuck do you pay attention to stuff that doesn't concern you?" You slam the locker and push past Keith.

"Hard not paying attention when it's all you talk about," Keith mutters as you pass.

* * * * *

Lisa turns and smiles at you, and--

And the world stops. The noise of the hallway, the rush of the crowd. Everything around her goes dim, so that she fills your vision. That dark hair, falling in curls around the porcelain curve of her face. Lips even and firm and red. And those violet eyes. You could stand in their gaze forever. If only time really could stop, and the world empty, so that it were just you and Lisa--

Something big and powerful pummels your shoulders, and you lurch forward to bounce directly off the girl you love. "Fucking jerkwad!" she shouts. "Watch where you're going!"

You stumble back, your face burning with shame, and to your immense relief see she's not talking to you, but shouting over your shoulder into the crowd. A bantam-like desire to display your masculinity washes over you. "Who was it?" you ask, straining onto your toes.

"Fucking Gordon Black," she says. "Someone oughta kick him in the balls."

All the air goes out of you. The captain of the basketball squad is the absolute last person in Westside High School you should tangle with. You only murmur a concurrence. "So, we're still getting together this afternoon, right?" you ask.

She blinks. "When did we--" And then her eyes widen. "Wait, that was you who texted me? I thought it was Geoff."

The flesh on the front of your skull prickles and crawls. "No, it was me. You texted back that you'd love to."

"I'm sorry, Will," she says, and sounds genuinely contrite. "I thought it was Geoff. I already talked to him last period, and we're going to that new pastry shop."

"You agreed to go with me first!" you insist.

"I didn't know it was you." She starts to put a hand on your face, like she often did during those magical months over the summer when you touched each other. And then, to your chagrin, she catches herself. "Maybe some other time? Text me again?"

"Yeah, so I can set you up on another date with Frankenstein's scarecrow," you mutter under your breath, and push yourself into the jostling crowd.

* * * * *

And so you're at home--as you so often are these days when someone calls--when Caleb swings by after his first day at Salopek. "Yeah, about that money I owe you," he says. His tone is uncomfortable--you are glaring at him, after all--and he snatches a beanbag off your dresser and tosses it up and down in the air. "I can pay you, real soon. One way or another."

There's something about the way he says "or another"-- "Don't think you're getting off by giving me a blow job."

"You'd take it and you know it," he retorts. "But instead of giving you the money-- Well ..." He tosses the beanbag high and snatches it out of midair. "What about helping me out with that book you sold me? You know, that freaky magical one."

"I thought you said it was bullshit." A light suddenly goes off over your head. "I was right! It is magical!"

His face turns beet red. "Well, you were right about the pages. I'm getting them to turn. And I had to, er, invest your money in some equipment to get it to do that much."

"Like what?"

"'Mnot sure yet," he mumbles. "I made some things." He bites his lip, and drops the beanbag to shove a hand into his pocket. From it he withdraws a thin metal band. "Can you try this on for me?"

You rear back. "What is it?"

He hesitates. "You know, this would be a lot easier if you came in as a partner with me on that book. If we're not going to be partners, it's gonna be awkward."

"It's fucking awkward you asking me to do shit for you without telling me what it is. Why can't you try it on yourself?"

"I did, but I can't tell if it works. It's like a mind reader. I can't read my own mind."

"What, you're too dumb to know what you're thinking?"

"You know what I mean. I can't tell if I'm reading my own mind or if I'm just thinking shit."

"You're always thinking shit," you snort. He sighs and gives you a look. "Are you saying you want to read my mind?"

"Eww," he says. "I've got a good idea what kind of sewer it is. But yeah. Just long enough to ... confirm that the thing works."

You snort again. "Fucking invasion of privacy."

"Here." He takes out another band. "This is one I made of me. You can put it on and read my mind, and I'll put yours on. Two minutes, tops, inside each other's heads. Just to confirm that they work."

"I'd really like to know more about this shit before I start getting involved."

"Then come in as a partner with me." His tone is pleading.