The Book of Masks (Vol. 4)

The Straight Attitude

Previously: "The Becoming of Heather Brown" 

Voices sound downstairs, and for a moment you hesitate. Strength, weirdly enough, comes from the bucket and toilet brush you grip in the crook of your arm. They remind you of who you are supposed to be, and how little you have to fear from anyone under this roof.

It's Alec's voice, rumbling in the living room below, and a female voice. Pride and worry jostle each other as you come down the stairs. Unbidden comes the thought: {i{There are such temptations laid before the feet of a boy so handsome and strong as Alec. You force a small smile onto your face as you step into the living room.

Oh. It's Sydney McGlynn he's talking to. They look over at your approach, and Alec's smile widens just a little with knowingness.

You ignore that smile mostly, and the girl you ignore completely.

"All right, your bathroom's scrubbed," you tell Alec, and his grin falters just a little. "But I'm not telling you and your brothers again to raise the toilet set when you're taking a pee. Hello," you address the girl as though you don't know her. She's very pretty, she looks like the cheerleader you could have been back in high school, only they were all sluts and you wouldn't soil yourself with their company, and maybe that's why you feel yourself stiffening as you study her. Lord Jesus, grant Alec the wisdom to see the snares laid about his feet ...

"Yeah, this is Sydney, she's another friend from school." Alec lightly accents the word "another." "She brought be out some stuff for a project we're working on." He hefts the cardboard box under his arm.

"Nice to meet you Sydney. Hon, you heard anything from your dad or your brothers?"

"No'm. Uh—"

"What about your other friend, Will?"

"He had to go, he got a call." Alec turns back to Sydney. "So, uh, thanks for bringing this stuff over, and I'll see you, uh, Monday?"

"Sure thing." Sydney smiles brightly at him, and turns to beam at you. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Brown." She swings around, her hips sway slightly. She gives Alec another bright "Goodbye" from the door, and gives you another quick, mischievous glance as she pulls it shut. Alec stares at the door with a hand on his hip, and he swallows before turning to give you a sidelong look. "You don't remember Sydney?" he asks in a small voice.

"Of course I remember her, you little dingbat," you retort. "But I'm standing her in my scrubbing clothes with a dirty toilet brush, you think I'm going to give her the satisfaction of— Oh, peanut, you little stinker," you exclaim, using Mrs. Brown's preferred cuss words as he breaks out in another raffish grin. "You told her who I was even before I got down here, didn't you?"

"Course I did," he chortles. "Here lemme look at you." You seizes you by the shoulders and stands back to give you a critical once-over. You put your lower lip out at him.

"It's perfect," he says after a long moment. "I don't even see anything in your—" He points at your eyes. "I mean, you got her memories and everything?"

"Think so."

He whistles. "Jesus. And it took me—"

Instinct—and mischief—take over.

"Alec Jacob Brown!" you exclaim. "You know better than to take the Lord's name in vain! So what are you still standing there for?"

His jaw falls open. "Will!" he squeals. "I—!"

"Are you dishonoring your mother?"

His hair ripples, and a flush runs up his throat. "No'm." His brow blackens. "I—"

"The medicine's in the bathroom I just scrubbed. Take it." Your jaw clenches. "Then you come down here and show me you've taken it. And there's a bag under the sink. You know which one. Put it in your room, someplace your brothers won't find it."

He mutters something under his breath, and starts up the stairs. Halfway up, he leans forward to double-time it.

You take the bucket and brush into the laundry room where you rinse them and the gloves out at the work sink and put them away, wondering at how easy it is to let go of the reins and just be Heather Brown. Alec is waiting in the kitchen when you emerge. His expression is very tight, and you give him a hard look until he opens his mouth and extends his tongue to show the sliver of soap that rests atop it. You march over to the refrigerator to set the timer for five minutes.

"I'd tell you to take it upstairs and forget it," you tell him, "but I sense the spirit of rebellion upon you." You put a finger into his face. "Fix the attitude, Sydney. Alec would not be giving his mother that expression. If we're going to do this, we're going to do it right, for as long as there's even one member of this house who is outside the circle."

"Yes'm," he mumbles around the soap, and fixes his face into a more neutral mask of passivity. "Are you going to tell the major?"

"That's better. Tell the major what?"

"About taking the Lord's name in vain." At least he doesn't roll his eyes at the phrase.

"No, not if you can give me ten minutes of patience and penitence. Don't clock-watch, private," you add when he glances at the timer. "You're in character until it goes off, and after."

"Yes'm." He straightens up, spreads his feet, and puts his hands behind his back, in which posture he neutrally stares off at the window behind the sink. Neither of you speak during the minutes that follow as you lightly scrub the countertops and wipe down the refrigerator.

When the timer goes off, he removes the soap from his tongue and says, "I've got something upstairs to show you."

"The stuff that Sydney brought out?" You rinse and squeeze out the sponge. "What is it?"

"Tools of the Brotherhood, and all my notes."

You follow him. "Make sure to keep them where the twins can't find them," you caution as you mount the stairs.

The box is on the corner of his bed, and you sniff as he opens it and takes out a wooden rod. For a moment you frown at it, trying to place what it is and what it looks like. Then, when the word comes to you, you can hardly form it around your gasp of surprise. "Don't tell me that's—! You brought a dildo into this house?"

And he laughs. He actually barks out a short laugh.

"I guess it does look like one," he says. The polished shaft is the right shape and heft, and it has a knob on the end. It would be a little long to be comfortably used as a dildo, not even counting the hilt at the other end. But you suppose such things are made bigger than they ought to be, for display if nothing else.

And then he takes another one from out of the box!

"One's for you and one's for me," he says. "Er, but obviously I'll keep 'em out of sight until, you know. And they're not, uh— Well, not if unless you want to—"

"Just tell me what they are. And if you don't need to show me while you explain, get them out of sight. We don't need anyone running upstairs to find you waving something like that in your mother's face."

"They're wands, I guess is what you'd call them," he says as he puts them back in the box. "You use them to trace symbols and make signs in the air, and I'm pretty sure there are even—"

"Wands?" you repeat. You feel your eyebrows go up. "Magic wands? Black magic wands?"

"Uh ... Yes'm."

"I see."

His nostrils flare. "Will, I—"

"No, it's alright, Sydney. I'm just trying to keep calm and in character, which I admit is hard to do while having all this devil-worshipping ... stuff ... shoved under my nose."

"Well, it's going to be hard to explain this stuff," he retorts, "let alone do it, if you're going to be Brownie's mom so perfectly." He doesn't bother with trying not to sound cross.

"It's only until we get the rest of the family converted, sweetheart. I don't want to jinx anything until then."

He closes up the box. "Then maybe we better wait until we've converted everyone before I show and tell you about it."

"Yes, maybe that would be best." You watch as he carries the box into his closet, where he perches it on the shelf that holds his spare sheets and blankets. "And are they shaped like that because they're real wands used in black magic, and not just stage props?"

"I guess so." He gives you a look. "And it's just a psychological trick, Will, a way of opening yourself up so latent influences and powers can flow out. There's nothing really, you know, diabolical about it."

Which is just what the devil wants you to believe, you can't help thinking. "Then I guess that makes it okay," you reply aloud. From outside comes the sound of a car door slamming. "And I think that's where we better leave it. Come on. Your dad was bringing home some Colonel Chicken."

* * * * *

It's just five of you for dinner—Eric has texted to say he'll be staying out late with friends—but even though it's takeout chicken, you set out plates and silverware at the table, for Heather Brown always believes in "dinner time," even if she hasn't fixed the meal herself.

But as your husband and the twins are settling around the table, Alec corners you in the kitchen.

"You want to get a mask onto the major when you go to bed tonight, switch with him then?" he suggests in a low voice. "To be honest, Will, I'd rather deal with you as him than you as her." He points at your bosom.

You get his point. But didn't Sydney say you should "burrow into" these characters, to convert them from within? As long as you're here, maybe you should concentrate on bending the very straight Heather Brown.

Next: "Sunday Dress Up" 

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 4)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 4)"