The Book of Masks (Vol. 4)

Jack of All Trades

Previously: "Through Another's Eyes" 

But you can't waste time daydreaming. You need to be ready to subdue Jack after the mask finishes copying him. You move into the back of the minivan with Will.

"After the mask is done with Jack, seal it up and move it onto me," you order him as you kick off your shoes and unbutton your jeans. "And put Sydney's mask onto him.

"Sure," he says. His eyes are locked on your chest as you unbutton your blouse.

"Will, honey." He looks up, startled at the endearment. "I know you're fascinated, and they are glorious. But as soon as I pull the mask off, it's not gonna be anything you don't see in the bathroom mirror every morning."

His lips twitch into something halfway between a smirk and a grimace. "So do you have to take the mask off right away?"

"Yes I do," you reply as you peel off the last of your things. You cover your face with your hands, position your fingers, and pull while muttering some arcane words under your breath.

* * * * *

The sun is warm in your face, and you squeeze your eyes shut against its rays. The back of your eyeballs throb, and you feel a headache coming on behind your temples. With a groan you open your eyes.

It takes only a second to figure out where you are. The musty, dusty stink of old-car fabrics and rugs places you instantly in the middle seat of the minivan.

You're less certain why you're naked. But a vague memory, niggling like a worm at the back of your brain, tells you there's a good explanation.

Through the glare of sun against glass you see that someone is perched on the hood of the minivan, their back to you. You rub your eyes, and when you blink them open again you see it's two people, seated very close. One of them turns to the other, and you recognize Sydney McGlynn. Then the other one turns, and you recognize Will Prescott.

You grunt as it all comes back to you. Your own memories breach the surface of your consciousness, and absorb those of Jack Li. You squeeze your temples between the heels of your hands, and the headache vanishes. You stretch, roll your head and shoulders, and look for your clothes.

But you also watch Will and Sydney as you pull on underwear and shorts, the v-neck t-shirt, and the billowy Hawaiian shirt.

Will and Sydney. There was a mystery there. But not anymore.

They were friends, partners. Almost lovers? For awhile one of them was a master and the other a kind of slave.

But now they are on the same level again. Both of them are fakes.

You ponder the remembered feelings of yesterday, and this afternoon, when you, playing Sydney, spent time with the fake you. The tenderness that came with thinking of him, and the happiness that came with looking at him. The desire to brush his skin and to feel his nose beside your nose, his whiskers against your cheek, the scent of his skin in your nostrils. The desire to grip him by the back of his jeans and to clench the fabric of his shirt between your teeth.

Does the fake-Sydney have those feelings for the fake-Will? Do the fakes have feelings at all, or is it all just a magical pretense?

But even if it's just magical-pretense, won't it at least look on the outside like it's real?

So after you've pulled canvas Converse sneakers onto sockless feet, you settle back to watch them. You can't hear them of course. But they smile at each other—Sydney with that wide, confident grin; Will with his shy, rabbity one—and at one point Will rubs his face as though embarrassed by what she's told him. They don't touch, let alone kiss. But watching them, you can't help but feel the pang of being cut off from a world that could have been yours—Will Prescott and Sydney McGlynn, partners against the world—if you hadn't been so stupidly paranoid.

Your cell phone goes off, and you jump. The two outside must have heard, for they look back through the windshield, and as you clamber forward to retrieve your phone from the front seat, they slide off t and amble over to the passenger-side doors.

"Hey boss," Will says as he and Sydney lean into the minivan. "Nice legs."

You make a face at him. Yes, Jack has nice legs—strong and smooth—as would anyone who worked a StairMaster as long and as often as he does. Plus the aerobics, plus the dance classes, plus the hangover from when he did gymnastics ... Jack Li is definitely trim and fit without being bunched all over with muscles.

"Any problems?" Sydney asks. "Did, uh, I pick a good guy for the job?"

"Pretty good, I guess." It embarrasses you (now) to know what Reagan said about "you" knowing all the school secrets. "It'll take me awhile to sort through things, get some ideas about what to do next." You scramble for the door, and Sydney and Will step back to let you out. You stretch again and let the sun warm your skin as you gaze up at the broad, stony facade of Sydney's house.

"You really should have a party out here or something," you tell her. "You could fit half the senior class." You glance around. All the neighboring houses are screened by trees, and the wide street curves away, empty of traffic, in both directions. "Plenty of room to park."

Her lips twitch. "You wanna go inside and start planning something? Like we were supposed to do?"

"Nah, I got someplace I have to be." You glance again at the message on your phone before slipping it into your shirt pocket. But you shade your eyes to stare back up at the house. "You really need to do something with this place, though. An ass-kicking party out here, well—" You break off before you can blurt it out: It would really turn things around for you at school.

"For Halloween, maybe?"

"Mmm. Probably not, there's too many other things already planned. Middle of November, though, in time for fall break?" you muse. You look around again. "Could you set up a hayride, maybe? Well, I dunno," you hastily add. "I should go anyway, if I've got a job to do."

"You're taking it pretty seriously." Fake-Sydney grins.

Then, to your astonishment, she steps up to kiss you lightly on the cheek. "Thanks, Will," she says. "I appreciate it."

Before you can react, she turns to the other pedisequos, who is staring, and takes him by the hand. For a moment they fumble with each other. Then, stiffly, Fake-Will puts his arm around her waist, and she puts her arm around his, and they walk toward the house. They're at the door before you can uproot yourself from the driveway pavement.

* * * * *

You take the drive back into town slowly, texting with one hand until you hit the busier thoroughfares. You ask Philippa if you can meet someplace else, but she says that she and the others are already on their way. You come real close to inventing an excuse to break the date, but wind up gritting your teeth and pressing on with it. For, as you told Fake-Sydney, you've got a job to do: Scoping out potential recruits for the Brotherhood.

So that's how you wind up at one of Jack Li's least favorite places: The Panda Garden Chinese Buffet.

You're very conscious of how underdressed you are as you enter. You're showing a lot of leg, and your skin prickles hard in the Arctic air that whooshes out to enfold you. You search out the mostly empty dining room without turning your head, and it's with relief that you quickly spot the party you're supposed to meet: Philippa Hosford, Randy Hodges, Alex Sheehan, Leah Simmons. They've already got their plates, and the guys' are almost scraped clean as you join them at a big, round table. You keep your eyes locked on them, and affect not to notice the hunched figure in the knit cap who glowers from a table in the corner.

The girls squeal and smile as you saunter up. Alex—asshole—jerks his chin at you from behind his empty plate. "Yo, man, so what's good here?" he says.

"I dunno, I never come here." You slide into a chair and turn to Philippa. "I told Stephanie to go piss up a rope so—"

"No! You didn't!" Philippa gasps.

Alex beckons to the figure in the corner. "Hey man!" he calls, and points to the empty chair next to you. "Come join us!" You stiffen all over.

"I'm not even friends with Raymond," you tell Philippa. "I mean," you correct yourself with a glance at Randy, "I don't hang out with him, you know, I didn't set things up to be his alibi the other night. That's what I told Stephanie."

Philippa's answer is lost in the roar of blood rushing into your ears as Gary Chen levers himself to his feet and swaggers over. He doesn't sit, but you do feel him looming over your shoulder. Still, you try to ignore him.

Too late you realize that's the worst thing you can do. Ignoring a guy like Chen is the same as running up a white flag. It shows fear.

"Take a chair," Alex offers him. "We're talking about Raymond and Haley."

"Who the fuck's that?" Chen says. His voice is low and even.

"Guy and his girlfriend. 'Cept he's cheating on her, we think. Jack's in charge of figuring out what to do about it."

"I don't even—" you start to protest, but the words die in your throat. Even worse, you feel a tremble coming on.

And worst of all, you feel Chen's eyes on you. "The fuck does Jack here know about making a lady happy?" he asks.

Even still, you can't bring yourself to look up into his face.

You wince as he grips your shoulder. "But the peewee football team," he says. "He'd get on his knees for them in a heartbeat."

The table is silent, except for a long, loud, bubbly giggle from Alex.

Next: "The Genesis of a Plan" 

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