This choice: Deal with the fake Kirkham • Go Back...Chapter #18Vital Solutions by: Seuzz   "Semen is the only stuff strong enough to get through." You toss the pencil down onto the table and turn the proof around to show your twin. "It'll totally blow his mind," you snicker evilly.
Will Prescott looks up at you from under his eyebrows. "Dude, he's not gonna let you take him up the ass. For lots of reasons."
You shrug and roll your tongue around in your cheek. "I know, not all of them having to do with him. It'd be a dirty job, but I'd be willing to do it."
In truth, you'd not written out the proof because you thought it a good plan; you'd written out the proposal merely out of malice. And because it represented a serious breakthrough in your research. Friday night had been good, and Saturday morning, now that Blackwell was gone, promised to be better.
"A mask spell binds materia and essentia," you explain as you lead your twin step by step through the proof. "Of course, in the case of regular masks like Kirkham's, the essentia is only a simulacra, and the spell for creating a golem shell adds the missing elements to form a complete but hybrid essentia, marrying the magician's essentia to the mask's simulacra. That's why it must obey the master. It resonates to his presence."
"All I know is that I feel sick when I look at you," your doppelganger jokes.
"Shut up. Or rather," you hastily add as the golem clamps its mouth shut, "just stop talking until I finish." You open up De Essentia. "Last night I found a nice little chapter on the properties of essentia vitalis, and cross-referenced it with what we know about golems." You tap the proof. "If introduced into a mask that's being worn, it will have the effect of completing the simulacra, turning it, for all intents and purposes, into one of those masks that has a golem inside it. That will give the person whose essentia it is control of the golem." You lean forward and waggle your eyebrows lasciviously. "And guess where you find essentia vitalis in a human male?"
"So, if you cum inside a golem, you get control of it?"
"As long as the mask doesn't already have a golem-shell inside it, yes. It would work even if there was a person and not a golem underneath the mask. You will have turned it into your slave, the same kind of slave that you, my brilliant other self, already are!"
Prescott studies the proof carefully, turning it around several times so as to follow the flow of transformations. You grin as he frowns. Several times he opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. He puts his hand in his chin. He drums his fingers. And then he looks up at you sadly.
"You forgot to carry a 2."
Your face falls and you snatch the paper back, to stare hard at the spot he'd pointed to. "Goddamn it!"
"So even if you could blow a wad up his ass it wouldn't be powerful enough," he observes.
"If I had a thaumic amplifier," you mutter crossly, reaching for the De Essentia.
"And if we had some ham we could have ham and eggs, if we had some eggs," he says. "Speaking of which, I'm hungry."
"Aw, fuck it." You slam the book shut. "We'll just use your mind strip trick."
"Easy is always good."
"But it's so inelegant," you cry. "Besides, I really was looking forward to the chance to royally screw with that asshole. So to speak," you hastily add.
You snatch up a newly minted mind strip; all you have to do is get it onto the Kirkham golem's forehead. Your double proved earlier that morning that interference patterns between it and the mind strip embodied in a mask should immobilize a golem long enough for it to be stripped of its mask.
* * * * *
Kirkham's expression, hidden as usual behind his sunglasses, is completely unreadable, but you doubt he's happy to find you standing in his doorway. "You drop by for a good fuck?"
You snicker. "That was my original plan, but then I remembered how ugly you are." The toothpick shifts in his mouth. "Seriously, we need to talk. In private."
"Why?" His belligerence is unmistakable.
You lean in close. "You know who Blackwell is and what you've got to do if he asks you to do it. And let me tell you, he is harboring plans you want no part of." The golem stares back. "I don't want any part of them either. We have to work together."
White spots show in his cheeks. "What makes you think you can help me?"
"I can help you stay out of the way," you say. "Come on, let's chat."
You walk back out to your truck; halfway there, you turn to look back at him. He's leaning against the door. Then with a jerk he comes to life. "Be back in a bit," he calls back into the house. His mother's reply is indistinct, but he follows you regardless.
In the truck you quickly strike to put the strip against his forehead, but he grabs your wrist and twists. You gasp. He twists harder. "Okay, uncle," you cry. You drop the strip.
He picks it up off the floor. "The fuck is this?"
You grimace, but he still has a grip on you. "Shit, okay, you got me, it was a booby trap."
"Fucking asshole," he snarls, and pops you hard in the face. It's only a glancing blow because it is with his left hand, but it's still enough to cause your skull to ring. You glare at him as he opens the door to get out.
Fortunately, you'd prepared for just such an eventuality. The other Prescott had leaped lightly from the bed, and as Kirkham opens the door your twin pops a second band onto his forehead. Then he pushes Kirkham into the cab, squeezes next to him, and the three of you drive off to Blackwell's.
* * * * *
You roll the toothpick around in your mouth. "Goddamn, but that Kendra is fine," you gloat. "Breasts like scoops of chocolate ice cream." You kiss your fingers. "But salty."
"When did you see her naked?" Prescott is vibrating.
"You mean when did I taste her naked. Last night." You roll your shoulders. "Chelsea invited me over to her place. You know, after inviting me to sit with them at lunch. Kendra was there, and she was all there for me. Told me I was the only one with balls enough to get Prescott to quit the school. Said Lynch was a pansy and that Patterson was thinking real hard about bailing out." You grin nastily. "Kendra was just an appetizer. Black's as chickenshit as Lynch and Patterson, and Chelsea might be thinking of making a switch herself." You show him your teeth. "All I gotta do is fuck you up until you run screaming to another high school."
He stares at you evenly, then glances back meaningfully at the proof you'd prepared. "I'll let you—if you let me fuck you up the ass first."
You laugh good-naturedly. You don't mind. There's a party tonight, at Meghan Farris' house. You'd really like to go, as Kirkham, naturally. But you're also excited by the results of your research and aren't keen to lose any more time while you have the run of the house. You can send Kirkham back safely home, now that you've golemized the interior of his mask with your own essence.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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