Chapter #35Hiding Blackwell by: Seuzz   You pace the basement, hands pressed to the sides of your head, thinking. There are any number of people you could copy into the new mask; the problem is getting rid of the original so Blackwell can take their place. You can't put the Cindy mask on a victim: it hasn't been golemized. Nor can you put the Joe Durras mask on them: that would just revive a creature that is under the control of the transformed Frank. You stop in mid-stride and turn toward Blackwell: "We could hide you out as me?" you say. "As Cindy?"
"I doubt I could carry out the pretense. Besides, where would you go?"
"Step in for you as Joe?"
"That would revive the golem. Certainly not!"
"I've worn masks with these shells inside them. They don't effect me. Remember when you put Shabbleman's mask on me?"
"Ah. Yes. It might work," he says dubiously. "But that mask is under Durras's control. Given who he is-- What he is-- It's an awful risk to take, Will."
You resume your pacing. "So, how about Will Prescott? The fake me, I mean. That mask is already under your control."
"Our adversary might have plans for it. Suppose he tried unmasking me?"
"Will you stop vetoing everything I suggest?" You sigh as his mouth purses. "Okay, then we'll have to put the Prescott mask on whoever you replace. You got Joe's phone there?" He fumbles it from his very tight pockets. "Call Prescott, get him out here. As for where we put you ..." You trail off as he connects with your replacement, thinking. Seth would be a natural hiding place for Blackwell, but a different inspiration strikes you before you can fall back on the obvious. You snap your fingers at Blackwell once he's finished with the phone, and he tosses it to you. "What did you do with the real Joe?" you ask as you scroll through the call list.
"I and my other self transformed him into a golem. As, ah, as I did with-- With--"
"With Cindy and Lucy," you finish for him. "You're such a shit." You expect him to bridle, but his eyes fall. "Where did you put him?"
"In the mausoleum, but I imagine he isn't there any--"
You raise your hand to silence him. "Hi, is this Jonathan Straussler?" you ask in your most sexy, breathless voice as he picks up. "This is Cindy Vredenburg? We met yesterday afternoon, in the gym? Joe was flirting with me?"
"That doesn't pick you out," the ballplayer on the other end of the line joshes. "But I remember you. You're not sick of his company already, are you?"
"Not yet, though he's trying my patience a little," you say. "Just kidding," you shout into the basement, as though talking to someone. "Listen, um, he asked me to call to ask a favor of you? I'm with him, but he can't get his truck started again? And he was wondering if you could come out and maybe give it a jump?"
There's a pause. Then Jonathan laughs. "That's the oldest gag in the book," he says. "If he can't get it started, that means he wants to make out with you."
"No, I think this is serious. He's under the hood and he's just cussing a blue streak. And he asked me to call, so-- Um, do you suppose he's really not interested in me? Because you're right, he really should be--"
"I should leave you wherever you are, let you find out if it's true love or not," Jonathan says. "But give me fifteen minutes and I'll be out. Where are you?"
You give him directions to the elementary school and hang up with profuse thanks. "Alright, professor," you say, turning back to your old mentor. "I'm getting you a new position. You're real lucky I've got a mask ready to use on him."
"How in the world did you--?" he starts to ask, but closes his mouth with a snap at your glare.
* * * * *
Prescott, naturally, is first to arrive, and cocks an amused eyebrow at the sight of you and Blackwell. "Quite a reunion. What's up?"
"I'll explain later. Just stand over there behind those bookcases and get undressed."
"You first," he says waggishly, but at a word from the professor he trudges over to the indicated corner and grumpily pulls off his clothes. "You could return the favor," he grumbles, but you just tear the mask off his face, swallowing hard at the sight of the transformed Cindy--the girl whose face and mind you have been living in for several days now. You tug a few loose items over to more fully hide it, then go outside to wait for Straussler.
It's not long before a stunning little convertible sports car pulls up. "Nice wheels," you exclaim as he turns the motor off.
"They get me around," he smiles. "Where's our friend?"
"Taking a potty break. You know you have some smudge on your forehead?" You press the mind band onto his face, and he slumps back in his seat. After it reappears, you put the blank mask onto him, and after that you put Prescott's face onto his. Your twin blinks as he looks around. "Well, at least I'm dressed again," he says. "You do know it's a little weird, this popping in and out of existence, don't you?"
"Well, you're back for a little while, so stop complaining. Back inside." He follows you into the basement, though not without turning to admire the sports coupe first.
While he pulls off Straussler's much-too-large clothes, you start drawing up a binding sigil and working the band into the mask. Blackwell watches you with astonishment. "You shouldn't be able to do that," he exclaims. "Only the sigils in the Libra--
"Well, I got a special connection to the book, remember?" you say. "Don't ask me why I can do it, just be grateful I can." He holds his tongue until you are done.
The name "Jonathan Sebastian Straussler" floats above the interior of the mask when you finish and hand it over to him. "Guy goes to Eastman, plays on the basketball team with Frank and Joe. That'll keep you close to them, and maybe you can learn something useful."
"I'm getting very tired of athletes," Blackwell mutters, but lays back on the ground and puts it on. There is something definitely odious about seeing the mask disappear into his grotesquely obese form, and the sense of revulsion doesn't entirely disappear when it is replaced by Jonathan's long, lithe body. He blinks, stretches and sits up after reawakening. "Well, at least the clothes fit better," he says as he jumps lightly to his feet.
"Nice new look, boss," says Will, who has finished putting his clothes back on. He cocks his head mischievously. "You two gonna start going together?"
"Don't be gross," you snap. "Honestly, was I always such a pig?"
"It's called 'gallows humor,' you cunt," he says. "You get to have all the fun of jumping in and out of people's bodies while I keep your place warm for you. You are coming back eventually, aren't you?"
"You're not really making a good case for being myself, you know," you retort, fighting down the urge to kick him in the balls.
Blackwell turns away as he strips off Joe's clothes and starts pulling on Straussler's. "What are our plans for Joe?" he asks.
"I guess we let him disappear for the time being."
"I place his belongings in a location from which we can retrieve it at our convenience," Blackwell says, but on an impulse you snatch up the mask of Joe before he can lay his hands on it.
"Maybe I should hang onto it," you say. "I might be able to find some way to get the golem shell out of it."
"That's a dangerous thing to hang onto."
"Yeah, but I stand a better chance of getting it fixed."
He looks troubled, but shrugs. You part shortly afterward, him in Straussler's car, and you with Prescott. You leave the Durras truck at the school.
* * * * *
Frank calls a few hours later, looking for both you and Joe, and he cusses mightily when you say you haven't seen him. Without Joe's presence, there's no reason to have a lesson, and he dismisses your suggestion that you get together anyway. You don't hear from Blackwell at all.
As the night deepens you find yourself becoming anxious. Frank is terribly dangerous, and the inexplicable disappearance of his enslaved brother may push him into unpredictable actions. You begin to wonder if you should take a chance on donning Joe's mask and taking his place: It would put you closer to Frank, where you would you be better able to hinder him or even get the anima band off him.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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