This choice: You need allies--make recruits • Go Back...Chapter #39Changing Frank's Mind by: Seuzz   Yes, you could use some allies, you decide, and drum your fingers, thinking of possibilities, but don't settle on anyone before retreating to the bedroom, to pretend to sleep. It will be a few hours before Frank is in a deep enough slumber that you can ambush him.
You change into pajama bottoms and stretch out on the bed. It's well short of midnight, and you have a few hours to kill. You wish the masks copied more than just body prints and minds. Frank and Joe aren't just members of a secret society, but of a special kind of secret society. There is magic in the world—the Libra proves that—but there are also natural-born magicians, people capable of wielding arcane powers. Some of Joe's "prodigies" (as he and the other Stellae call them) are more like tricks: He can get people to talking about themselves in embarrassingly honest ways, and he can cast the illusion of being in two places at once. But he can also manipulate time, and as you close your eyes while fighting off the desire to sleep, you are wishing you could fast-forward to two o'clock.
Well, you do wind up fast-forwarding, but through the regular means of dropping off accidentally into a cat nap. Two-fifty-one, the clock flashes when you jerk up and glance at it. Good enough.
You stealthily creep into the back yard with one of the blank masks Patterson gave you. Frank is stretched out under the big tree in the corner. Quickly but lightly you approach him.
You're right by his side when he sits bolt upright. "Joe?" he says in a puzzled voice.
"Sort of," you say, thinking quickly. "I'm projecting again. I guess I must've heard something. You're sleeping lightly," you add.
"The vegetation is uneasy," he says. "I noticed as soon as I lay down. Took forever to go to sleep." It's dark, but he must have noticed the mask in your hand. "What's that," he says, and his voice is sharp.
"I must be dreaming," you improvise. "I know I'm asleep in the bedroom. Got the Libra on my mind. Remember the time in Vera Cruz when I went cruising the streets with an Aztec zombie priest? Listen," you hastily continue. "I've been thinking about that box in the sub-basement, and Harrison and Mitchell. How do we know the third guy is still at Eastman? It could've been Bickelmeir. He also got fired from Salopek, and he moved to Westside. Maybe it's him."
"We've been over that. There's no evidence he was with them that afternoon. All the reports say it was just Harrison and Mitchell at the school that day."
"But if there was a third guy, and we've been assuming there was, then why couldn't it have been Bickelmeir?"
Frank leans back on his elbows with a sigh. "This is something to talk about in the morning, and we've been over it before. The stuff is still at Eastman."
"And no one's touched it." You kneel next to him, mask tensed in your hands. "While waiting for Rick, maybe we should check out Westside more thoroughly. I made a contact over there this afternoon through Patterson."
"Yeah," he says slowly. He's quiet for a moment, then points at the mask. "Lemme see that thing."
"It's not real. I told you, I'm projecting inside a dream. I'm not even here."
"Lemme see it," he says in a harder tone of voice, and raises a hand.
Luckily, Joe has a swiftness that is not entirely a product of his magical ability, and you shove the mask past his hand; your aim is also true, and with a jolting blow slap the mask directly onto Frank's face. He falls back like a felled tree.
Your heart hammers in your chest, but you've no time to relax. Gritting your teeth, you tear Joe's mask from your own face while willing yourself to stay awake. A cry escapes your lips as you are wrapped by what feels like an inferno of flame. Vertigo seizes you, and when next you are able to collect your wits you find yourself slumped across Frank's torso. Shakily you raise yourself up. You are trembling all over.
When the mask reappears on Frank's face you gently lift it off and put Joe's mask onto him. Even in the dark you can see the glint in his eyes as he opens them. "Fucker," he says softly.
"You have to do what I say," you remind him.
"I know, but I don't have to like it."
"Just keep quiet. Stay there."
You retreat into the house and to the bedroom, where you fish through the bag to retrieve the golem-making kit. You feel sick on adrenaline as you work, burning the substances—and some of your own hair—into Frank's mask. Back outside you take Joe's mask off Frank and put the newly treat mask onto him.
His hand instantly goes to your throat. "Leggo!" you croak, and he drops you. "Sit back and shut up. No, wait," you correct yourself as he pulls away. "Let's go in the house."
"Who are you?" he roughly demands as you lead him inside.
"No one you know. Sit down and keep your hands to yourself. Don't move a muscle. I'll be right back."
You feel better after changing back into Joe's form, but Frank seethes at your reappearance. "I will break you," he says in a voice that is as heavy and implacable as a millstone. "I will liquefy your bones and squeeze them out through your asshole. I will turn you inside out and strip you of all your guts and arteries. I will stuff what's left of you with salt and raw lemons and nail you to a tree. And then I'll get mean."
Even Joe's spirit quakes before this display of anger. But it's a rage against his new impotence as much as it is against you.
No, the challenge now is to get him rewired so that he won't act this way in public, and won't try to double-cross you in private.
Fortunately, Joe knows his adopted brother intimately, and has a pretty good idea of where the switches are. It's just a matter of psychological jujitsu.
"I'm your friend, Frank," you quietly say. "You believe that. You also believe that the real villain is at Westside. He had the Libra. I got it away from him. But we have to use it. He is very dangerous, and we have to take care of him before we can end our mission."
"Who is it?" Frank says. He still looks pissed beyond measure, but now his anger has been entirely redirected.
"I don't know. There are masks involved. That is why we have to be very careful. We have to use his weapons against him. That's what you believe."
He wavers, but yes, he believes. "Why do you have to use them against us—against me and Joe?"
"It's for your own safety. If you were still yourselves, you'd go charging in, and he'd destroy you. But now that you're hidden, you're safe. You can fight him, but carefully and secretly. Under my direction. I am in charge of the mission, and you accept that."
That last directive is the key: Frank is a great believer in following orders. His eyes snap to attention. "So what's the plan?"
"We need more camouflage. More blinds. We also need agents of our own. We will make many masks at Eastman, and we will recruit three subsidiary agents to get them. We need more masks than the two of us can make. They will help us."
He nods grimly. "Why can't we tell Dad, the other Stellae?"
Good; he has already accepted the implied need to keep the change in status and mission secret. "Because he gave the mission to us. You know Dad. He doesn't micromanage. Do not mention any of this to Dad. As far as he and the others know, nothing has changed."
Frank's gaze turns inward, then clears, and he nods.
"Good. One more thing. I may need to wear Frank's mask at some points. You will not object to the switches." You regard him carefully. All the anger and bewilderment has vanished. Now he just looks determined. "We'll have to use our wits, Frank," you say by way of closing. "None of our other tricks."
"We haven't been using them anyway," he says with a faint smile.
"That's the spirit. Now back to bed. That cat nap didn't do much for me, and you'll also want to catch up on the Zzzzs."
* * * * *
You are pleased the next morning to find no apparent change in Frank's regular demeanor. His questions and comments are those of one devoted to the changed mission. "Which side is Patterson on in this fight?" he asks as the two of you eat breakfast. "I assume he's mixed up in it."
"Yes, but he's on the other side. I managed to slip past him to get to Joe. If you see Patterson—which you shouldn't—treat him normally. Same thing at school. Leave all the planning and doing to me. Just be yourself. You know," you can't resist adding. "Dumb but brainy."
He smiles narrowly at you: a blessedly "normal" reaction.
As for recruits at school: You need three of them to satisfy Patterson. Three boys, three dipshits, like Patterson found in you and Caleb and Keith. Shouldn't be hard. Tempt them with girls, like Patterson tempted you. But which girls?
A light goes off over your head: Girls. Why do you have to recruit boys? Why not recruit girls as sub-agents instead? One obvious choice would be Ursula Jensen, a would-be mystic and self-professed channeler of the occult.
* Pick someone else (non-canonical choice): "The Freshman Candidate"    indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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