This choice: Accept their offer of help • Go Back...Chapter #26Of Choices ... and Chelsea by: Seuzz   You just stare at Joe. Is he fucking kidding? He thinks you'll believe him when he says they "want to help"? Well, two can play that game. Sure, I want you to help me, you'll tell them, and then double-cross them when--
Something catches in your throat. Joe is gazing back at you, and his expression seems transparently sincere. It's part of the lie, of course. But if you expect him to lie, of course they'll expect you to lie. So why make this bullshit offer?
You snort. For all their clever talk, either they are stupid or they think you are. "Yeah, right," you sneer. "Sure, I want your help." You stare back at Joe, and tilt your chin. "You expect me to say anything else?" You're about to continue, but something about Joe's placid gaze causes you to sag. "Oh, what's the point? Fuck off, both of you. And what are you going to do to me now?" You can't help but believe that they will do something horrible to you.
But Joe's reply is mild. "We're not going to do anything to you, Prescott. We're going to drop you off at home and give you and Chelsea a twenty-four hour head start to get away. It's the only sporting thing to do."
Obviously, that's the last thing you were expecting to hear. "Are you serious," you gasp.
"Of course I'm not serious," Joe says, and laughs softly. "That was a joke, because this isn't a game. And it's not about trusting you. It's about you making a choice. Not now, because obviously you're going to say yes, that you want our help. You're going to say that, whether it's true or whether you're lying, because it's the only safe thing you can say. I mean," he shrugs. "I'd have to respect you if you did tell us to fuck off. I'd regret it, and you would too, and quickly. But I'd respect you. No," he continues. "You'll tell us you want our help, and we'll pretend to believe you. And then things will happen. But at some point you'll have to decide whether you are sincere about accepting our help, or whether you're going to double-cross us. And at that point, either things will end happily, or they are going to turn ... interesting. For all of us."
That speech leaves you in a daze, but somehow you feel that you understand him perfectly. Basically, what follows next is going to be a test, and you and they are going to learn the results only when they come. "Okay," you say. "If you put it like that, I'll help you out. Er, I mean, I'll take your help." Because, of course, the help will have to be mutual.
"That's the spirit, Prescott!" Frank exclaims, and slaps your knee. "Glad to have you aboard." He grins past you at Joe. "You and Chelsea," he mutters. "Prescott must have a weakness for blondes, because there's no way he fell for what you just--"
Joe's fist goes past your face so fast it's a blur. The truck jerks and swerves, and Frank curses at his brother. You gasp and clutch at the seat, and to your chagrin put your hand on Joe's. He takes your arm in his with a laugh. "Hmmm, maybe he does like me!"
"Not fucking likely." You jerk away from him. "So what are we supposed to do now?"
"I guess we'll go over to Chelsea's," Frank says.
Well, here's the first problem on the test. You grimace. "I can't say for certain," you say. "But you'll probably find Chelsea over at Cara Fuhrman's house."
Two heads swing toward you. "Oh, was she being Cara at her own party?" Joe asks.
Your face twists up so hard it pinches. "No," you admit. "No. I was being Cara." You look at Frank out of the corner of your eye. "You tried telling me about a motorcycle accident."
The temperature in the cab plummets several degrees. Joe's laugh comes like a hiss through his teeth. "No, Frank, I don't think Will has a weakness for blondes. I saw the way Cara--excuse me--the way Will was looking at you Saturday night."
Frank says nothing. Not for the rest of the drive out to Cara's.
* * * * *
"Hi Frank," Cara exclaims as she opens the door. "Hi Joe!" She grins at both of them, and for a moment you're certain of anything that it is the golem. If she says nothing to you-- "Hi Will," she says in a cooler tone. You let out a small sigh.
"We didn't get to talk to you much at the party on Saturday," Frank says. "Feel like hanging out with us?"
"Sure!" She calls back into house, and shuts the door behind her. "We could go find some of my friends and--"
"How about Chelsea?" Frank says. "She's a friend."
"Oh. Yeah!" Her glance slides from his face to Joe's, and then past yours; a little cloud appears in it as it does so. "Probably we should call first--"
"I bet she won't mind," Joe says. "Come on."
There's a little bit of confusion out at the truck, for Cara will insist on sitting next to Frank as he takes the wheel, and you have to squeeze in between her and Joe. No one says anything for a few minutes, and then Joe nudges you.
"So, Cara," you say, and have to clear the tremble from your voice. "These guys stopped by work and found me. We got to talking about masks."
"Masks?" Cara says. Joe's elbow is still in your side, and now Cara clasps you arm, and you feel her fingernails press into your flesh. "You mean like Halloween, because it's coming up--"
"No, magic masks," says Frank. "The kind that let you disguise yourself as other people."
"Really," says Cara.
"They know all about the masks and about the book," you blurt out. "They knew all about them already. That's why they came and found me." You look over at her; she is turned toward you, and her grin is a rictus of fury. "It's not my fault, Chelsea," you say.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she says.
"I think you do," says Frank. "Will found a special book at Arnholm's, and then one thing led to another, and now here you are pretending to be Cara Fuhrman while your boyfriend languishes in an undead state because he turned himself into a statue. So you see, we're all up to speed on what's been going on."
"Hm," Cara says after a very long silence. "Well, isn't this interesting."
"Oh, it's just the latest act in a long-running drama," Joe drawls. "Me and Frank have been after the Libra for a few months now. We hoped to catch up to it before anyone did anything stupid with it, but we wound up chasing some wild geese over at Eastman."
"Well, since someone's been a real chatterbox, I guess there's nothing more for me to tell you," Cara says. She sniffs, and you're astonished by her self-possession. "Maybe you should tell us your story."
No one says anything for a few seconds. Then: "Okay," Frank says. "Where can we go for a comfortable talk?"
* * * * *
That leads to some negotiations, and your odd quartet finally settles on The Flying Saucer, a coffee shop that will afford some private space in a public setting. The boys generously pay for the drinks and then guide you into a back booth, where they take one side while you and Chelsea take the other.
"The first thing you have to understand," says Frank, "is that the Libra Personae is not a one-of-its-kind thing. Magic is real--"
"Well, something is real, and we might as well call it 'magic'," Joe says.
"--and the Libra is just one of things out there that you might call 'magical.' It's the kind of thing Joe and I are familiar with."
"Why, are you magicians?" Chelsea is smiling, but her arms are folded, and she kicks at the table leg.
"We don't like that word," Frank says. "There are magicians out there--"
"Greasy little men who putter around with potions and retorts and tend to blow themselves up in ways that leave the CSI units baffled," Joe laughs.
"--and we know a lot about such things. But we're more like a bomb disposal squad. Or firefighters. We try to put such things away quietly."
"Pretty fancy work for a couple of high school students," Chelsea sneers. "So you know all about the book and about masks. Are those your real faces?"
"Yes," Frank says patiently. "We've been trying to find the book, not because we had it and then we lost it, but because we want to make sure no one else ever finds it and-- Well, gets into the kind of trouble you and your friends have gotten in."
"We're not in any trouble," Chelsea says. "Are we, Will?"
"What about Gordon?" Joe asks.
Chelsea's lips disappear. "Yeah, okay. There was an accident there." She shifts in her seat.
"And what about Cara?" Frank asks. "Is she okay?"
"She's fine. It's not like with Gordon--"
"You mean she didn't do it to herself. You did it to her."
"I didn't do anything to her!" Chelsea bridles. "She's perfectly fine. She's just-- She's just asleep is all. She's totally fine when she's-- When she's not under a mask. Like under Will's mask!"
You wince. She's trying to throw some of the blame onto you. Sure, you deserve it, but--
"Would Caleb be okay when he's not under a mask? Would Sean Mitchell?"
Chelsea gasps and turns very pale. You would expect her to look over at you, but she doesn't. "What are you saying?" she says shrilly.
"Come on, Frank, I want a refill," Joe says, and nudges his brother. "You guys want some more?" he asks you. Neither you nor Chelsea say anything. So he shrugs, and he and Frank disappear toward the front.
"We have to get away from these guys, Will," Chelsea hisses at you. "You've really fucked up, but--"
But there's still the subject of Caleb to discuss. | Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
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