This choice: Figure out a way to test the golem. • Go Back...Chapter #24Doubtful Spell, and Mom's Little Hell by: smitch   Sean sits cross legged on the floor, the Libra in his lap. He's tracing the words of the new spell with his finger and silently mouthing the Latin, and then stops. "I don't like the look of this," he says as the colour drains from his cheeks.
You sit and take the book from him, and lines crease your brow as you translate it. "Looks the same as the last one," you reply.
"Yeah that's what I thought, but look at the ingredients."
You look through the list quickly, recognising most of the items. "We've got all we need, right?"
"No." He leans over and taps an item on the page.
"Vivere corpus? That's a live body," you gulp. Sean nods solemnly, taking the book from you. "Fuck!" you whisper under your breath.
He turns back to the title page. You look over his shoulder at it, and the faces that adorn it seem to gloat and twist. Sean shifts uneasily and puts the book face down on the floor, gently pushing it away with his foot. "Will, I'm not sure I trust this book,” he says, pulling his knees up to his chest.
“Don't worry, I’ll go through it again and see if I can work out what the spell does,” you reply, putting it into your back pack.
“Do we need to go any further? We have a lot of cool stuff we can play around with.” Sean starts to list the items counting them off on his fingers. “A mask of you and me, a handful of mind bands, oh and Jack's band. Three blanks, a mask of Russo and that monstrosity over there,” he says waving vaguely at the golem that’s still wearing Russo’s clothes.
You shrug, “don’t you want to see what other spells there are?” You look over at Prescott and try to reason why your double has suddenly become so wary of the book. “Look I gotta go, I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” you mumble before leaving not bothering to wait for a reply.
******
You’re jerked from your sleep by the vision of a stone golem creature with its hands about your throat; its cold soulless eyes boring down on you—it’s wearing Russo’s clothes. You throw the bedsheets across the room and spring to your feet; crouching you eye the room trying to collect your thoughts. The crooked shadows cast in the half lit room does nothing to quench your anxiety. You catch a glance of yourself in the mirror and Sean's own face cast in cold grey stone stares back; you jerk with shock only to wake—again.
Beads of sweat pepper your skin, and you wipe your brow as you untangle yourself from the bedsheets. It’s 6am, and you feel reluctant to close your eyes again, so you shower and go downstairs to make a start on breakfast for you and your mom. It’s not long before she joins you and sets the table. She looks tired and drawn with dark circles that ring her eyes, you try to remember the last time Sean heard her laugh or see her smile—but you can’t.
You fix some French toast and coffee, and sit opposite each other at the table. You take a sip of coffee; it's too hot so you blow the froth chasing it around the mug. You glance up and see your mom watching you intently; for the first time in a long while you see her smile softly at you as if she’s remembering something from the past. “What?” you say with a chuckle.
She pauses for a moment, then goes to the pantry for some syrup. “I’m sorry, Taylor used to blow on his coffee like that,” she says.
You walk over to her and give her a hug, “I miss him as well.” You take her hand and lead her back to the table. “Now finish up your breakfast, you know I make the best French toast,” you say with a wink.
When you're both finished you clear the plates whilst your mom looks out the window. “You got something on your mind?” you ask.
“It’s Taylor’s friend,” she replies.
“Scott Bickelmeir?”
“Yes, he was parked outside the house again yesterday.”
“Wait, he’s been to the house?”
“I’ve seen him parked a few times, when he knocked on the door I was scared a little so I didn’t answer it,” she said with a tremble in her voice.
Your nostrils flare, and you feel a heat twist up inside you. “I’ll go see him, make sure he never comes around again,” you say through gritted teeth.
She turns and places a hand on your shoulder. “Sean, I don’t want you getting into trouble--just talk with him, tell him he's not welcome here, please.”
“Sure mom, just talk,” you reply smiling tightly.
You give her a reassuring hug before leaving for school with the sole intent on talking to Scott Bickelmeir
******
You keep your eyes open as you move between classes in the morning. You know you have a Psychology I class with Bickelmeir in the afternoon, so you're only mildly annoyed when you bump into your double before lunch.
“Hey Prescott, you got a couple of minutes? I need to talk,” you say.
He looks between you and Caleb, who’s sorting through the contents of the locker that he shares with your double. “About work?” Prescott replies in a neutral tone. You shrug.
There’s a groan from the locker. “Just go! I don’t want to hear about it,” Caleb grunts.
You grab Prescott by the sleeve and drag him to a quiet spot. “Bickelmeir’s been at my—" you catch yourself, “your place. Your mom said he was parked up outside the house, the fucker even knocked on the door—shook her up a bit,” you say under your breath.
Sean’s hands tighten into fists, and he stares at you from hooded eyes. “You spoken to him yet?”
“No, I haven't found him yet,” you reply.
Sean jabs at your chest. “Fix it. Mom doesn’t need this.”
You raise your hands. “Look, I’ve already said I would.”
“Make sure you do, otherwise I will,” he growls and walks off.
You’re shouldered heavily and turn to see Lester “The Molester” Pozniak—one of the low-ranking bullies. “What's the matter, Mitchell, lovers tiff?” He says with a grin. You stare hard at him; not blinking. Sean’s presence is sufficient for Pozniak to try and pass it off as a joke before leaving muttering under his breath and pushing other students aside.
You hang out with Cameron Huber over lunch, as it's possible Bickelmeir will turn up for any news about tomorrow's football practice. Cameron is talking about Gordon Black again, and you just nod although you’re not really paying attention. You think you see Bickelmeir, and you bob left and right to see past the quarterback who turns to see who you’re looking at, but its just another student.
Cameron sucks on his lip. “What’s going on, Sean? You’ve not been listening, and jerking around—who are you looking for?”
“Bickelmeir, that fucker has been hanging around my house and worrying my mom.”
Cameron raises an eyebrow. “Seriously? Why?”
“How the fuck should I know,” you bark at Cameron and storm off.
You continue a fruitless search, which just leaves your last class.
You make your way to your Psychology class and glance over at the other students but Bickelmeir is nowhere to be seen. You drop into a seat next to Ethan Nieves, who nods his chin. “Where’s Bickelmeir?” you mumble.
“Scott? Pfft, he skipped class, said he had something to take care of,” he snorts.
“Fuck! You got his mobile number?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Just shut up and give it to me,” you growl. “Now!”
“OK, chill big guy,” Ethan replies. "Jeez, what's he done anyway?”
You hold out your hand and beckon with your fingers. “Just give it to me.”
He writes it down on a loose sheet and stuffs it in your hand. “Go knock yourself out.”
“Yeah, something like that,” you sneer.
Class finishes and you leave to find yourself some space to make that call, but you’re just out the door when you feel a tug on your arm; its Cameron. “You still looking for Bickelmeir?” he asks, and you nod. “I saw him heading out." He looks at you with a keen eye. “If I tell you which way he went, you’re not going to do anything stupid, are you? Don’t give me reason to put you on the bench. You understand, Sean?”
You sigh and nod. “Just tell me, Cameron.”
He scratches the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. “I’ve just seen him heading out towards town.” Your lip curls and you slap him on the back and head for the parking lot. He calls after you. "Don’t do anything stupid, Sean.”
You’re sure you can catch up with Bickelmeir; it’ll be better to confront him face to face but you have no real idea where he’s going, it might be better to call him and give him a piece of your mind—or Sean’s.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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