This choice: Your gut says "Give up on magic." • Go Back...Chapter #30The Offer That You Refuse by: Seuzz   Even if you didn't feel wary of this offer, all the joy of playing with magic has drained from you. So much stress, so much fear, so much paranoia; and the memory of what happened to Blackwell preys upon you. Joe wants you to speak quickly, so you do: "I think I'm sick of magic," you say quietly.
He looks very grave and regretful, and he sighs. "So that's what your gut says. I'm sorry to hear that. You really were made for what I'm offering you."
"I appreciate it--" you start to say, but he waves you silent.
"Don't try to talk yourself out of it. Not yet. We'll leave you our contact info. And we'll be around for a few days, maybe even a few weeks. Keep listening to your gut, Prescott."
"What happens now?"
"We go find my brother, tell him about all this." He gets up. "I can't wait to see his face when we tell him about you."
* * * * *
Joe's brother is a real contrast. Where Joe is sweet and a little goofy, Frank is dark-haired and dark-eyed and sour and stern. You meet him at the boys' house--"A little place we've been renting," Joe explains as you pull up--and he listens to Joe and then to you for almost thirty minutes without speaking. His eyes are flinty, and he keeps his arms crossed the whole time. When you're done, and tell him your decision to stay in Saratoga Falls, he only says one thing: "You're an idiot."
"I know I fucked things up, did things to people," you start.
"He means you're an idiot for not going with us," Joe says. "Isn't that what you meant, Frank?"
"Sure. How about you get out of that mask, Prescott. You can put on some of Joe's things."
"Are we going back to Blackwell's?"
"In the morning. You can spend the night here, since you say you've a double who can go home for you."
* * * * *
You pass a restless night in Joe's bed--he takes the sofa--and they rouse you early. You spend a few hours at Blackwell's with them, giving them a tour and showing off all the stuff that has to be dealt with, and giving them the book. Joe then drives you back to their place. "We'll start releasing your victims tonight," he says. "You don't need to supervise while we take his villa apart. Strewth, that's gonna be the work of a week."
So that's how the week passes: Mostly you spend it at the boys' house, watching TV and surfing the internet and fighting off terrible, mind-crushing boredom, while they work at Blackwell's. They release Melody--Joe just tells you he was able to say "a few words over her" to give her a sense of normality so she wouldn't notice the missed days she was under your control--and you call Yumi out so they can do the same for her. Your golem continues to live your life.
You spend one day at Blackwell's with them, looking over the results of their exertions. They've sorted most of the library, and have burned a lot of the books. They've also somehow gotten rid of the gwarcheidwad. You point out a few things that they've missed.
On the fifth day since your confession, a strange man shows up. He's small, with close-cropped, wiry gray hair and eyes that twinkle behind tiny, rimless glasses. Joe introduces him as Nash Carnes, one of their associates. "He'll get that hex off you."
"Chammed to meet ya," Nash says in a strong Northeastern accent. "Heer the gypsies been at ya."
"Black magician," you say.
"Same t'ing, jes' wit' better taste in bangles. Gimme yer pams." He grins at you as he seizes your hands and turns them palm-side up. He peers down at them, stroking them. "Yah, I see what Joe meant."
"The hex?"
"Nah, 'bout you bein' a Kenandandra."
"What's that?"
"Wunna the planets. 'Swear we get our juice, guys like us. Well, you and me get it from Kenandandra. Pat of it, anyway. You good wit' sigils?"
"I guess."
"You like t' tinkeh?"
"Not really."
"No? Didn' make up any neet li'l magic hoohaws?"
"Oh yeah, I made some of those." You describe the fire bowl and a few more things that had impressed Blackwell.
Nash whistles. "That sounds reel good f'ra navice. Mind if I take yer knickknacks back as souveneers?" You shrug. "Yeah. The kids say yer stayin' heer. Ganna regret that, you know. I will. You an' me could have sum reel fun togetheh."
"I got in a lot of trouble having 'fun'. I don't want any more of it."
"I unnerstan'. 'Spity. You soun' like a pehfek fit f'r us. Now less see t'dat hex."
He dons some goofball lenses and peers at you all over. "Whew," he says. "At's a nasty one. Dat black magician you was hangin' wit didn' b'leeve in halvsies, did he? Ah well, I seen wuss." He rummages inside a little satchel, and draws out a pair of gardening shears. "Hold still." He snips at your forehead; you only feel the brush of air. "All done," Nash says. "Might wanna put some creem on dat." You rub your forehead worriedly, but he chortles. "Jes' a joke. You comin' back out to dat villa wit' me? The boys're lettin' me rummage true it for doodads. No?" You shake your head. "Well, jes' t'ink about what yer missin'."
* * * * *
Nash's cheerful demeanor is almost enough to make you change your mind about staying behind. Joe is cheerful too, but there's something normal about Nash that you find reassuring. In fact, you might have changed your mind, if he had come back by the house to see you before leaving town. But he took off without even saying goodbye. Your sense of disappointment just hardens your preference for steering clear of this society.
The removal of the hex clears the way for your return to your own life; and now you're dreading it. As bad as it was having the hex on you, you realize that your life at school is bound to be ten times worse now that it's off. All the bullies you'd frightened into leaving you alone will be looking for vengeance, now that there's nothing to hold them back. You mention this to Frank and Joe. "Serves you right," Frank growls. After six days, he still hasn't warmed to you.
Joe punches his brother. "Stop that. It's not his fault. Blackwell tricked him there."
"He shouldn't have--"
"He shouldn't have what, Frank? He shouldn't have picked the Libra up off a bookshop shelf? Because that's the only way all of this could have been avoided. And how could Will have seen the consequences of picking up that book?"
Frank gives him a surly glance. "So what are we supposed to do about it? He only has to make it to the end of the school year, and then there's no more problem."
"Easy for you to say, bro. That's seven long months. And you and me know Black and Patterson by reputation. That's two of the guys that hex affected, right?" he asks you.
"Yeah. But how do you know--?"
"Didn't we tell you we've been going to Eastman? We're on their basketball squad. Yeah, we know all about the assholes they got playin' for Westside."
"If I could transfer to Eastman," you mutter.
"Hey, what about that, Frank?" Joe says with sudden enthusiasm. "We're gonna have to drop when we go back home with all of Blackwell's shit. How about this? We leave Prescott's golem in play over at Westside--get the hex off it by making a new mask of Will here--but he stays behind as one of us."
"What are you talking about?" you and Frank say in near unison. He doesn't look amused at the coincidence.
"We make up a mask of me. You drop out, but 'Joe Durras'--" Joe makes huge air quotes with his fingers. "He stays behind. It's Will underneath, having fun as me." He waggles his eyebrows at you. "And I have fun, brah!"
Frank turns white. Probably with anger, possibly with horror, and maybe with both. "That's the sickest thing you've ever suggested, Joe," he shouts. "And you've had some really fucked up ideas in your time."
"Yeah," Joe drawls, and giggles. "Remember my idea for booby-trapping the monsignor's bed?"
"You're talking about giving Prescott--"
"I know exactly what I'm suggesting giving him," Joe says. He switches into another language and jabbers excitedly at Frank, gesturing madly as he does. Frank argues back, but Joe's arguments seem to have some force. He finally throws up his hands and stalks from the room.
"Fine. It's your face, but Dad will have to approve."
"Of course," Joe says. "Call him while I--" He turns to you. "What do you think, Will? Perfect solution."
"I'm trying to get away from magic," you protest. "And the masks. That's how come I'm not going with you!"
"One last fling," Joe says. "It's that or you face Black and them."
You throw yourself onto their sofa. Neither idea appeals to you. Oh, sure, you had fun putting yourself under masks. You wore Jared's form when you didn't have to. And Joe-- You peer at him. He's strong and athletic and handsome. But your gut twists. You resent the idea that "being Joe Durras" could be better than "being Will Prescott."
Joe watches you for a bit, then goes into the kitchen when Frank shouts. There's some kind of conference that lasts for a quarter hour. You sulk on the couch, not even entertaining the offer.
And then Joe swaggers back in. "So, that was our dad, the chief guy in our order. I had to explain it to him, but went for it. Says he won't kick if that's what you want to do. We'd come back next June, send you back to your life. Or--" He rolls his tongue in his cheek and looks puckish.
Maybe that's what this is about. Joe wants you to see things from his point of view, thinking you might change your mind after getting an inside look at things.  | Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
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