Chapter #29The Wildcats of St Xavier's by: Masktrix   You have a fever. Certainly your head feels like it’s on fire. You don’t want to eat, or drink, or speak, or think. Right now you just want to crawl into someone else’s life and get the fuck away from Will Prescott and the stupid book and… and…
And Shelly Nolan. Stone on the floor. St Francis Xavier’s Church is holding the Sunday evening mass, and you can make out the muffled sound of hymns. Once a month they bus in the rich assholes from the prep school to sing as a choir. You’re tempted to slip into Carmen Acuna’s skin and listen, maybe light a candle or go to confession. But no. You need to focus.
You pick the book up. There has to be an answer to Shelly’s condition, a spell to reverse the process. Even if the book doesn’t have the answers, you’re certain there must be a way to break the sigils down and understand them. The Libra is to magic as a recipe book is to cooking, and cooking can be learnt the hard way.
You get on with what you have to do, making a new mask with ease. Once finished, you take a cloth and begin to buff it. You don’t have the buffing machine any more, and if you’re right this is going to take days of work. It’s easy to consider it a penance.
Then you hear someone at the door.
Shit – nobody was supposed to come down here. You drop the mask and grab the book from the table, trying to find a place to hide in the gloom. There’s nowhere except behind the beaten ping pong equipment. You shove the first table to the side, squeezing into the far corner as best you can. Then you hold your breath and try to be invisible.
From your hiding place, you see a pair of shiny black shoes descend, followed by white socks pulled high, then a pleated skirt and green blazer. The figure stops on the stairs.
“Jesus Christ, didn’t I tell you to turn the light off when you come down here?”
“I did leave the light off, I promise.”
The first figure continues down the stairs and a girl comes into view. She’s perhaps a little older than you, and looks like something out of a dream – the vision of an angel, with brilliant chestnut hair framing a face of perfect, radiant innocence. An angel, you soon discover, with a vicious streak.
“You know, I can’t think of a reason why I still let you hang around with us. You’re unable to follow even basic instructions. Press light switch. Turn off light. Save planet.”
“Sorry, Abi. I’ll be more careful in future.”
You can now see a trio has entered the room. The angel, Abi; an overweight girl with darker skin she was addressing; and a tall, lean girl with sharp, raven-like features.
“What’s that on the floor?” Raven-girl says. You keep quiet as Abi walks toward Shelly.
“How should I know? A statue of one of the saints?” Abi pokes Shelly’s face with a toe. You want to rush out and club her to death.
“I guess whoever came down here last left the light on. I knew I’d turned it off last month,” the overweight girl says, hanging back.
“Oh my God, Kristen. You’re always second-guessing yourself. Ten seconds ago you were apologizing for not turning it off. No wonder you won’t stop comfort eating.”
“Must be upgrading this dump,” raven says, ignoring her companions to walk over and give Shelly a hearty kick. “Ouch. That’s solid stone. Guess this is where our tuition goes.”
“C’mon, let’s just get what we’re here for.” Abi heads directly toward you, pulling the table tennis table out. For a moment you’re certain you’re spotted – there’s no way she could miss someone even in this dim light – but for some reason your corner hideaway seems to be in enough shadow to conceal your presence. You watch as she stands on the metal strut of the table and pulls herself toward the roof beam, patting her hand around its surface. When she climbs down, she’s holding a small bag with pills inside.
“Jackpot. Delivered as promised.”
“This place is too risky,” the raven girl says. “If someone’s finally using this space they could find the drop. Remember last year, when they found a condom in Johnny Fairclough’s wallet? A single condom. Full dorm search, cancel of all exeats…”
“I’m a prefect, Vee. I run their stupid honor system. I’m the one doing the dorm search. They let me write the exeat forms. And if I can’t get one, I just smile sweetly. It’s how I got permission to go to the country club Tuesday night. ‘Oh, please, Mr Fitzherbert, I know I’m supposed to oversee study hall but it’s the only time I have free this week…’” She drops the act and laughs, then walks squarely up to Kristen and begins to shove the bag down her waistband.
“What are you… Hey! Abi! Get off me!”
“Just hide it until Friday. Pretend you’re a smuggler concealing it under your rolls of fat and away from the sniffer dogs.”
The scene occupies your attention to the point that you don’t notice the raven-like girl, Vee, has wandered over your makeshift lab.
“Hey, Abi. Arn’t these like those masks Todd bought? I wonder what they’re doing down here.”
Abi finishes with Kristen and pushes her aside, turning to look at what Vee’s holding. “They’re only like the ones he’s going to use for decoration. The full head masks he showed me are way better. Come on, let’s get out of here… and Jesus, Kristen. Can you try and walk, or waddle, back to the bus normally for once?”
You wait as Kristen, Abi and Vee depart, turning off the light and locking the door behind them. You are amazed you weren’t spotted, but finally you’ve had a stroke of luck. Now you know where the masks are – with someone called Todd at The St Francis Xavier School.
***
The St Francis Xavier School. Endlessly ridiculed by both Westside and Eastman as the Professor Xavier School for Gifted Christians. You’ve never been there: its expansive grounds are off the ’44, down by the Mohegan bend north of Lattyville. It’s an elitist boarding school, scooping up anyone in Van Dief County that satisfies two of three requirements: Catholic, rich enough to pay the (extortionate) fees, or smart enough for Georgetown. And by Catholic, it means Irish Catholic. You’ve seen its students around town, dressed in their impeccably neat green and gold, looking down on just about everyone. If Westside and Eastman are more or less equal, Xavier’s views Agape Christian Academy in the same way the Harvard views a community college. Now you have to find a way inside.
“Oh, cool! I know someone who goes there!” The Shelly-golem reports when you meet her at school on Tuesday morning. She seems as happy as the original. Her mom has got a new lock for the garage; she’s told Ian she’s quitting magic; and she went to see Kim Walsh, who assigned her a girl on the basketball team who’s part of the official Westside Mentoring Club.
Your life has been less fun. The past 24 hours have been beyond exhausting. You returned home from the church broken, with an ashen face that had your mom in a panic. You called in sick on Monday and sat in your room, polishing the mask while you learnt the seventh spell: the sooner you can get it going, the sooner you can try and find a cure for Shelly. You’re pretty sure it turns a person into a temporary golem. Tonight, once the new mask is ready, you’ll modify the Will mask. With luck, that’ll let you switch with someone at Xavier’s and leave them under a mask of you.
The sooner you can do that, the better. You didn’t realize how painful it would be to encounter the Shelly golem. It looks, and acts, just like her. Its very existence brings you straight back to the basement and the stone body of your friend. You couldn’t bring yourself to use a mask on her.
“Will? Seriously, I know how to get inside!” the golem is rocking back and forth with Shelly’s nervous energy. You still haven’t told it what happened to the original. You don’t know if you can.
“How?” you ask, trying to put the thought behind you.
“Niamh!”
“Niamh?”
“Yes! Niamh Stirland, my next door neighbor! She’s super-nice. You know I told you about Tina Stirland, when we made the Ruth mask? Niamh’s her younger sister. She’s a senior, like you, goes to Xavier’s as a day student. Oh man, I wanted to go to so freakin’ bad, because it’s basically Hogworts and I could get an academic bursary, but we’re not Catholic so I ended up at Westside. Niamh really loves it, though. She’s trying for pre-med, and I think she wants a Fullbright and is going over to the UK for…”
You let your fictional version of Shelly talk, the words washing over you. At least now you have a plan. Tonight you’re going to use the seventh spell and replace someone at Xavier’s. The only question is who. You know the devilish Abi’s going to be at the country club tonight, and she already has a lead on where the masks are. But Niamh is another good option. And, as Shelly’s next door neighbor, you’d be in an ideal place to keep watch on the golem… if you can stand the painful memories it triggers.  | Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
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