# chapters

path: 11432141421122211122122212
author_id: nostrum777
title: Friendship is(/or) Magic
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You lay the primer and Scott’s mask on the table. Lucy might be right. You don’t need magic to be better. But the events of these past days made it too clear for you.<br/>
<br/>
Magic is real. It’s fascinating. And it’s dangerous.<br/>
<br/>
You’ve never been as excited by anything as you are with the prospect of being a magician. You’ve gotten this far, and destroying everything would feel like burning a million dollars – stupid, considering all the good you could do with it.<br/>
<br/>
"Alright", you tell Lucy, "so maybe I don’t need this stuff to stop being a loser. But I’d be a fool to destroy everything. I could do so much good with this!"<br/>
<br/>
"Will!" Lucy grasps the primer and shakes it angrily before throwing it aside, almost knocking Scott’s mask aside. "Nothing good can come of this. Nothing!"<br/>
<br/>
"Of course you’re gonna say that! All you’ve seen is the bad stuff!"<br/>
<br/>
"And I don’t need to see anything else! Face it, Will! You just like getting off on this stuff. You're as bad as the professor."<br/>
<br/>
"No I'm not!", you retort. "Just listen to me a minute, okay? Just now I had this awesome dream. It was like I could see all the planets, and I could see them for what they really are. Like, they were mixed up in this magic stuff, like they're part of it. I dunno. But I felt like I <i>belonged</i> with them, and with whatever it is that this stuff can do. Call me crazy, maybe it sounds stupid, but I have to keep going!. I could do good things with this, Lucy!" <br/>
<br/>
She only glowers at you. You make a face back. It's clear she's not going to give up. But neither are you.<br/>
<br/>
"I know you’re not gonna accept it", you tell her as you grab up Blackwell’s notebook, the primer, and your notes. "I get you. So I won’t bother you with this anymore. I’m gonna take it all away, and I’m not gonna even come here anymore. But here’s the deal. I wanna be a magician, but I don’t wanna be another Blackwell. And I feel I can’t do this alone. I’d appreciate if you guys kept me off that deep end, but I can’t force you to help me." You pause after turning to the door. "When my brother wakes, up tell him I'm outside."<br/>
<br/>
You sit in your truck, seething with anger, but wondering if this really is the right choice. When your brother crawls into the truck with you, you drive home. Neither of you speaks.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
<i>Sunday morning.</i> You spend church service in a daze, too focused on the primer to pay any attention to the sermon. As soon as you arrived home, you immediately rush to your room and tackle the primer, looking at the sigils from the experiment and trying to make sense of them. You notice each sigil has a meaning – one of the sigils meant "flip", and the other represents a coin. As you revise the procedure once again, you notice how each step was meant to build on each other – as if programming an instruction on a computer, using code, until you could execute a program. You struggle to make sense of this observation as you hear someone turning your doorknob, and you instinctively hide the primer behind you. <br/>
<br/>
It's your father. "What are you doing?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Homework", you shamelessly lie. "Studying for a test, but I can’t seem to get the hang of it."<br/>
<br/>
"I can help you if you want."<br/>
<br/>
"No!", you exclaim. "I mean ... I think I could do better studying somewhere else. No distractions, you know? Maybe the library?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hmm." Your dad’s hum chills your nerves. "Fair enough. Just don’t be late getting home."<br/>
<br/>
"Alright. Thanks, Dad." As soon as he's gone, you hide the primer on your book bag and hoist it on your shoulder. You grab the keys and step down the stairs, only to hear the rumble of footsteps behind you. <br/>
<br/>
It's Robert. "Hey. You going back there? To the old school?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, so you can bug someone else instead."<br/>
<br/>
"I can always tell Dad about—", he starts to whisper.<br/>
<br/>
You wheel on him. "Shut up, you little dipshit!"<br/>
<br/>
"So where you goin’, then?", he challenges you.<br/>
<br/>
"Somewhere I can think in peace. Which means, nowhere near where you’re around!"<br/>
<br/>
Robert catches your shoulder. "Must be to work with those books you got, right? Hey, maybe I can help you! Maybe I can see something you’re not."<br/>
<br/>
You seethe at the suggestion that Robert might be helpful, but you feel so drained that you actually give in to the idea. "Okay", you tell him. "Go grab your books."<br/>
<br/>
"Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because I told Dad I was gonna do homework. We'll tell him you're going off to study with me too."<br/>
<br/>
Robert rolls his eyes, but rushes back to his room. Downstairs, you call out to your father. "Hey, Dad. Gonna take Robert to study with me."<br/>
<br/>
He glances up over his newspaper. "Keep your phone turned on. I want you back here as soon as possible if I call, alright?" You nod, and with Robert hot on your heels you trod off to the garage.<br/>
<br/>
Unmindful of what you're doing, you drive off towards the community center, but make a sharp turn as soon as you notice. With no destination in mind, you drive around aimlessly before settling on Potsdam Park, by the river, as a hangout spot.<br/>
<br/>
When Robert can't stand the silence between you anymore, he pipes up. "Yo, what the hell happened yesterday?"<br/>
<br/>
"Watch your language."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you. But yesterday, that girl was <i>pissed off</i> when I woke up. What happened?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing. We just had a talk is all. We don't see things the same way. Why do you have to ask so many questions?", you add. "Sometimes I feel like I did some big sin on my childhood and God punished me with you."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe it's for all the shit you’re pulling right now?", he chortles. "Stealing my stuff, trying to keep me off the deal."<br/>
<br/>
"Just do me a favor and shut the fuck up, alright?"<br/>
<br/>
The silence from the other side of the cab tells you that you've gone too far, and you glance over. Robert is pale, his face frozen.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry, Robert," you mutter. "I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at Lucy. Yeah, we had a fight and I'm still pissed off at her, and you just set me off again."<br/>
<br/>
"What'd you fight about?"<br/>
<br/>
"The stuff we're doing. She wants me to throw everything away, destroy it. The books, the supplies. Everything."<br/>
<br/>
"No way! <i>My</i> stuff?", he asks. (He's really fixated on the idea that the supplies belong to him. You don't mention that, as he left it back at the basement, Lucy has probably destroyed it all by now.) "How come?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because she doesn't like it. It scares her. And you know what?", you continue, feeling your anger rising again. "She can't even appreciate that I'm doing all this stuff in order to help her! So you know what else? Screw her if she's gonna be an ungrateful bitch!"<br/>
<br/>
"Hell, yeah!", Robert yells.<br/>
<br/>
"Hell, yes", you agree.<br/>
<br/>
Then you begin to brood. "She's thinks I'm gonna turn out just like that professor. And I'm not going to. Not if I can help it."<br/>
<br/>
"And she doesn't know what she's missing", Robert says.<br/>
<br/>
The corkscrew turn in the conversation catches you off guard. "What do you mean, 'what she's missing'?"<br/>
<br/>
"Bro, has she put on one of those masks before?" Robert asks. "Have you?", he asks when you shake your head. "Well, it's the coolest thing ever! You should have seen your face when I got all up in your grill! I could’a kicked your ass if I wanted to! I could kick Casey’s ass if I went after him with that guy’s mask!"<br/>
<br/>
"Those things are not toys", you warn him. "You could get hurt! My friend Taylor—"<br/>
<br/>
"So we'll be careful. We could do good stuff <i>and</i> have fun at the same time with them. It doesn’t have to be one or the other!"<br/>
<br/>
You do a double-take at him, and find his enthusiasm catching. You've never done much with him—usually you're trying to shake him off—but now, after the fight with Lucy (which probably also ended your partnership with Taylor) you feel glad to have someone who thinks this stuff is as cool as you do.<br/>
<br/>
You're passing a Panera, and on an impulse you jerk the wheel over and bump into the parking lot. When you jerk to a halt, you extend a hand to your dumbfounded brother.<br/>
<br/>
"Alright, <i>partner,</i> you tell him. "Let’s get to work."</span></div></div>


path: 114321414211222111221222121
author_id: nostrum777
title: Lessons Given and Lessons Learned
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>(Co-authored by Seuzz)<br/>
<br/>
At a secluded spot under a tree in Potsdam Park, you wolf down your steak and cheese sandwich, choking a little on a bite that was just a little too big.<br/>
<br/>
Robert slams you in the back, and you almost spew out a mouthful. “What’s the big idea?”, you bark.<br/>
<br/>
“That sandwich’s too big for you", he laughs. "You should have got the kids’s one!”<br/>
<br/>
You glower at him. It's going to be a pain, isn't it, working with him, particularly if he keeps acting like an idiot.<br/>
<br/>
“So, tell me about the stuff you’ve been working on,” he says.<br/>
<br/>
"It's serious stuff, Robert", you warn him. "It's not something to be joking around with."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm serious! You're not taking a shop class at school are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, maybe you should—"<br/>
<br/>
"They don't <i>offer</i> one, Will, they—"<br/>
<br/>
"— because this stuff is dangerous, a lot more dangerous even than a shop class. It could do worse stuff than chop your fingers off. If you're gonna be serious in a shop class, you gotta be serious about this stuff.<br/>
<br/>
Robert gives you a look. You give him the same look back.<br/>
<br/>
He sighs. "Fine. I get you. It's dangerous and—"<br/>
<br/>
"And you need to take it <i>seriously.</i> This isn't stuff to goof off with."<br/>
<br/>
"You made your point, bro!"<br/>
<br/>
"So you need to do what I say. Don't backtalk, and don't just grab things and try playing with them."<br/>
<br/>
His expression curdles with contemptuous skepticism. "Do <i>you</i> even know what you're doing?"<br/>
<br/>
"More than what <i>you</i> know", you retort. "Okay? <i>Okay?</i>" you repeat when he only nods.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay", he sighs. And he takes your hand when you put it out for a serious, promise-making handshake. "So can we get on with it already?"<br/>
<br/>
You snort to yourself. <i>This is going to be a disaster,</i> you think. But if he isn't going to listen to the warning you just gave him, he won't listen to any other warnings you try to impart.<br/>
<br/>
So you wipe off the mustard from your fingers and pull out the three books you've been working from: the primer on sigils that you stole out of the professor's office; the notebook he had been using to summarize his experiments with the <i>Libra</i>; and the notes you've been making.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, that book I was working with?", you start with Robert. "The one I got at Arnholm's, and Dad and I did that experiment out in the garage?" Robert nods, and you're gratified at least a little to see his expression tighten to one of rapt interest. "Well, it's a collection of spells for making things—"<br/>
<br/>
"Like that mask I put on back in the basement."<br/>
<br/>
"Right."<br/>
<br/>
"That was cool."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh." <i>Focus, Robert,</i> you want to tell him. "Now, the way it works, the way you make it, you have to put together a bunch of ingredients and mix and burn them. But the real magic is in the sigil that the book gives you to use."<br/>
<br/>
"The what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sigil. It's like a magical symbol. A circle with all kinds of, um, arcane symbols and runes written around the rim. Here, like this." You open up the primer and point to one of the sigils that it contains. (It was the primer, in fact, which explained to you that it is a sigil which does the magic, not the stuff you use in the spell.) "When you burn the ingredients together, you have to do it in a bowl that's set onto a sigil that's written in the book, and the magic goes from the sigil into the bowl and into the stuff."<br/>
<br/>
Robert frowns. "You mean the magic isn't in the ingredients?", he asks. "It's not in <i>my stuff?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes. "No, like I told you, it's in the sigil. You need the right ingredients for the spell to work, but it's the sigil that does the real work."<br/>
<br/>
"So do you have a copy of the sigil that makes masks?" Anxiety etches his face.<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head. "That's why I'm doing this research. I'm trying to figure out how to make it. And some others."<br/>
<br/>
His face lights up. "So you can do the spell!"<br/>
<br/>
"Right. Dad made me sell the book to that university professor. But when me and Taylor broke into his house to get Lucy out, we didn't find it, but we did manage to steal a bunch of his notes. And I got this book here off him too"—you indicate the primer—"that explains how to make sigils. I just got started working on it, but I managed to make a simple one that— Well, here, let me show you."<br/>
<br/>
You open up your notebook to a blank page, and using the primer for guidance you copy the first sigil in the primer. Robert sucks in a sharp breath a couple of times as the symbols you draw change and metamorphose into new shapes under your pen, and you feel yourself plumping up with pride. "Now watch," you tell him when you're done. You set a coin in the sigil and run your finger around the rim of the sigil three times. The coin flips.<br/>
<br/>
But the smile falls off your face when Robert only snorts. "That's no biggie", he says. "Criss Angel does more awesome tricks than that.”<br/>
<br/>
"No, but it's like in math", you retort. "They show you the easy stuff first and build up to the complicated stuff."<br/>
<br/>
Robert shrugs. "Okay, so what comes next?"<br/>
<br/>
Well, that's the problem isn't it? You rake your hand through your hair.<br/>
<br/>
"I've been trying to figure out how the sigils work", you tell him. "What I mean is, you saw how each time I drew a new symbol inside that box, over the old symbol, how it, like, folded and twisted up into a new shape? I think it's like when you do math—"<br/>
<br/>
"You already said that."<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up and listen. I mean, it's like when you start with a '9' and then you add a '7' and then you get something new, you get, uh, sixteen." <i>It is 16, isn't it?</i>  A little sweat pops out on your brow. It would be embarrassing to be caught out in an elementary arithmetic error. "But the sixteen contains both the nine and the seven, and you can work backwards with, uh, subtraction to get the nine and seven back out again. Well, I'm trying to figure out how to take a finished sigil and get the original symbols back out again."<br/>
<br/>
"Why don't you just try making the sigil that makes that masks? Isn't that what you want to do?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. But I also want to be clear on how this stuff works. Because like I said, it's dangerous!"<br/>
<br/>
Robert sighs again. So you add, "Besides, I don't know what the starting symbols are. The primer here gave me the symbols I had to use to make the sigil. See—" You flip open the primer again. "They're not just shapes. They have meanings, like words. Like this one—" You point to one of the symbols, beside which is written "=coin". "That one means 'coin,' so the finished sigil knows to flip a coin. And this one means 'flip'."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I can read", Robert says. "So what you're saying is, we can't make masks without the sigil, and we can't make the sigil without the right thingies like these." He points to the symbols in the primer.<br/>
<br/>
"Exactly!"<br/>
<br/>
"Tch! It's too bad your professor didn't write them down someplace."<br/>
<br/>
You feel as though someone has hit you between the eyes with a rock, and your scalp feels like it has caught fire. "What did you say?"<br/>
<br/>
"I said, it's too bad your professor—"<br/>
<br/>
But you're not listening anymore. You snatch up Blackwell's notebook and with shaking hands flip to the page with PERSONA written at the bottom. There's a line of symbols scratched deeply into the page. One of them instantly leaps out at you—two barbed hooks connected by a bar. It comes back to you that you saw that same figure in one of your very vivid dreams.<br/>
<br/>
"Robert", you say, your voice filled with suppressed hysteria. "Look at this symbol." You point to the hooks. "Go through the primer and see if you can find it anywhere." Robert stares at you, then takes the primer. You concentrate on the professor's notes, flipping between the pages. They are each set out in the same methodical order: cryptic lists of ingredients and cryptic instructions, and sets of symbols, some of them extremely long, taking up most of the page. You stifle a cry when you recognize another one of them from the spell that makes the coin-flipping sigil.<br/>
<br/>
"Here it is," Robert says, and shows you a page near the back of the book. Two barbed hooks, connected by a bar. There's no translation for it, though, and you have flip backward in the book before you find it again, this time with a meaning. <i>Grasp</i> is what the book says it means.<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself trembling all over as you turn back to the professor's notebook. It looks like he <i>did</i> write the sigil down for you, by breaking it up into its basic parts.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
You and Robert move from the park to the municipal library before continuing, and together you pore over the primer and Blackwell's notebook, and making notes of your own. Not all of the symbols that the professor wrote down are given a meaning in the primer, and you can't shake the dreadful feeling that Blackwell's own list might be incomplete. But it does look like you might be able to use the professor's notes to duplicate the sigils.<br/>
<br/>
Robert has the same thought: "Bro, you think we can make that sigil thingie, to make some more of those masks?"<br/>
<br/>
You don't know how to answer. Beyond your own nagging doubts, there's the warning you'd tried impressing on him. <i>This stuff is dangerous.</i> What could happen if you tried making the sigil, and you messed up? What could happen if the professor himself has made a mistake?</span></div></div>


path: 1143214142112221112212221211
author_id: nostrum777
title: How to Reverse-Engineer Magic, Pt. 1
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>(Co-authored by Seuzz)<br/>
<br/>
The work is a lot harder and more fraught that you had even dared to fear. There are many times over the next five hours that you are sorely tempted to give up, and only the fear that a half-finished sigil might be more dangerous than a completed one impels you to continue.<br/>
<br/>
One of the chief problems is that most of the symbols that Blackwell has copied into his notes are not themselves described in the primer, and you feel yourself taking your life into your hands each time you add one to the work box. Even worse: Some of the symbols that Blackwell has jotted down, when you find them in the primer, turn out to require special, advanced handling, for they cannot be added directly to the work box but must be constructed step-by-step inside separate work boxes and added to the main work box via a connecting "line of power." You and Robert pore carefully over the primer to understand how to build a these intermediate sigils, and both of you pale the first time you pull off the trick, as the snake-like form you've scrawled into a separate work box actually <i>uncoils and slithers along the inky line</i> to weave itself into the main sigil you've been working on, leaving empty the box that you constructed it inside.<br/>
<br/>
But between the primer and your own leaps of faith (faith that Blackwell got the formulas right) you reach a final culmination when you inscribe the work box with the symbol for "close and empower", and a complicated wheel explodes from the box to cover half the worksheet. You and Robert both fly back in your seats.<br/>
<br/>
"Is something wrong over here?" You both gasp and flinch at the hard voice that sounds behind your shoulder. A hatchet-faced librarian is leaning in, glaring hard at you.<br/>
<br/>
"N-no", you stammer.<br/>
<br/>
"Then please keep your voices down", she hisses before marching off to be swallowed by the library stacks.<br/>
<br/>
Robert chortles. "Betcha she'd'a <i>freaked</i> if she knew what we were up to!"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Betcha she'd'a freaked,</i> you think, <i>if we'd done it wrong and she found a couple of frogs sitting in our chairs.</i><br/>
<br/>
"So is that it?" Robert asks when you don't reply. "Are we done?"<br/>
<br/>
"If we did it right."<br/>
<br/>
"You think we did?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno", you have to admit. "I don't remember what the sigil in the book looked like, exactly. I mean, it did kind of look like this."<br/>
<br/>
"So how do we tell?"<br/>
<br/>
You don't answer, but lay your fingertips gently atop the paper. It's probably your imagination, but you think you feel the faintest vibration, and the faintest crackle of electricity, inside the ink strokes. Robert watches you, then lays his own fingertips next to yours.<br/>
<br/>
"Only way to test it", you tell him, "is to try making a mask with it."<br/>
<br/>
His eyes light up. "Cool! Let's do that now!"<br/>
<br/>
"Except we'd have to go back to the school basement, and I don't want to get in another fight with Lucy."<br/>
<br/>
His face falls. "Can't we just go get my stuff out?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>His stuff.</i> Robert's just not going to let go of the idea that your "Arts and Crafts" project now belongs to him. "We'd still have to go back to the basement."<br/>
<br/>
"So when—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Let me think about it. We need to get her out of there, at least long enough for us to sneak in." You pull at your lip. "Taylor likes taking her out." You grimace. "He likes taking her down to the river, probably."<br/>
<br/>
"So can we call him, get him to do that now?"<br/>
<br/>
You make a face, then shake your head. "No", you sigh as you open your book bag. "I told Dad we were coming here to do homework. We should do that, in case he tries calling our bluff when we go home."<br/>
<br/>
Robert looks disappointed, so you tear out the worksheet with the sigil and hand it to him. <br/>
<br/>
"Here, hide this with your stuff", you tell him. "Don't fold it, just slip it inside a book." His eyes light up again, and you smile to yourself. Besides making him feel good about trusting him with it, you figure it might be safest with him. You can't shake the paranoid feeling that your dad might go snooping through your stuff and find it if you kept it. But he's not as likely to go snooping through Robert's stuff.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
<i>Monday afternoon.</i> You promised yourself this morning that you'd take the day like a normal school day, but you quickly got caught up in a mood of suppressed hysteria. <i>It's like the night before Christmas,</i> you think. <i>So many awesome things waiting for me to open and try out, but I can't get to them yet.</i><br/>
<br/>
Your mood is at a fever pitch by the time you dash into your final class of the day: Astronomy. You're far more alert in there than you usually are, for your dreams come back to you with a vividness that makes the classroom itself feel like a lucid dream. So strong is their pull that when the final bell rings you run up to Mr. Cash at his lectern to ask if he can recommend you any good books about the planets. "There's lots of good books out there, Will", he tells you.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't mean science books", you blurt out, and then all at once you feel very shy and doubtful. "I mean, not about their atmospheres or any of that stuff. I mean about—" But you can't quite lay your tongue on the words that you mean. What you saw in your dreams doesn't correspond to anything that you've ever heard about the planets in any science book or science lecture. "I mean, like, poetry", you stammer.<br/>
<br/>
Mr. Cash stares, and you feel yourself shrink up. It's not fun when Mr. Cash stares at you—with his salt-and-pepper crew cut and his long face, he looks too much like Christopher Lee. Even with his American accent, his voice booms like Count Dooku's when he gets angry. But now he just replies with a lofty disdain. "Maybe you'd better talk to someone in the English department", he growls.<br/>
<br/>
But instead of taking his advice, you go looking for Scott Bickelmeier instead. He cut you dead earlier in Calculus, but he looks relieved when you brush up against him at his locker. "Hey, I was gonna come looking for you," he says. He looks wrung out with stress.<br/>
<br/>
"Any chance you could take Lucy out on the town today or tonight?", you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"What for?" Now his expression turns guarded.<br/>
<br/>
You chew on your lip, then blurt out the confidence: "I want to get into the shit we got stored in the basement. Without her around, you know?"<br/>
<br/>
Scott's expression tightens further. "What for?"<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself bridling. "What do you think for?"<br/>
<br/>
Scott gives you a very even look. He glances over the top of your head to study the crowded hallway behind you, then leans in to talk to you in a very quiet voice.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, I get it, Will", he says. "But I don't want to be in the middle of it. You have to understand Lucy. She’s worried about you. I know she got angry with you yesterday, but that's because she's worried. She really does like you, Will."<br/>
<br/>
You blink hard. <i>But not in the way I want her to like me,</i> you want to retort.<br/>
<br/>
Instead, you say, "Well, that's nice, and I like her too. That's how come I want to help her out, but the only way I can help her out is by playing around with this stuff she doesn't want me to play around with!"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you sure?"<br/>
<br/>
"That it's the only way? Pretty sure!"<br/>
<br/>
"So what do you need into the basement for this afternoon? No wait, lemme ask you to help <i>me</i> out."<br/>
<br/>
"With what?"<br/>
<br/>
Scott glances around again. "You remember my friend Sawyer? I told you about him and the, uh, accident with him and me and ... Taylor?"<br/>
<br/>
Sure, you remember Scott and Taylor's accident. Hard to forget, when you've got the Scott-disguised Taylor standing right in front of you. But Sawyer? Sawyer who? What was his deal?<br/>
<br/>
"We were all goofing around with masks," Scott tells you, and he says it so quietly through stiff lips that you can hardly make out the words over the babble of the crowd surging past and jostling you. "Sawyer put a mask to his face, and he fell into a coma. He's in the hospital. I was going to go up there this afternoon and see if there was any way of helping him."<br/>
<br/>
You stare at Scott. <i>Sawyer put on a mask.</i> If that's all it is, then why does he need you to go up to the hospital with him? He knows how to take a mask off someone; he's had a lot more practice than you at taking them off and putting them on.<br/>
<br/>
Then you see it in his eyes: He's not asking because he needs your help. He's asking because he wants to know if you're really about helping people, or if you're only about goofing around with magic because it's fun and cool.</span></div></div>


path: 11432141421122211122122212111
author_id: nostrum777
title: The Sleeping Third Musketeer
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>In a way, you’re relieved that Taylor asked your help for something he could do by himself. For one, you’re glad there’s no animosity between you. It's like you've wound up shunning your usual friends – Caleb, Keith, Jenny, Yumi, Carson and James – and the last thing you want is to burn bridges with Taylor, who is turning out to be your most constant friend. But his request also reinforces your desire to use magic for good, to set an example to your brother.<br/>
<br/>
Which reminds you: Taylor said that this "Sawyer Harrison" fell into a coma after putting on a mask. What if a mask you make with that sigil does the same sort of thing? What if your brother, so eager to test a new toy, fell into a coma too? What would you tell your mother? No, what would you tell your <i>father?</i><br/>
<br/>
Your dad. <i>Who may or may not be an evil clone under Blackwell’s control,</i> you remind yourself. <br/>
<br/>
But you're drifting, and Scott has to shake you back to the present. "Hey, Will! You alright?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, sorry", you tell him. "It’s nothing. Just a stray thought." You gather your wits. "Sure, let’s go help that friend of yours. Um, I'll catch up to you in the parking lot", you add. Scott claps you on the arm and with a smile plunges back into the crowd of students.<br/>
<br/>
After he goes, you to pull out your phone and text your brother: [<i>working on the plan</i>], you tell him. [<i>I'll call u if there’s a change.</i>] <br/>
<br/>
His reply comes a little later, when you're outside approaching Scott's truck: [<i>fine butt mke it quik.</i>]<br/>
<br/>
A change seems to have come over Scott in the meantime. "Something up?", he asks in hard voice, and his face is red. He nods at your phone.<br/>
<br/>
"Just a text from my brother", you tell him. "You know what brothers are like."<br/>
<br/>
Scott's lips compress and whiten, but he doesn't reply. You wonder if you said something wrong, but don't press it.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
It's a short drive out to Hochstetter All Saints Hospital, a grim and grimy brick monstrosity built in the Gothic style—tall, narrow windows and fluted spires, with a square tower thrusting skyward between two wings—that some people like to call "Arkham" on account of its foreboding demeanor. But the main reception area is cool, clean, modern and very white, and the nurse at the front desk gives you and Scott a friendly look over her glasses as she returns a phone to its cradle. "Hello, how may I help you?"<br/>
<br/>
Scott's mood has brightened in the meantime, and he quietly asks for Sawyer Harrison's room number. The receptionist gives it to him, and reminds him that visiting hours end at eight o'clock. Scott is nervous and silent on the elevator ride up to the fourth floor.<br/>
<br/>
But almost instantly after you step out of the elevator, Scott grabs you and pulls you back. <br/>
<br/>
"That's Harrison's mom talking to that doctor", he mutters. "Don't look", he adds as you glance down the hallway to where a flustered woman is jabbering at a man in a white coat. "Shit. I'm gonna have to distract her. You get in and get the mask off Sawyer."<br/>
<br/>
"You're better at getting masks off than me!"<br/>
<br/>
"And I know his mom, I'm a better decoy. Come on." He grips you by the arm and pushes you down the hall.<br/>
<br/>
Sawyer's mother is a dumpy, pear-shaped woman with long brown hair. Her face is white and grave, and her eyes are red and puffy. She clenches a crumpled Kleenex in her fist and holds it to her nose as she listens to the doctor.<br/>
<br/>
"Mrs. Harrison", Scott says as you walk up to her, but she doesn't immediately react. "Mrs. Harrison," he repeats when he's at her elbow. She turns with a distracted frown, and does a slight double take at him.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Scott", she says, and smiles faintly. "Are you here to—?" Her eyes widen. "Are you alright? Is everything okay with your family?"<br/>
<br/>
"We're all fine", Scott says. "I came up to see Sawyer."<br/>
<br/>
Mrs. Harrison stares, then seems to fold up inside her. She smiles, but she also looks like she's about to burst into tears. <br/>
<br/>
"That's so sweet of you", she says. "Not many of his friends come out nowadays. He'll be so—" She catches herself, and blinks back tears.<br/>
<br/>
"And this is Will", Scott adds, half-turning to indicate you. "Friend of mine from school. Will, Sawyer's mom."<br/>
<br/>
Mrs. Harrison's face relaxes into a wide but tired smile. "It's nice to meet you, Will. Did you know— <i>Do</i> you know Sawyer?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. But, uh, Scott was telling me about him, and I said I'd come with him to visit."<br/>
<br/>
"That's so nice of you."<br/>
<br/>
You take her limp, outstretched hand and give it a gentle shake. It gives you a guilty ache for some reason to see her so relieved that someone—that <i>anyone</i>—came up to visit her son. Or is it an ache of pleasure you feel, the anticipation of doing something to help your friend and for this heartbroken woman? Whatever the reason, your gullet is doing backflips.<br/>
<br/>
Sawyer nudges you. "How about you go in. I want to talk to Mrs. Harrison some more."<br/>
<br/>
"Is that okay?", you ask Mrs. Harrison. She nods and continues to smile at you. The doctor, you notice, has moved on.<br/>
<br/>
The hospital room is small and rather dingy, and there's a faint smell of decay in the air. Most of the floor is taken up by a large bed, angled up, holding an emaciated kid with strawberry-blonde hair. His features give the impression of being squashed between his brow and his chin. It's almost like he's smirking in his sleep.<br/>
<br/>
But he's not alone. Sitting in a chair on the other side of him is a girl. As she glances up you see the resemblance between her and the boy in the bed, and between her and the woman outside. Long hair and a pear-shaped figure in one case, and narrow eyes and freckled features in the other.<br/>
<br/>
"Who are you?", she demands.<br/>
<br/>
"My name's Will", you stammer, for you weren't expecting another obstacle to o'erleap. "I came up here with a friend of Sawyer's."<br/>
<br/>
The girl's expression tightens. "Sawyer didn't have many friends."<br/>
<br/>
Her retort is so sharp and sudden you are thrown for a loss. "It's Scott Bickelmeir", you explain.<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes snap into flame at the name. "Oh. So he <i>finally</i> has the guts to come up here! The bastard!"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Worse and worse!</i> "Is something wrong?"<br/>
<br/>
The girl stands up and stares past you into the hall. The muscles in her cheek work. For a moment you think she's going to charge past you. But she turns back to you.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah." The girl crosses her arms, fuming. "Scott’s the one to blame for all the shit that happened to my brother. You said you're friends with him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well ... yeah."<br/>
<br/>
She winces. "Then I don't want to get into it. But did he tell you what happened?" <br/>
<br/>
"Maybe you could tell me." You feel like you're picking your way through a minefield. And what will happen if Scott comes in?<br/>
<br/>
The girl makes a face, and it's a long minute before she answers. <br/>
<br/>
"Well, it happened up at school", she says. "You go to Eastman, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Westside."<br/>
<br/>
She looks startled. "Oh. I thought I've seen you around at school. My name's Belinda, by the way."<br/>
<br/>
"Will", you introduce yourself again.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, so it all happened at the end of summer", she says. "The short version is that Sawyer went up to the school with some friends and they were goofing off, and they did <i>something</i> and the next thing my brother's in a coma." Tears threaten to well up in her eyes. "And Sawyer was one of the friends who was up there with him!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry. Um, did Scott tell you how it happened? How your brother—?"<br/>
<br/>
"No! That's what's so crappy about this. We didn't even know he was up there with Sawyer. He bugged out, left all the blame on his friend Taylor!"<br/>
<br/>
"Taylor Mitchell?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, you knew Taylor?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh." Belinda glares. "Well, anyway, Scott bugged out and left all the blame on Taylor, which was pretty convenient, because, you know, Taylor was in that car wreck." She sniffs hard, and you can tell she's about to lose it. "And it wasn't until a week ago that he finally worked up the guts to come tell my parents that he was up at the school with ... with ... Sawyer ... that day!"<br/>
<br/>
She thrusts her face into the crook of her arm, and her shoulders shake. You freeze all over, wondering if you should touch her or hold her to try making her feel better.<br/>
<br/>
Fortunately, Belinda recovers herself pretty quickly, though her face is red and tear-stained when she lifts it again, and her nose and eyes are runny. "And this is the first time", she says in a haggard voice, "that he's even been up to <i>see</i> Sawyer!"<br/>
<br/>
Okay, now you can see why Taylor wanted you to come up to the hospital with him. He must have been carrying around a huge amount of guilt, and even if he wasn't worried about running into the family again, he would have wanted your emotional support.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I've got a few more things I want to tell him, if he's outside", Belinda says, and now she does step around you to stride toward the door.<br/>
<br/>
This is your chance – while Belinda is outside, you can try taking off the mask that Sawyer is probably wearing.<br/>
<br/>
But that will leave him alone with Belinda. Maybe you should go out to try acting as a buffer.</span></div></div>


path: 114321414211222111221222121112
author_id: nostrum777
title: How to Deal with a Guilty Conscience
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Now's your chance to do what Taylor brought you up here for. Just put your hands on Sawyer's brow, mutter the magic words, and if there's a mask on Sawyer it should pop off. <br/>
<br/>
You're hovering over the unconscious student, your hands sweaty with anticipation, when you hear Belinda's voice blasting from the other side of the door. "Fancy meetin’ you here, Scott! You’ve got a lot of nerve!"<br/>
<br/>
You pause. You're leaving your only friend to the mercy of someone who hates his guts.<br/>
<br/>
You look down at Sawyer, who despite his drawn features looks as though he's only sleeping, and decide that he can wait. It sounds like Taylor needs you.<br/>
<br/>
Belinda's bellows burst into the room as you open the door. "—and then, instead of calling and telling Mom and Dad what happened, you just ran away, and don’t have the guts to tell <i>anyone</i> until you leave Eastman and everything dies down! No, Mom!", she screams as her mother gently tries to restrain her. "I have to say this!"<br/>
<br/>
Scott, who looks like he's trying to shrink up inside himself, shoots you a frightened, bewildered look.<br/>
<br/>
So you jump between him and Belinda.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, hey!", you shout at her, and she looks at you like she's been slapped. "Hey; I know this isn't any of my business", you yell into the sudden silence, "but if you're yelling at Scott because he didn't come in before, why are you yelling at him now? Isn't late better than never?"<br/>
<br/>
"He was a coward!"<br/>
<br/>
"If he was a coward", you retort, "he wouldnt've come in at all!"<br/>
<br/>
The girl snaps her mouth shut and glares at you. "Belinda, honey", her mother says, "you're not making anything better."<br/>
<br/>
Belinda wheels and stomps off down the hallway. You, Scott and Mrs. Harrison watch as she disappears around a corner.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry, Scott", Mrs. Harrison says.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I'm sorry", he replies in a wretched-sounding voice. "She's right, I should've come seen you earlier, told you."<br/>
<br/>
"Is there <i>anything</i> you can tell us about how Sawyer—? What happened that day?"<br/>
<br/>
"No." Scott folds his arms and stares at the floor a moment before looking up to glower at you from beneath his brows. "Except all of us, including Sawyer, got into a box of stuff out at Salopek."<br/>
<br/>
Mrs. Harrison's lips disappear into a thin line. "I know that's what the company said about firing him. That he was—"<br/>
<br/>
"It didn't have anything to do with that", Scott says. "It was something else." Still he holds your eye. "Well, maybe it was nothing," he says. "And it's all gone now."<br/>
<br/>
"What was it?", asked Mrs. Harrison.<br/>
<br/>
"Just a box of stuff in the distribution center. It was open because it was being returned to—"<br/>
<br/>
"Was it toxic?"<br/>
<br/>
"Ma'am?" Scott looks startled.<br/>
<br/>
Now it's Mrs. Harrison's turn to hold his eye. "Tell me what it was, Scott. Because—" She swallows. "Because I don't know what we're going to do about Sawyer! He's stable, but he doesn't want to wake up! The doctors want to make more tests, but our insurance is already run out and—" She wipes tears away as they suddenly spring from her eyes. "Our only hope may be to sue Salopek. If there's something out there that caused this—!"<br/>
<br/>
Scott is stunned into silence. So are you. You glance around, thinking that maybe you can edge back into the hospital room.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I don't know if I can help with that", Scott mumbles. "Like, I can't even say for sure what it was we were— What the stuff was. And it's gone now, returned to wherever it came from."<br/>
<br/>
"But couldn't you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll think about it, Mrs. Harrison", Scott assures her. "Real hard, I'll try to remember what the stuff was. And I'll definitely keep in touch, and come up to see see Sawyer more often. Maybe that'll motivate him to wake up? In fact, I could go in now and—"<br/>
<br/>
"Thank you, Scott." Mrs. Harrison squeezes his arm. "Even if you spend just a few minutes with him, that'd be nice."<br/>
<br/>
You let out your breath—which you didn't realize you'd been holding—and turn to follow Scott into the hospital. <i>Just a minute alone with him, if we're lucky,</i> you think, <i>and then we can—</i><br/>
<br/>
But your heart sinks when Mrs. Harrison pushes ahead to lead you and Scott into the room. She sinks into a chair next to her son, and grips his hand.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Dammit!</i><br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
You spend about twenty minutes in the hospital room with her and Scott. They talk in low voices about Sawyer, and Scott manages to make her smile a couple of times with reminiscences about him. You notice that he subtly tries a couple of times to get her to leave the room, but she won't budge.<br/>
<br/>
Then Belinda comes in. She apologizes to Scott for yelling at him, and then it's the three of them talking.<br/>
<br/>
Eventually it becomes clear that neither the mother nor the daughter are going to leave you or Scott alone with Sawyer, and so you make your farewells. Mrs. Harrison makes a special point of thanking you for coming; Belinda makes a point of apologizing to Scott again.<br/>
<br/>
Only when you’re at the truck does Scott looks at you, and his face flushed red with anger, guilt and disappointment. "What the hell was that, Will? Why didn't you—? I <i>told</i> you to go in and—"<br/>
<br/>
"I was worried about you! That girl was in there, and when she ran out and started yelling at you—!"<br/>
<br/>
"It would'a been okay if you got the mask off Sawyer!"<br/>
<br/>
"We can still do that! Maybe we could come up here tomorrow!"<br/>
<br/>
That shuts him up for a moment, and he lapses into a mulish silence. You're halfway back to Acheson before either of you speaks again.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry I yelled at you", Scott says. "You're right, we can try again tomorrow, or sometime. And thanks for wanting to come out and save me from that tiger cub that Sawyer calls a little sister."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'm sorry I didn't get the mask off him while I could. I guess my instinct was wrong there."<br/>
<br/>
"No, your instinct was okay. You wanted to help me. I just wish— Well, nothing."<br/>
<br/>
"No, what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that you'd thought it through a little more. But you didn't do wrong", Scott assures you.<br/>
<br/>
You don't want to fall back into that awkward silence, so you ask Taylor to tell you the full story about him and Scott and Sawyer, from the top.<br/>
<br/>
The story is a little confused, but it explains why Belinda was so mad at him. After Sawyer fell unconscious and they couldn't revive him, Taylor—in Scott's face—left his friend Scott—now wearing Taylor's own face—to talk to the cops, as Scott had been in a legal scrape before and it seemed best that someone answering to Scott's name not get involved. So Taylor ran away, and then Scott got himself killed later that afternoon. Since then, the remorseful Taylor has been fighting to give himself the courage to tell the Harrisons that he was there that fatal afternoon as well, even though he doesn't know what good it will do to tell them.<br/>
<br/>
But there's more, additional details that catch your attention. The box they raided at Salopek held a lot more than the masks that they took. It also included some metal strips, some papers, a notebook, and more. You ask what happened to these.<br/>
<br/>
"Some of it we left at Salopek, didn't even take out of the box", he says. "Scott and I split up the rest of it. I don't know what happened to the stuff he took. Maybe it's still at his—" Taylor catches and corrects himself. "Maybe it's still at <i>my</i> house. Or maybe my mom and brother got rid of it." He turns pale. "The rest of it I wound up bringing up to Eastman and hiding in one of the maintenance corridors. I just wanted to get it out of my—" Again, he stammers. "Out of my place. But I wanted to keep track of where it was."<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Taylor drops you off at your place, and you're in a thoughtful mood as you climb the stairs to your room. Not even the noise of rap music coming from your brother's room can disturb you. Indeed, it only makes you more thoughtful.<br/>
<br/>
Taylor has a brother who doesn't know he's alive. How would you feel if everyone thought something happened to you, and you couldn't see or talk to your brother again?<br/>
<br/>
A week ago you'd have rejoiced at the chance to shake the little twerp off. Now, you know you'd be a lot less happy.<br/>
<br/>
You mucked things up at the hospital today. Maybe you can make it up to Taylor by reintroducing him to his brother.<br/>
<br/>
Okay, on that much you are determined. But there's also the other stuff that Taylor mentioned—the contents of that box he and his friends found at Salopek. You should try retrieving it all. But where should you look first?<br/>
<br/>
Easiest thing would be to get Taylor to return to Eastman and retrieve the stuff that he hid. Or you could talk to Caleb, who is now working at Salopek, and maybe through him see if the original box is still there. That could be a very important clue, not only because of what is inside it but because of where it came from. Or you could combine this side quest with your main quest by approaching Taylor's brother, asking for stuff that Taylor left behind, and maybe that way lure the two brothers into a meeting where they can reconcile.</span></div></div>


path: 1143214142112221112212221211121
author_id: nostrum777
title: Repeating The Experiment
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Other than having the Libra on your hands, getting any sort of notes on it would be the most logical choice. Salopek is too risky a target, you deem: your dad’s there, and you don’t want to tip Caleb that something’s off. And the notes that Taylor said are back at his old house would probably be hard to get at.<br/>
<br/>
So you decide to prioritize the stuff Taylor says he hid at Eastman. [<i>Call me when u get home. Need 2 talk</i>], you text Scott. <br/>
<br/>
You've just hit "Send" when Robert, all uninvited, steps into your bedroom. He closes the door behind him and leans against it with folded arms. "Yo", he says, "what was that about you ‘working on the plan’?"<br/>
<br/>
"I went with Taylor up to the hospital to see a friend of his."<br/>
<br/>
Robert's brow furrows. "What's got to do with the plan?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's complicated. His friend got hurt working with this stuff."<br/>
<br/>
Robert's eyes pop. "You mean there's <i>someone else</i> mixed up in this shit?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sort of. His friend is in a coma." It comes back to you, that worry: <i>What if Robert gets hurt the way Sawyer got hurt?</i> "I told you, this stuff is dangerous. I wanted to try figuring out what went wrong with the guy. So that it doesn't happen to us."<br/>
<br/>
"So, did you? Figure it out?"<br/>
<br/>
You make a face. "No. It was a mess up there."<br/>
<br/>
Robert stares. Then he says, "But tomorrow we're gonna start testing this shit out."<br/>
<br/>
He says it like it's a order, which riles you. "You're not in charge. You're not the big brother here."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I know. Life's a bitch they say." Robert ducks out the bedroom before you can hurl your pillow at him.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
<i>Tuesday afternoon.</i> Taylor meets you and Robert at the old elementary school. It's just the three of you, for he's talked Lucy into staying at his house when his mom isn't home, which gives her a break from living like a homeless person in the school basement. Better (from your point of view) it gives you unfettered access to the basement and to the "arts and crafts" supplies without her interfering.<br/>
<br/>
And it is <i>Taylor Mitchell</i> who meets you. He got there first, and took the time to pull Scott's mask off while waiting for you.<br/>
<br/>
You spread the material all out over the wide conference table. The powders and liquids and tools; the finished masks and metal strips that you made and that you stole from the professor's house. And as you spread it out, you ask Taylor about the hospital. "So, you gonna go up and visit Sawyer again later?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno," he says. "Maybe not for awhile." He sounds nervous and upset.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, if you need me to go with you—"<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks, but—" He glances over at Robert. "I think it's best to skip that thing for now."<br/>
<br/>
"How come? I thought you wanted to—"<br/>
<br/>
"I was talking to Mrs. Harrison, you know," Taylor interrupts, and he motions you to keep your voice down. "She said that between the costs of the hospital and stuff, they’re not in a good place. Their best hope is to sue Salopek. Anyway, I think we better leave all that alone for now."<br/>
<br/>
It's clear he doesn't want to talk about it, so you let the topic lapse, at least for now, though it leaves you with a bad feeling. You're distracting yourself by moving stuff around on the table when Taylor says, "What's this?"<br/>
<br/>
You look over and see that Robert has handed him the paper with the sigil on it. "Will made it", Robert says. "For making masks like the one you guys've been playing with."<br/>
<br/>
You snatch it from Taylor's hand. But it's too late to cover it up, so you hand it back to him with a grimace.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah", you sigh. "I mean, I <i>think</i> that's the sigil that makes masks."<br/>
<br/>
"Whoa!" Taylor's eyes widen. "How did you—? I thought you needed that book in order to do that!"<br/>
<br/>
"I used the stuff we got out of the professor's house. He left a lot of notes behind, and that book I got out of his office helped a lot too. Anyway, I'm not a hundred percent that it will work." You knock your knuckles nervously on the table. "That's what I want to find out." You gesture at the supplies laid out before you.<br/>
<br/>
Taylor scratches his cheek, and his eyes glint. "Okay, let's give it a try." He smiles, and so does Robert. For your part, you just wish you felt as confident as they look.<br/>
<br/>
So, you do almost exactly as you did when your dad helped you almost two weeks ago. You set a bowl on the sigil; mix and fire the ingredients; choke and gag on the smoke that pours out; and dump the mix over the convex mirror. Robert and Taylor look on with utter fascination at the result: a grayish-white shell covering the mirror.<br/>
<br/>
"And, there it is", you tell them. "Pick it up."<br/>
<br/>
It's Robert, naturally, who grabs for it, and you feel a moment of fright. He turns it over in his hands, cooing over it.<br/>
<br/>
Then he jumps and flings the mask away, and Taylor catches it in mid-air as your brother falls in surprise to the floor on his butt. You can't help snickering.<br/>
<br/>
"What's the big idea?", Robert demands as he scrambles back to his feet.<br/>
<br/>
"It always does that, bro. Get used to it. Check it out now." You and Robert close around Taylor, who is gravely examining the shell. For it is a mask now, with a nose and browline and cheekbones and chin. "And there it is. Did the same thing when Dad and I made one. Scared the fuck out of me", you confess to Robert with a grin, "but I didn't fall on my ass." He flips you off. <br/>
<br/>
"So, we can make more masks." Taylor picks up the mask of Scott Bickelmeir and compares it to the one you just made. "Why is this one different?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's not done yet. You have to polish it. When you polish it, they'll be the same color."<br/>
<br/>
"And then?", Robert asks, eagerly.<br/>
<br/>
"Then you can use it. You put it on someone's face. It knocks them out for a little while and kind of goes down inside them. Then when it comes back out it then there's a copy of their face inside."<br/>
<br/>
"And then you can turn yourself into them by putting it on?", Robert looks like he's going to explode.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not completely sure", you admit. "That's as far as I got before, um, Dad confiscated the book and sold it to that professor."<br/>
<br/>
Taylor frowns. "So how do we find out how to finish it?"<br/>
<br/>
This gives you the chance you've been looking for. "When you were telling me about Sawyer, you said you hid some of the stuff inside Eastman. Didn't you mention a notebook, that was one of the things?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. Oh!" Taylor's eyes widen.<br/>
<br/>
"Think you can get that stuff out of Eastman? There might be something in there that'd help."<br/>
<br/>
Taylor sucks his upper lip in, then shrugs. "Yeah, I think I could manage that. Well, <i>Scott</i> could."<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks. In the meantime—"<br/>
<br/>
"In the meantime", Robert interrupts, "can we make some more masks?"<br/>
<br/>
"We should finish up with this one", you retort. "Here." You pull the mask from Taylor and shove it at Robert. "You can start by polishing up this one."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure! What do I need?"<br/>
<br/>
You could tell him that a car buffer would get it done lickety-split. But he needs to be kept busy, so you tell him to get a dish towel or a rag at home. "It's gonna take you a long time," you warn him. "A couple of days, probably, lots of elbow grease." A smile creases your lips as Robert's face falls. "And don't let Dad catch you working on it!"<br/>
<br/>
"And what'll you be working on?" Taylor asks you.<br/>
<br/>
"I thought I'd try figuring out the sigil for the next spell."</span></div></div>


path: 11432141421122211122122212111211
author_id: nostrum777
title: A Second Set of Notes
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Try as you might, after several hours, you’re no further along than where you started. The next spell on Blackwell’s notes requires the same components as the stuff you have to make the masks, but the process is different. It requires a bowl – just like the spell that makes the masks – so you figure it must make something like the liquid mixture that creates masks, but other than that, you’re at a blank. And that translates to the sigil process. It was easy for you to decipher the first, because you knew what it did, in a way. This one, however, is too new, and the notes are cryptic.<br/>
<br/>
You give up when Taylor tells you that he needs to go pick up Lucy and bring her back to the basement. "Is she okay?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"She’s in a much better mood", Taylor replies. "Being here drove her mad, y’know."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I’m glad she’s better. Too bad she doesn’t wanna deal with any of this."<br/>
<br/>
Taylor's answer surprises you. "Yeah", he says. I still find it hard to figure out how to do anything good with more masks. But after seeing it ... well, it’s a bit cool."<br/>
<br/>
"It'd be great for spying", you point out. "Or beating up bullies by being someone bigger."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but that’s not very nice."<br/>
<br/>
"Some people would deserve it. Although", you add after a moment's thought, "it would be pretty awful if the wrong people got it. I mean, I wouldn't even want to imagine the CIA with this stuff, let alone someone worse."<br/>
<br/>
You're both silent, and if Taylor's train of thought is paralleling yours, he's imagining a secret group of people armed with masks - and maybe robot dupes to fool people around. That would make for one heck of a spy organization. All they’d need is a good reason not to go mad with it.<br/>
<br/>
You glance at your brother, and suddenly your stomach grumbles. <i>Or they could end up in the hands of people that need to be a bit more responsible...</i><br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
That night, you dream.<br/>
<br/>
You’re back at the planetarium, the planets whirling around you. You feel at peace, as if you belong here. Once again, a symbol is drawn on mid-air. You identify it, since you had looked up the meaning before. However, as before, it turns and shifts and wobbles and rips and opens, too fast for you to follow. You’re more observant, however, as you manage to see new symbols forming as part of the changes. The end result, as always, is a complex wheel that contains multiple symbols, but this one seems a lot simpler than the one of the mask.<br/>
<br/>
As you wake up, you seem to understand a bit better how to proceed. You’re unsure of the actual way to do so, but after the dream, you get an idea. You jot on your notes five different ways to do it – ideas on what to do, mostly, but just as cryptic to anyone as Blackwell’s notes are to you – before you set up to school.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
<i>Saturday afternoon.</i> You’re at the municipal library once again, trying to see if this time you can complete the sigil successfully. You have two days of work behind you, and have thrown out all but one of the ideas you started with, but you feel like you're making progress, for even in your mistakes you are seeing new ways to proceed.<br/>
<br/>
Robert is with you, watching attentively as you brusquely explain (half to him, half to yourself) what you're doing. But he's also polishing his new mask, and grousing about the work. "It’ll help you build muscle", you remark. "Or you can pretend you’re jerking off to porn." But he's made progress too, and a large spot on the mask (when he showed you last) is now a deep blue in color.<br/>
<br/>
You notice Scott approaching, and you wave him over. He looks around before drawing another notebook – similar to Blackwell's – from his book bag. You also notice two more masks hidden inside. "Is that all?", you ask.<br/>
<br/>
Scott nods. "Yeah. Took everything. Gonna put the other thing with all the other stuff", he says. You agreed to have Taylor hide the supplies and the masks on his house, and only take them out once you were ready to test everything.<br/>
<br/>
"Took you a while", you respond.<br/>
<br/>
"Had to talk to some old friends. Watch out for Belinda. Wasn’t easy." Scott points at your notes. "Any luck?"<br/>
<br/>
"Pretty close, but no cigar." You open the new notebook and look inside it. "Hopefully this’ll work."<br/>
<br/>
The handwriting in the notebook is spidery, delicate, and you have the impression it must have been written by a woman. As you flip through it you see that it has something Blackwell’s didn’t - sketches. There's a sketch of a mask on the first page, for instance, as well as some cryptic instructions. "Press to face. Assumes image. Must be sealed." There are also some crude sketches of some sigils.<br/>
<br/>
You turn the page to find more drawings of sigils, with the heading "Sealant for Mask". You grin as you flip to the equivalent page in Blackwell's notebook: EMPLASTRUM, it says.<br/>
<br/>
So your intuition was right – more than one spell is necessary to complete a mask. <i>Maybe that’s what happened to Sawyer,</i> you think. <i>Maybe he put on an incomplete mask.</i> If so, it is lucky that you never tried putting on that mask you made of Marc. But you say nothing, and set to the absorbing work of collating the information in the two notebooks and applying it to your own hunches. Taylor settles in at the table with you, and out of the corner of your eye – but without giving him any attention – you see him take out some schoolwork ...<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
You grin and stretch after setting your pencil down. The sigil inside the box seems very familiar, as if you had seen it in a dream. You are certain that it is next sigil, and all you need is to follow Blackwell’s instructions to execute the spell.<br/>
<br/>
"You got it?", Robert asks, and sets the mask down on the table<br/>
<br/>
"Pretty sure", you answer. "All I need is to test it and see if it works", you add as you push the mask back toward him. He puts it under the table.<br/>
<br/>
Robert reaches out to grab the sheet, but you slide it towards Scott. "I'm gonna let him hold on to this one."<br/>
<br/>
"Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"So we don't lose all of them if Dad goes snooping inside your room."<br/>
<br/>
Robert frowns angrily. "As long as you let me do the spell after this one, okay? It’s my stuff, after all."<br/>
<br/>
You shrug, and flip deeper into the new notebook, looking for additional clues about the rest of the spells.<br/>
<br/>
Blackwell has labeled the next spell as "MENS." The new notebook calls it "Mind," and adds some partial sigils, which seem to correspond to Blackwell’s own, but the word by itself seems to confirm your own strong hunch that it will have something to do with copying minds.<br/>
<br/>
You gasp audibly when you turn to the next spell, though. Blackwell calls it a "PEDISEQUOS," which even in translation is obscure. But the new notebook is very blunt. It sketches a thing with humanoid proportions and calls it a "golem." "Put on mask and mental strip", it says. "Assumes form of mask placed. Creature obeys your orders blindly."<br/>
<br/>
Your mouth goes dry. <i>That must be how Blackwell replaced Lucy,</i> you think. He copied her body and mind and put them onto one of these golem/pedisequos things. It would act just like Lucy, but <i>obey his orders blindly.</i><br/>
<br/>
Now you feel trepidation as you flip forward to the next spell. Blackwell's word – was chilling enough. What will the new notebook tell you?<br/>
<br/>
At first it doesn't look so bad. There's another humanoid figure sketched in, as on the previous spell. But this one is drawn with more detail and more realistic proportions. There are the usual roughly drawn sigils – suggestive more than discursive.<br/>
<br/>
But your stomach sinks when you see the words at the bottom of the page: "Human sacrifice."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Is that where this is going?</i> you wonder. <i>Is Lucy right, that all this is leading, that it can't help leading, to evil?</i><br/>
<br/>
And even if it doesn't, even if you promise them and yourself that you will never indulge in <i>human sacrifice</i>, do you dare let Taylor and Robert know that the spells are heading in that direction?<br/>
<br/>
You shut the new notebook, but your eye jerks over to the one you stole from Blackwell. CADAVER, it says.<br/>
<br/>
With a chill of horror you realize what that means. Blackwell must also know what the spell does. Has he used it? If so, who has he used it on?<br/>
<br/>
And would he hesitate to use it on your father, when he knows that he could replace your father with one of those golem/pedisequos things?</span></div></div>


path: 114321414211222111221222121112112
author_id: nostrum777
title: Where Water is Thicker than Blood
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>A chill engulfs you as you take in the words, and your stomach twists with bile. You knew the masks could be dangerous if they fell into the wrong hands. But you also they could just be something fun to play with. You might even be able to do some good with them. They are, after all, just a kind of tool, to be used for good or ill depending.<br/>
<br/>
But the spell you just read? It's evil. Nothing that can redeem it or anyone who dares to use it. No noble cause could be justified by a human sacrifice.<br/>
<br/>
And you're pretty sure you're facing someone who's more than willing to do so. You have to stop Blackwell. But how?<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, Will?" Taylor's voice jerks you from your thoughts. "You alright?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, uh, yeah. Sure. Fine." You look at Robert, who's dutifully polishing his mask. <i>Oh, boy, he's so lucky that he doesn't know a thing about this,</i> you think to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Then you look at Taylor. If there's someone you can trust your fears to, it has to be him.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, mind if we go talk someplace else?", you ask him. You glance about, scouting for another, more private spot. "There's something I need to talk to you about." He nods, but looks a little uncertain as you get to your feet. "Wait here", you tell Robert. "Just keep working, watch our stuff. We'll be right back."<br/>
<br/>
"Where you going?"<br/>
<br/>
"I gotta talk to Taylor."<br/>
<br/>
"About what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Private stuff. Big guy stuff."<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck are you—?"<br/>
<br/>
You grab your brother by the head. "Watch your language, bro! People can hear! And it's stuff that doesn't concern you. Stuff <i>he</i> doesn't need you listening. Okay?" You let him go.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, sure, whatever", he grumbles, and gives you the evil eye before resuming work on the mask.<br/>
<br/>
"So what do you need to talk to me about?" Taylor asks as you lead him into the stacks. "It's not about Lucy, is it?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Well, sort of. Actually, I guess it is." You spot a single, small table in a corner, cut off from the rest of the library by bookshelves, and steer toward it. "It's about that fake version of her. I think I figured out how it works."<br/>
<br/>
"Whoa, that's awesome! I guess Lucy was wrong about you after all."<br/>
<br/>
You gulp. "Yeah, about that." You settle at the table and take a deep breath. "Actually, she might be right."<br/>
<br/>
That catches his attention. "What?"<br/>
<br/>
You open the Eastman notebook and gesture him to join you. Briefly, as you flip through its pages, you outline the spells and how they can be used to create a fake person. "Then", you conclude, "after you have the full person copied, you just put it on this statue thing, and it turns into a duplicate of them."<br/>
<br/>
Taylor lets out a low whistle. "That's perfect. I mean, it's horrible, but it's perfect. You know, for replacing someone with a fake of themselves. So I think you're right, that's what that thing must be." He snaps his fingers. "But if we can grab it and pull the mask off, we can make it go away, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, but—" You lick your lips. "Here's what I meant about Lucy maybe being right about this stuff, and what it can do to a person." You flip to the next page. "This is another way of making one of those statue things. And look what it calls for."<br/>
<br/>
Taylor stares down at the words you're pointing to. <i>Human sacrifice.</i> He jerks his head up and stares at you, the whites showing around his eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"And here—" You open Blackwell's notebook. "Here's his notes on it. See the word? 'Cadaver'."<br/>
<br/>
Taylor's face turn sickly green. "Man, that's sick", he says. Then his expression falls and his eyes widen. "Wait. You're not— You're not saying that <i>you</i>—"<br/>
<br/>
"Hell no! I'm just saying, look what it's asking you to do! That book!" You feel yourself starting to shake. "Lucy said it could lead you into doing really evil stuff. She was right about that! That's what I mean!"<br/>
<br/>
Taylor's face loses the green, but it remains chalky in color. "So we really need to stop the professor", he says. "Before he—"<br/>
<br/>
"That's just it." You take a deep breath. "I think the professor already did."<br/>
<br/>
Taylor's eyes pop. "What? Who?"<br/>
<br/>
You cover your mouth and nose with your hands and take a couple of deep breaths. Your heart is beating hard. It's awful enough to think what you are thinking. But to say it out loud ...<br/>
<br/>
"My dad's the one who sold it back to the professor, right? But ever since he went to see him, he's just been ... I dunno. <i>Off.</i> Before, like, he really wanted me to go to work at Salopek. Then all of a sudden, after selling the book to the professor, he doesn't care. I can't put my finger on anything else that's different about him. He seems mostly the same, I guess. But I can't shake the feeling—" You sigh. "I dunno. Maybe I'm being paranoid?"<br/>
<br/>
Taylor makes no immediate reply, but glances around. In a low voice he says, "With these masks, it's easy to be paranoid. And we know, right? With Lucy? There are fakes. But why do you think the professor might've—" He touches the notebook with a fingertip. "He didn't use this spell on Lucy. Why do you think he used it on your dad?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because it's easier to keep a college girl prisoner than a full-grown man? I mean—" You swallow hard, pushing down the bile that wants to spew out. "If you want to replace someone with a fake, you have to get rid of the— the—"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't say it, Will." He lays his hand on yours. "But you can count on me to help. Any way I can."<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks, man." You don't feel any better, but you are glad you said something. Though it's a terrible burden to put on someone, you do feel better for having Taylor to share it. "Just don't tell Robert, okay? I really don't want to freak him out."<br/>
<br/>
"I get you. But this means the sooner we take out the professor, the better."<br/>
<br/>
You nod, and chew on a thumbnail. But how? Get the fake Lucy off the street, turn it to your side, use it to get close to Blackwell?<br/>
<br/>
"Is there anything in those notebooks that could help?" Taylor asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Oh." Yes, now that he's said it, that's the most practical idea. "I should keep looking through them", you say. "And while I'm doing that— Hey, that stuff you took out of the basement. Can you put it back in case I need it to work on?"<br/>
<br/>
"Lucy won't like that."<br/>
<br/>
"Can you hide somewhere where she won't find it? And keep her out of the basement as much as possible? You know, she'd probably like that anyway."<br/>
<br/>
Taylor nods. "I'll see what I can do. Is there anything else?" You shake your head. "Then let's head back before your brother starts thinking we're back here making out or something." He grins.<br/>
<br/>
You only grimace back. You're sure it's a slander that Robert is already entertaining.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
It is already dark and creeping up on Robert's comparatively early Sunday curfew when you leave the library. Robert hasn't said much, and it's not until you're driving home that he asks the question—as pointed as a thrown dart—of you. "So, what did you and Taylor talk about when you went off?"<br/>
<br/>
"Private stuff", you growl back.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I bet." He has the mask out, but keeps only attention for you. "Was it about that Lucy girl?"<br/>
<br/>
"I told you it's not about—" But you catch yourself as you realize Robert has just given you the perfect cover. "Yeah. It was about her."<br/>
<br/>
"So why'd you have to go off?"<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos Taylor didn't need you listening in while we talked about his girlfriend. Okay? You'll understand when you're older. When you've got a girlfriend." <br/>
<br/>
"I've got a girlfriend! And you don't!"<br/>
<br/>
"I've had girlfriends, so I—! And who's <i>your</i> girlfriend?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's private stuff", he retorts.<br/>
<br/>
You both lapse into a moody silence for awhile. But Robert must have been following a train of thought, because when he speaks again, he says, "Was it because Lucy doesn't like this stuff? Is that what you wanted to talk to him about?"<br/>
<br/>
"It was connected to that. And she's right, you know. This stuff could really be misused."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not gonna do anything bad with it", Robert says. He lifts the mask—now almost completely polished—to study. "Maybe prank some of the guys at school. Or, like, use it to get into the girls' locker room."<br/>
<br/>
You smack him in the side of the head.<br/>
<br/>
"Ow! What was that for?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's so you don't say something like that in front of Lucy! Or even Taylor. But I get you", you add with a chuckle. "That'd be fun."<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
The talk with Robert lightens your mood, but the sense of dread falls on you again when you're home, and your mother stops you at the foot of the stairs. "Can you go tell your dad I'm ready to watch our show?", she says. She's sitting on the sofa in front of the TV, with her knitting spread over her lap. "Oh, and Will", she adds with a direct smile. "I just wanted to say how much I like that you're spending more time with Robert. It's really good for both of you."<br/>
<br/>
You nod, but all the muscles in your neck and upper back tighten.<br/>
<br/>
You throw your book bag over your shoulder and go down the hall to your dad's home office. The door's partly open, and through the crack you can see him frowning fiercely at a stack of papers on his desk. He seems very intent on them. So intent, it occurs to you, that you might be able to sneak in and overpower him, and pry a mask off his face. <br/>
<br/>
If there is indeed a mask to pry off. But how much trouble would you be in if there isn't?</span></div></div>


path: 1143214142112221112212221211121122
author_id: nostrum777
title: Stolen a Face, Sealed Your Fate
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It's a perfect opportunity. But the risks are too great. What if you're just being paranoid? It won't just be your dad you're in trouble with if you're wrong. Even Robert will think you've gone crazy.<br/>
<br/>
You tap at the door. "Dad?"<br/>
<br/>
He looks up, startled. "Yeah, you need something?"<br/>
<br/>
"Mom says she's ready to watch the show with you."<br/>
<br/>
For a moment he looks confused. Then he says, "Ah. Tell your mom I'll be there shortly. I just need to finish up something." He turns back to his papers.<br/>
<br/>
"Finish what?" you blurt out.<br/>
<br/>
He looks up again, to give you a steady stare.<br/>
<br/>
"Something to do with work," he says in that <i>Cut the shit</i> tone he uses when he's pissed off at you.<br/>
<br/>
Chills ripple down your spine. <i>Yeah, but whose work?</i>, you can't help wondering. <i>Your work? Or Professor Blackwell's?</i><br/>
<br/>
You relay his message to your mom. She nods, then gives you a frown. "Did you eat anything, dear? You came in late."<br/>
<br/>
No, you haven't eaten, for your stomach is knotted with worry. But you tell her you stopped to buy some burgers on your way back.<br/>
<br/>
"I sometimes feel like I don't see you enough", she says. "You're always gone. I'm glad you're out with Robert more, but I'd like it if you spent more time at home."<br/>
<br/>
Her words tear you. You've got lots of reasons, now, to not stay home. But her words hit you deeper even than that. The masks, it occurs to you, are pushing everyone they involve out of their homes. Lucy is homeless. Taylor has lost his family. Now, paranoia about your own father is driving you away from yours.<br/>
<br/>
You need to solve this, and fast.<br/>
<br/>
Doubts and second thoughts assail you as you mount the stairs to your room. Maybe you should have taken that chance in your father's study.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
<i>Sunday afternoon.</i> Another day of church, and another day of uneasiness. Even as you sing the hymns and recite the prayers, you feel no solace. Magic is real, and someone has taken a book that contains a great deal of its secrets. You have but scratched its exterior, and realized nothing good can come out of it – or perhaps, you can, but you need to dig deeper.<br/>
<br/>
Which is why, when lunch is over and you've helped clear the dining table – a trivial gesture, maybe, but one to make your mom feel better – you go upstairs to find your brother. You've just gotten a text from Taylor – [<i>Left with Lucy. Basement is yours.</i>] – which clears the way for you to head out again to do some more work. <br/>
<br/>
His bedroom door is open, and you peer in. It takes you a moment to realize what's bothering you about the tableau that greets you. He's at his desk, with the mask out in the open, polishing it.<br/>
<br/>
Almost you shit yourself.<br/>
<br/>
"Bobby!", you hiss, and leap into the room, closing the door behind you. "Hide that thing!"<br/>
<br/>
Robert jumps, then scowls. "I told you not to call me Bobby! I'm not a little kid anymore!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you're as careless as one! What if Dad saw you with that?"<br/>
<br/>
His scowl deepens. "So what if he did? I'd just tell him it's a school project!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, don't work on it here! I was coming to find you anyway. Taylor says the coast is clear out at the old school, so let's take it out there."<br/>
<br/>
"Really!?" Robert's eyes shine brightly.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. Meet me down in the garage, I'll tell Dad we're going to the library."<br/>
<br/>
You fetch your book bag from your bedroom and dash downstairs. Your dad looks up from his paper as you hit the landing. "Dad? Gonna take Robert to the library to study."<br/>
<br/>
His eyebrows go up. "Again? You were out there yesterday."<br/>
<br/>
"What can I say, he needs help. Lots of it."<br/>
<br/>
Your dad lowers his paper. "With what? And if he's having that much trouble, maybe I should –"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm just kidding", you hastily assure him. "He's still got work to do, I've still got work to do. It's just convenient this way. And we're keeping each other out of trouble."<br/>
<br/>
Your dad looks skeptical. "Uh huh. Are you saying you took my words to heart?"<br/>
<br/>
"What words?" <br/>
<br/>
"Give a little thought into your future", he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, yeah. Right." You grin. "Still thinking. I'll need good grades for whatever I decide, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Alright", he says, and he still looks wary as Robert joins you. "Just be back in time for dinner, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure thing. See you later, Dad! Mom!" You run out the room, Robert right on your heels.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
At first you have to wonder if Taylor remembered to bring all that stuff back out as you asked, because you can't find it. Only after fifteen minutes of searching, when despair is setting in, do you find it in the furthest corner of the basement under some gym equipment and draped with a paint-spattered drop cloth. You clear a path between that hiding place – a good one – and the front of the basement where there's light, so you can carry it back and forth more easily.<br/>
<br/>
He left more than just the supplies. He also left the second sigil you made, the one you gave him for safekeeping. (Robert has the other one, and almost you ask him where he put it. But then you figure you'll just get it up from him when you go home, and transfer it out here the next time you come out.) Robert watches you work even as he rubs at the last streaks of gray on the mask he's been polishing.<br/>
<br/>
The procedure, you'd hazard, is the same as before. You set a bowl – the same you'd used in the first experiment – on the sigil and fill it with the ingredients. You and Robert both cover your noses, expecting the same acrid odor as you set it on fire. There's no stench, though. But the powdery mix instantly transforms into a thick slurry, not unlike the sealant you used last summer to help fix a crack on the roof of your uncle's house. You stir it with a fingertip. The texture is exactly the same.<br/>
<br/>
"So what's this stuff?", Robert asks.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm checking", you retort as you pore over the two notebooks. "Gimme a minute, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
It takes you less time than that, though. Between Blackwell's notes and the ones from the Eastman notebook – and a quick check of an online translator – you are soon satisfied with your hypothesis, which you jot down in your own notebook. "It's a sealant", you tell Robert. "You apply it to a mask after you've copied someone."<br/>
<br/>
"How come?"<br/>
<br/>
"To fix the image in place." The notes don't actually say that, but you infer it.<br/>
<br/>
"And then?"<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. "I guess you put the mask on."<br/>
<br/>
Robert's eyes widen, and you find yourself holding his gaze in yours even as he holds your gaze in his. He bites down hard on his lower lip. A chill rushes over you as you recognize what you're both thinking.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Holy shit, this is it. This is how you make a mask. The one we got off Taylor was pre-made, as it were. But with these two spells, we can make our own. Of whoever we want. However many we want!</i><br/>
<br/>
"So we gonna try it out?", Robert asks. "I mean, I guess I have to finish this one first before we can. But –"<br/>
<br/>
But you're not listening. With tingling hands you search the box of supplies.<br/>
<br/>
It's not what you're looking for, but you pause as you pull out two bottles you took from the professor's work room. Both contain a viscous slurry like the one you made, though only one is of the same shade as what you've made. You take the one bottle as confirmation that you've made your own sealant correctly. As for the other ... You return it to the box. It's useless until you've made something like it, and determined what it is and does.<br/>
<br/>
At last you pull from the box what you were looking for: masks. Two of them are blank, but ready to be of use. One you got from Blackwell's villa; the other, Taylor brought back from Eastman. <br/>
<br/>
But the third is the one that you made.<br/>
<br/>
There's a face already in it, and if you turn it to just the right angle, you can make out who it is: Marc Garner.<br/>
<br/>
"Will?", Robert says.<br/>
<br/>
"Help me find a brush", you say as you drop the mask. He stares, then scrambles after as you start to tear into the drawers of the cabinets that line the wall beneath the windows.<br/>
<br/>
It takes twenty minutes to find a brush, and (obvious in hindsight) it and a bunch of other paint supplies are back with the drop cloth, where Taylor providentially hid the stuff.<br/>
<br/>
Robert perches at your elbow as you stir the sealant with one of the stiff, old brushes you found. But you hesitate before applying it to the mask. How much of it do you have to cover? All of it, or just one side? You try to visualize Scott's mask. The front, you think you remember, is blue – as blue as the mask of Marc. The inner surface? You're less certain, but you think you remember it being gray – the same gray as the sealant you've made. So you apply a coat only to the inner surface. You're still not certain you've done it right as you examine the finished product. But it does seem ... familiar.<br/>
<br/>
"So is it ready to put on?", Robert asks.<br/>
<br/>
You don't answer him. If you have done it right, and you put it on, you'll turn yourself into the living double of the captain of Westside's soccer team. But if you've done it wrong, you could wind up as another Sawyer Harrison.<br/>
<br/>
"Are we going to try it out?", Robert asks. He sounds anxious and impatient.<br/>
<br/>
You don't want to put it on him, for what if you screwed up? But there's even less reason to put it on yourself, for if you did screw up, Robert would have even less of an idea of what to do about it.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe the safest thing is to wait and try it when Taylor is present.</span></div></div>


path: 11432141421122211122122212111211221
author_id: nostrum777
title: Tempted by the Face of Another
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>At last, you've achieved your original goal. On the desk before you is a mask, containing the face and form of another person, sealed and ready to wear. All you need to do is to put it on. <br/>
<br/>
Yet you hesitate. You've put immense work into it and taken terrific risks. You've broken into Professor Blackwell's house – twice, even! – and taught yourself an arcane and obscure science without the help of a teacher or mentor. But mixed with your labors are huge risks. Yes, you've done it alone, but have you done it correctly? Yes, you've studied an occult craft, but have you actually mastered it?<br/>
<br/>
Yes, you have a mask. But will it transform its wearer, as Taylor's mask does? Or will it plunge him into a coma, as Sawyer's did?<br/>
<br/>
Your brother's voice snaps you out of your thoughts. "So who gets to try it out?"<br/>
<br/>
"I do", you reply.<br/>
<br/>
"How come?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because I'm the only one who hasn't got to try one of these things out yet. You and Taylor got into Scott's mask, but I—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, whose fault is that? Besides—"<br/>
<br/>
"Just shut up. Here." You scroll through your cell phone until you find Taylor's number. "If something goes wrong, if I put it on and I don't wake up in—" You mull it over, trying to remember how long Taylor and Robert were knocked out for.<br/>
<br/>
But Robert doesn't give you a chance. "You know, we made it with my stuff, so it should be mine, so it should be me who—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, maybe it was your stuff, but I was the one who made it." <br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, and what if you screwed up?", he jeers.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, what if did? That's another reason I'm not letting you put it on. It's too dangerous."<br/>
<br/>
He thrusts his lower lip out. "So why's it dangerous for me but not for you?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's not what I'm saying and you know it. Come on, Bobby, give me a chance to act like the older brother, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"You always act like the older brother", he mutters. "And don't call me 'Bobby'."<br/>
<br/>
"Just call Taylor in ten minutes if I don't wake up", you tell him as you drop the phone on the table and snatch up the mask. "He should know how to fix everything."<br/>
<br/>
"So why don't we call him out here to supervise?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because he might not like seeing us do this." <i>Or because,</i> you silently add to yourself, <i>it would be fun to surprise him while wearing it.</i><br/>
<br/>
You hop onto the table and lay on your back, holding the mask over your face. You draw a deep breath, close your eyes, and lower it. It is very cold and heavy as it weighs on your face, and for a moment you feel as though you are being suffocated.<br/>
<br/>
Then the mask grows very heavy. It feels like an anvil sitting on your face, and your face is dough, and the mask is sinking down through the front of your skull. But your limbs are paralyzed, and when the mask sinks through your head and through table beneath, it drags you down with it, into someplace warm.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
You wake with a groan, feeling as though a boxer punched you squarely on the face. You feel disoriented as you sit up, and find Robert staring at you. His eyes are shining, but his mouth is hanging open.<br/>
<br/>
You stretch your back and arms, feeling like you've woken from a deep sleep, and are startled by the feeling of new muscles. You raise your hands before your face. They don't look too different, but there is something slightly "off" about them. But when your eyes drift down to your forearms ...<br/>
<br/>
"Bro", Robert says. "You know what you look like?"<br/>
<br/>
The question alarms you. "I don't look like a mutant or a birth defect or something, do I?" You start at the sound of your voice. It sounds like you're talking inside a metal drum—deeper and more resonant.<br/>
<br/>
"No." Robert laughs. "But you sure as fuck don't look like <i>you</i> anymore!"<br/>
<br/>
You don't feel like yourself anymore either. You feel knotted with muscles in unexpected places. In your upper back, in your shoulders, in your arms.<br/>
<br/>
You grip your left forearm, which is much bigger now. Where before you could <i>almost</i> touch your middle finger to your thumb when clasping your forearm, now the thick muscles, which flex just beneath the tight skin, keep them a good two inches or more apart. You slide your palm up under your sleeve and flex, feeling a bulge as big and hard as a baseball. You rub your hand across the front of your t-shirt—which clings more tightly to your chest—and feel thick pads of hard flesh where before you could trace ribs. You lift your shirt and touch a flat, hard stomach, and with a fingertip trace the shape of bone-hard abdominal muscles.<br/>
<br/>
"So who is this guy?" Robert asks as you hop to your feet. You wince and kick off your too-small shoes, and waggle your toes. Your pants feel a little snugger, too.<br/>
<br/>
"His name's Marc Garner. He's the captain of the school soccer team."<br/>
<br/>
"He's a friend of yours?"<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head, then gingerly touch your face. You can't tell anything by touch, not until you rake your fingers through your hair. The thatch of straw has gone, replaced by a rug of spiky hair across the top and a nice, clean, faded trim on the sides and back. Your teeth feel different, too, and your roll your tongue around inside your mouth and suck your teeth. There's a missing molar, and two other teeth are squeezed up close where before there was a gap you are always getting meat stuck between.<br/>
<br/>
"So how'd you make a copy of him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Mirror", you mutter. "Mirror!" You snap your fingers at Robert. "Isn't there a mirror—?"<br/>
<br/>
There is one, against the wall, a full-length one, and you push aside a table to get to it. (And as you push it aside, you marvel at how easily it slides away. These new muscles aren't just for show!) The mirror's surface is dusty and the light is dim, but there's no mistaking the face and form that advance to meet you.<br/>
<br/>
It's Marc Garner, only in your clothes.<br/>
<br/>
Your skin is flushed but clear, with cheeks that shine like apples. Your mouth is small until you grin, and then your lips flare wide to flash two rows of pearly teeth. Your eyes are dark, but your hair—standing stiffly in those spikes—is a dirty blonde several shades darker than your own. Your features are regular, even, handsome. Marc doesn't particularly look like his sisters, but there's no missing that the Garners have great genes. You can't stop grinning at yourself.<br/>
<br/>
"This is so cool", your brother says. "I wish I it was me who put it on. Can I try it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. Gimme a chance to enjoy it first." You pull your t-shirt off over your head, and gape at your new torso. It is taut and sculpted, with defined pecs and abs that show faintly when you flex them. You raise your arms and flex your biceps. They pop out and writhe.<br/>
<br/>
"Want me to give you some quality time by yourself?" Robert's smirking face appears in the mirror behind your shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up. Tell me what happened when I put the mask on." But you can't tear your eyes from your reflection.<br/>
<br/>
"It wasn't much to see, actually. You put the mask on, and it was on top of your face for a second or two, and then it was like it just melted. And I got up close to see what it was doing to you, but it did it already. You were this guy! I made sure you were still breathing and stuff," he adds. "Listened for you heart, and you were alive, so—"<br/>
<br/>
"How long was I out for?" Your cock is getting stiff, so you turn your back on the mirror and put your shirt back on before Robert can notice.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. A couple of minutes. I shook you a couple of times, just a little, to see if I could wake you up. Then I thought that might be a bad idea, so I just waited." He reaches for your face. "Come on, give me a chance."<br/>
<br/>
"In a minute."<br/>
<br/>
You return to the table and grab up your notebook and a pencil. <i>Gotta get the experience down. All of it!</i> Quickly, as each thought comes, you jot it down. What you did, what you felt, how you feel now. <i>Even writing feels different,</i> you marvel. <i>Like the muscles in my hands are arranged differently.</i> You squint at the words. <i>Has my handwriting chanted?</i> You also feel like your posture is different. You are sitting up straighter, and you feel a coiled strength.<br/>
<br/>
But as you try to record—<i>for science!</i> you tell yourself—the results of the experiment, other thoughts force their way to the forefront. <i>There are ways of copying memories, too. If I had Marc's memories I could have his confidence and his charisma. And with his memories and his body, I could slip into his life. Take it over, take everything he has. <br/>
<br/>
I could replace him. Be him. I could </i>be<i> Marc Garner.<br/>
<br/>
And that's exactly the sort of thing that Blackwell is probably doing.</i><br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck are you doing?", you holler as the guy who looks like Marc Garner starts to wriggle out of his pants.<br/>
<br/>
"These things are too small for me!", your brother cries as he pulls his jeans down off his hips.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't wanna see your trouser snake! I don't wanna see <i>his!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"They're too small for me!"<br/>
<br/>
It's Robert inside the mask now, and he's awake now not a minute after putting it on. His shirt and pants are stretched tight across Marc's much larger frame, and Robert is panting and sweating as he peels them off.<br/>
<br/>
"Then maybe you should take the mask off", you tell him.<br/>
<br/>
"No! Lemme just take my clothes off! Or let me put yours on!"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Gross!</i> you think. But you also think, <i>Maybe we could go buy a set to go with the mask.</i></span></div></div>


path: 114321414211222111221222121112112212
author_id: nostrum777
title: The Ethics of Transformation Magic
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The idea of putting the mask to a test run in public sounds fun but risky. The chances of running into Marc himself are practically nil, but the chances of running into someone who knows him are much higher. And if you ran into Taylor? Disaster. It would be one thing to surprise Taylor here in the basement with a completed Marc mask. But to surprise him in public might cause a blow up.<br/>
<br/>
Besides, even the cheapest set of clothes—flimsy shorts and a t-shirt and flip-flops—would run you more than twenty dollars, probably, and your cash reserves are too low as it is.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not giving you my clothes, bro", you tell Robert. "And I don't wanna see you out of yours. Take the mask off if your shorts are too small."<br/>
<br/>
Robert makes a face. "Nobody says you have to stay here and watch", he says as he continues peeling. "Though I think you'd wanna stay and ogle."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not into guys!"<br/>
<br/>
"Could'a fooled me", he retorts, "seeing how you're besties with Taylor, and both of you seem to like turning yourselves into muscley guys!"<br/>
<br/>
"So why are you all into it with Marc here?", you retort. "Lookit you scoping yourself out!" you exclaim as he pulls off his underwear and turns to the mirror.<br/>
<br/>
"I just wanna try it out", he says. "If it was up to me, I'd get a copy of a girl. Get me some tits I can fondle day and night."<br/>
<br/>
You smack him in the back of the head.<br/>
<br/>
"Ow!" He turns to glare at you. "The fuck was that for?"<br/>
<br/>
"For being a pervert."<br/>
<br/>
"So what would <i>you</i> do with these things?", he demands.<br/>
<br/>
The question leaves you at a loss. "I dunno", you admit. "Except, you know—" You gesture at Robert and his new and improved body. "I'd use the mask to score <i>with</i> a girl instead of fondling her from the inside like a pervert!"<br/>
<br/>
"Or using it to get back at assholes who are suddenly smaller than you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I guess, maybe. Wait a minute!", you exclaim as Robert turns on you with a bright gleam in his eye. You are suddenly aware that he's now an inch taller than you, and has much bigger muscles. "Bobby, what are you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, my name's not Bobby!", he yells as he grabs at you. "It's—! Whad'ju say this guy's name is?"<br/>
<br/>
With a bubbling laugh he shoves you into a stack of desks, which fall over with a crash, and grabs you by your wrists. "Bobby!", you holler.<br/>
<br/>
"Gonna make you suck it, Willie Boy!", he taunts as he struggles with you. His grin is wide, white, and terrifying, and he easily bends your arms to your side. "Is that what this guy calls you at school? Willie Boy?"<br/>
<br/>
But he shouldn't be calling you "Willie Boy", not while his cock and balls are flapping in the open air. You knee him in the groin and spare him nothing. He gasps, yelps, and bends double. He drops your hands and you grab him by the head. He struggles, but you get him by the face, yell the magic words, and pull.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
"So", your brother asks. "What <i>would</i> you do with these things? If you could mass produce them?"<br/>
<br/>
Marc's mask is in your book bag, and your book bag is under your ass, so as to keep temptation at bay. You let your brother sleep off the kick to his jewels; when he woke, he claimed to feel no pain, though he made enough noise. You just told him to shut up, and he soon settled down.<br/>
<br/>
Now he's dressed again and perched on the other side of the desk, watching as you study the notebooks for the next spell in the sequence. In both books the description is a lot more cryptic. Blackwell's notes, in addition to the partial sigils, only says "MENS"; the other notebook has a much stranger set of symbols, which look nothing like the sigils or symbols you've been studying, but at least it says "MIND", which the internet confirms is the English translation of the Latin "mens." You can only hypothesize, however, that the spell is for making an item that can copy minds the way masks copy bodies.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno", you reply. "It's easy to do bad stuff with these things."<br/>
<br/>
"Like what?"<br/>
<br/>
"What do you think? Copying people, getting rid of them, and taking over their life, for a start."<br/>
<br/>
"True." Robert rubs his palms on his pants. "Unless <i>they</i> were bad", he adds, "and you took their place so you could do good while pretending to be them."<br/>
<br/>
<i>That's a thought,</i> you have to admit. "Who would you do that with?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. Like, a dictator?<br/>
<br/>
You consider this, then turn your own notebook to a fresh page and write: <i>Replace dictators and turn them to good.</i><br/>
<br/>
"What's that?", Robert asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Just writing down what you said. What other good things could you do with these things?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh!" He sits up straight with a look of alarm, as though he's in school and the teacher has just called on him. "Um— Helping others?"<br/>
<br/>
"How?"<br/>
<br/>
His eyes dart about. "Maybe your friend needs to be in two places at the same time?", he suggests. "Or he needs you to take a test for him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Or <i>she</i> needs you to take a test for her?", you tease.<br/>
<br/>
Robert stares, then blushes. "Yeah, sure", he mutters. "Or maybe you could help your friend talk to a girl? You could pretend to be him, and ask her out for him?"<br/>
<br/>
You grin. "Or you could turn yourself into her, and let him practice on you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Ewwwww!" But Robert laughs along with you.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
An hour passes, most of which you fill by brainstorming and scribbling down more ideas for using masks for good. Most of the ideas have to do with using disguises in espionage or police work—infiltrating criminal gangs and terrorist cells; stealing enemy secrets; and so on. It's all too easy to imagine the same tricks being used by criminals against the good guys, but you stick to pretending it's the good guys who are doing it. Robert finishes polishing up his mask while you talk.<br/>
<br/>
When you get bored with that, you turn to making a closer study of the notebooks. You've hardly made any headway, though, before your phone rings. It's not a text, but an actual call from your father. That's almost always bad news.<br/>
<br/>
"Dad, yeah?", you say as you answer. Your heart is in your throat.<br/>
<br/>
"Will", he says in a hard tone. "Where are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Um—"<br/>
<br/>
"I need you to come out to Salopek."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Why?" Your first, irrational thought is that he wants you to apply for that job again.<br/>
<br/>
"I've got some furniture that needs moving. I'll need you to bring your truck." Then he adds, "It's work related, so there's some money in it for you."<br/>
<br/>
Your interest is piqued, but so is your paranoia. It's Sunday, so why is your dad at work? <i>Is it a trap,</i> you wonder.<br/>
<br/>
Then you flip it around: Maybe you could turn it into a trap for him.<br/>
<br/>
"Will?" Your dad's voice jerks you back into the present. "You there?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah", you reply. Trap or not, you can't refuse your dad's order. "I'll be there in half an hour. I have to go back home to get my truck."<br/>
<br/>
"Where are you now?"<br/>
<br/>
"Out, um, walking the neighborhood with Bo— With Robert."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, get here as quick as you can." The line goes dead.<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong?", Robert asks as you stare down at your phone.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Everything's wrong,</i> you think. "Nothing", you reply. "We gotta go home."<br/>
<br/>
"Was that Dad?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, he needs me to come in to Salopek, help him move some stuff." You turn a thoughtful eye toward your brother. <i>If he came along too ...</i><br/>
<br/>
Then you shake your head. <i>That would be too dangerous. And I'd have to explain to him what I'm scared of.</i> "Come on." You start to gather up your books.<br/>
<br/>
"What about the stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
"We'll move it back to where we found it. Actually, I'll do that. You can go on home." He looks dubious for a moment, then picks himself up to go. "I'll keep that here", you say as you pluck the mask from him. "To keep with all the other stuff, now that you're done with it." For a moment he looks like he's going to argue, but then he just makes a face and shuffles for the door. "And don't tell Mom where we were, okay?" you call after him.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not stupid!" He runs up the stairs and out the door. <br/>
<br/>
You've just got everything packed away when your phone rings again. You wince as you check it, expecting it to be your dad calling to find out why you're late. But this time it's Taylor. "Hey man, what's up?", you answer.<br/>
<br/>
"Will?" It's Scott, and he sounds worried. "Where are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"The old school", you reply. "Why? Are you and Lucy on your way back?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Well, sort of. Listen, I need you to hang out there until we get there. Some stuff's come up, and we need to talk."<br/>
<br/>
"Can we talk over the phone?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, we need to do it in person. We can be out there in about thirty minutes."<br/>
<br/>
You grimace to yourself. Your dad is expecting you out at his work.</span></div></div>


path: 1143214142112221112212221211121122121
author_id: nostrum777
title: Hardly, an Unexpected Betrayal
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Scott couldn't have called at a worse moment. Your dad wants you at Salopek, and despite your fears, you can't disobey him. "I'm here at the school now," you tell him. "Is it gonna take long, whatever you need?"<br/>
<br/>
Scott says something you can't make out, to someone there with him. "Not sure", he says when he comes back.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, there's someplace I have to be. My dad—" You chew your lip furiously. "Listen, just get out here as quick as you can. I'll tell my dad I'll be late."<br/>
<br/>
"Great!", Scott says, and he sounds relieved. "Don't move, alright? I'll be there in ... I dunno, half an hour."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure." You close the connection and pace the basement, thinking. Then you dial your dad. <br/>
<br/>
"You on your way?," he says when he answers.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm gonna be late. I can't get my truck started."<br/>
<br/>
He sighs. "Okay, I'll be right over—"<br/>
<br/>
"No, you don't have to!" Sweat pops out on your brow. "Uh, my friend Keith's on his way over. I think it's just the battery, and I'd try jumping it myself but, you know, I don't have a lot of experience. Keith does, though. His battery's always dying on him."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh", your dad says. For a long moment, he hesitates. "Well, don't take too long", he finally says, and closes the line.<br/>
<br/>
You exhale as you lower your phone. You've probably bought yourself enough time until Taylor gets here. You just hope that whatever his wants, it won't take long.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
You're pacing outside the basement when he arrives. You're just advancing on him when another, even bigger truck turns in and parks next to him. You draw back with a frown as Scott hops out and gestures the occupants of the other truck to wait. Lucy, who is riding with him, remains in his truck.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, Will", Scott says as he turns to you. "Sorry to bust in on you at such short notice."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, so what's this about?", you demand. "Who are those guys?"<br/>
<br/>
"They're who I need to talk to you about. Oh boy." He scratches the back of his head and stares at the ground. "Where do I start?"<br/>
<br/>
You can't believe this. "I don't have time, Taylor", you tell him. "My dad—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you told me you're worried about your dad, right?", he interrupts. "I think these guys might be able to help."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Who are they?", you ask again. The glare off the windshield makes it hard to make out the occupants in the cab, except that there are two of them.<br/>
<br/>
"They're a couple of guys who know all about the masks and stuff", Scott says quietly. "They know all about magic, and fake people, and Professor Blackwell. They say they're professional warlock-hunters."<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Whoever and whatever they are, the two guys Scott brought along are content to wait in their truck while Scott tells you about them. The minutes rack up as he relates his day to you.<br/>
<br/>
They were waiting for him at his house when he returned there with Lucy at a little after noon. They are students at Eastman High—"New guys, just started this year"—and somehow they found the box of stuff that Taylor had hidden in the school, and somehow they found out that it had been taken out, and somehow they found out that Taylor was the one who took it out. How they found all this out, they didn't explain to him, but they quickly proved to his satisfaction that they knew what they were talking about. <br/>
<br/>
"They're in town looking for that kind of stuff", he tells you. "That book, the one you found and sold back to the professor? It's some kind of evil deal, and they're here to scoop it up and get rid of it."<br/>
<br/>
So they say, at any rate, and when you challenge Scott on the point—"How do you know they don't just want it for themselves?"—he insists that he believes them.<br/>
<br/>
"They know all about the professor", he tells you. "He's got some kind of reputation for being a black magician, and part of their job out here is to take him down. And I'm pretty sure we can trust them because they've already helped Lucy. That double of hers that's walking around? They caught it and they took it apart. You were right, Will. It was some kind of magical rock creature wearing a mask. They helped me catch it, and got the mask off it." He gives you a long look. "They can help you with your dad."<br/>
<br/>
You turn to stare at the truck cab. <i>Is this the cavalry arriving just in the nick of time?</i>, you wonder. Then you glance back at the basement door. <i>But at what cost?</i><br/>
<br/>
"Alright", you sigh, "lemme talk to them."<br/>
<br/>
"Good show", Scott says, and he claps you on the shoulder. He turns to the truck and crooks a finger. The two occupants dismount. But Lucy, you notice, doesn't move.<br/>
<br/>
You have to stop yourself from taking a step back as they advance on you.<br/>
<br/>
The driver is half a head taller than you, with black hair cut high over his white forehead and ears. Rounded pecs and shoulders fill out his gray t-shirt, and his thighs and calves are knotted with muscles. His eyes are dark and hard, and his brow and jaw are set in a grim line. He exudes a raw power, and you have the impression he could pick you up by the neck with one hand and crush your trachea in his fist.<br/>
<br/>
The other is like his photographic negative. Dazzling blue eyes dance mirthfully in a tanned face under a tangled mop of golden hair, and his bright, white teeth shine in an open-mouthed smile. He's shorter than his companion, and judging by his forearms he might be as muscular, but he's dressed in a floppy t-shirt and baggy jeans that veil his dimensions. If the dark-haired one looks like he wants to snap your neck, the blonde one looks like he wants to scoop you up and play-wrestle with you.<br/>
<br/>
"This is Frank and Joe", Scott says, indicating them each in turn. "They're brothers. This is Will", he tells them.<br/>
<br/>
"Pleased to meet'cha, man", the blonde one says. He grabs your hand and gives it a hard but friendly squeeze. "Your friend Taylor here tells us you've been doing some amazing work!"<br/>
<br/>
You glance at Taylor, who is wearing Scott's face. He looks more than a little embarrassed. Whether because of what he's been telling of you, or because this guy here called him by his real name, you're not sure.<br/>
<br/>
"So this is like your secret laboratory, huh?" Joe continues as he brushes past you to stare at the basement windows that peep out from behind a screen of weeds. "Whew! This is convenient! You are one lucky motherfucker", he grins at you, "to have a place where you can carry out your secret experiments." He playfully tweaks your shirt. "Can we have a look?"<br/>
<br/>
"What for?"<br/>
<br/>
The other one—Frank—answers. "Professional interest", he growls.<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up, Frank", Joe says. "Will's not scared of you. Lemme see if Taylor told the story straight", he continues, addressing you. "You found an old book about this big"—he gestures with his hands—"all bound in red letter with gold script and a gold pentagram on the spine, called the <i>Libra Personae</i>?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know if that's what it was called", you admit.<br/>
<br/>
"But you found it in a local used book store? Fuck!" He gives his brother a back-handed slap in the stomach. "Rick'll shit himself when we share <i>that</i> little detail with him!"<br/>
<br/>
"Look, who are you guys, exactly?", you demand. "Taylor says you're, uh—" You swallow. "Professional warlock-hunters?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's as good a description as any other", Joe says. "Don't shit yourself, son", he adds, and you flinch as he tousles your hair. "You're not in any trouble. We just want the <i>Libra,</i> which you don't got, and any of the shit anyone might've made with it."<br/>
<br/>
He holds your eye, and behind the merry gleam you see something else: a blistering fire that carries the same promise of pain as sits on his brother's shoulders.<br/>
<br/>
Then he blinks, and it's gone. He grins. "Come on, I wanna see your work space. Taylor says you've been doing some pretty impressive experiments. You're no professional", he continues as he swaggers over to the basement stairs, "but it sounds like you are one motherfucking talented amateur."<br/>
<br/>
All the hackles go up on your neck as you follow him, with Taylor trudging alongside. And, you can't help noticing, Frank takes up the rear, blocking flight.<br/>
<br/>
"I put everything away", you tell Joe as you wrestle the key into the padlock. "And I hardly did anything at all. Um, my dad made me sell the book to this university professor—"<br/>
<br/>
"Aubrey Blackwell", Joe says.<br/>
<br/>
"We know about him", Frank adds.<br/>
<br/>
"And, um—"<br/>
<br/>
"And you didn't much like the looks of him", Joe continues as he pushes the door open and marches down into the gloomy basement. "So after you met up with Taylor here and got to know him, you busted into the professor's house, rescued a girl he had locked up in his basement— Oh, fuck me! Is that typical or what?" He hoots with laughter. "And you stole some shit off him and been playing around with it without adult supervision. But—" <br/>
<br/>
He grabs you by the wrist and wrenches your hand up. "You still have all your fingers, so you must be doing something right." He looks back over his shoulder. "Frank, how many times did you nearly blow your own ass through the ceiling when we were working with Kali? I lost count after twenty-one. Wow!" <br/>
<br/>
He hops off the stairs onto the concrete floor. "I am fucking <i>stoked!</i> Lookit this place, Frank!" He runs a finger over a dusty shelf. "If I was still twelve years old, you'd have to chain me to a diesel locomotive to drag me out!"<br/>
<br/>
Your phone buzzes, and you check it. It's your dad, doubtless looking for you. Could these guys help you? Taylor says they caught the fake Lucy. But they seem dangerous in their own way.</span></div></div>


path: 11432141421122211122122212111211221212
author_id: nostrum777
title: A Peer Ap-praise-al
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Can you excuse me a moment?", you say as your phone chimes again. You sidle past Joe, deeper into the basement.<br/>
<br/>
"Keep where I can see you, please", Frank says from the stairs. His voice is soft but strong.<br/>
<br/>
<i>The fuck? Who does this guy think he is?</i>, you wonder. Then you remember what Taylor said: <i>Warlock hunters.</i><br/>
<br/>
You raise your phone to your ear. "Hello?"<br/>
<br/>
"What's going on?", your dad demands. "I expected you half an hour ago. Where are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, I'll be along as fast as I can. I got kind of hung up here." You cast an uneasy glance back at the others, who are watching: Joe with a grin, Frank with a hard stare, Taylor with a confused frown.<br/>
<br/>
"Jumping a battery's not rocket science. Are you coming out or not?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll try, but it'll take a bit longer, alright?"<br/>
<br/>
There's a brief, chilling silence. Then your dad says, "As soon as you can. I really need you up here."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll be there", you insist, but the line has gone dead. Your hand is shaking as you slide your phone back into your pocket. "I'm gonna have to get home pretty soon", you tell the others. "I, uh, gotta help out with something."<br/>
<br/>
Frank looks skeptical, but his glance isn't as bad as his brother's. Joe is smiling, but it feels like the smile of someone who sees right through you and your bullshit.<br/>
<br/>
But he only claps his hands and says, "Then let's not waste any more time. Where's your shit?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hang on. How much did Taylor tell you? I mean, so we don't—"<br/>
<br/>
"I told them everything, Will", Scott says. "Everything we've done, everything we've talked about."<br/>
<br/>
You feel a trickle of sweat on the back of your head. "Including what we talked about at the library yesterday?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes." Scott holds your eye. "And I think they can help."<br/>
<br/>
All the feeling leaves your hands.<br/>
<br/>
Joe treads over to you. He lays his hands on your shoulders and looks you in the eye.<br/>
<br/>
"Will", he says, "if someone fucked with my dad— Well, first, I'd be seriously impressed. But after that I'd fuck that person up every single way I could think of, and then I'd spend a couple of sleepless nights thinking up a hundred new ways to fuck them up. Then I'd get all my friends together and we'd fuck that guy up some more. And after that, I'd hire a professional crew to fuck him up until he wasn't even a stain on the sidewalk."<br/>
<br/>
He squeezes your shoulders. "So if you don't like the phrase 'warlock hunters', just think of us a 'professional crew' with black belts in the black arts. Ain't that right, Frank?" he calls over his shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuckin'-a, bro."<br/>
<br/>
Almost you yield, right then and there. And if he hadn't said "warlock hunters" you might have. But he still wants to see your stuff, and like a dog whose bone is threatened, you're not sure you want to give it up. "So what do you need to see my stuff for?", you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"So we know what we're up against." Joe claps your shoulders and squeezes past you, casting restless eyes about the basement, searching out its corners and hiding places. "We know in general the kind of thing the <i>Libra</i> does, and thanks to your friend Taylor we've disassembled one of the things it can make. So we've seen the pieces, but we need the technical specs, so to speak. The nitty gritty. The <i>fucking spell work.</i>" He throws you a sharp look. "Taylor says you guys have some of the documentation, and that you in particular"—he stabs you in the shoulder with a strong forefinger—"have been able to make something of it." He grins. "We may be pros, but if you ain't shittin' us, <i>you're</i> the bona fide expert!"<br/>
<br/>
It's probably just a lot of flattery, but the last of your resistance crumbles. You gesture Joe to follow, and lead him through a makeshift corridor to the cabinet where you hid your book bag. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Frank hurry after, keeping you in sight, and putting himself between you and Taylor. You're grimacing to yourself as you haul your bag back out into the open, and spill the various notebooks across the big conference table.<br/>
<br/>
Joe's hands dart out to touch everything. "I recognize that one", he says of the notebook Taylor brought from Eastman. "Just about crapped my pants when I looked through it, even though I could hardly make anything of it. What's this?" He opens the primer on sigils, and barks. "Fuck me! The boy here's got an abridged copy of Francken's text on sigils! Where'd you get it?" he demands.<br/>
<br/>
"I, uh, stole it out of the professor's office, up at the university."<br/>
<br/>
Joe lets out a low whistle. "How much of it did you understand? You make anything with it?" The question is very sharp.<br/>
<br/>
You hesitate, then pull out the paper that you used to make the sealant. Joe's eyes almost pop from his head, and when he takes it from you, he holds it as though the paper might burn his fingers.<br/>
<br/>
For long minutes—during which the sweat crawls over your body—Joe studies it intently, turning the page around and around as he reads the wheel-like inscription. A couple of times he mutters to himself and feels at the table, as though looking for a pencil. His eyes grow very bright, but all the color drains from his face. No one else speaks. Scott settles himself onto the foot of the steps, and Frank leans against a bookcase with his arms folded.<br/>
<br/>
"I, uh, also made another one." Joe looks at you with hot and burning eyes. "It's—" <br/>
<br/>
But you hesitate to mention your brother, even though Taylor probably told them all about them. "It's someplace else."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh-huh. And you made these sigils using only Francken and the notebook?"<br/>
<br/>
"And this." You pull over Blackwell's own notebook and flip to the page labeled "EMPLASTRUM." Joe bends over it, and with his finger traces the symbols drawn there. He mutters some more to himself, and when he leans back you can see that he too has broken into a sweat. But he looks more relaxed.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I believe you now", he says. "Barely. But fuck me if you ain't shittin' me!"<br/>
<br/>
Frank, who has been keeping quiet all this time, now speaks. "What's the deal, Joe?"<br/>
<br/>
But his brother ignores him. "Are you any good at math?", he asks you. You shrug. You've gotten better at it lately, but what business is that of his? "What about symbolic logic? Computer science? You wouldn't lie to me, would you?", he questions when you shake your head.<br/>
<br/>
"No!"<br/>
<br/>
"Joe", Frank says again.<br/>
<br/>
"Then all I can say", Joe says, "is that you sound like something of a prodigy."<br/>
<br/>
A heavy silence falls over the basement. You feel that all eyes are on you, and you shuffle nervously. "I just worked really hard at it", you tell him.<br/>
<br/>
"Of course you did", Joe says, and the grin snaps back onto his face. "And it's magnificent! Let me tell you something, Will." He puts his arm around your shoulder and pulls you close. You stiffen in his embrace.<br/>
<br/>
"Normally we like to shut this kind of stuff down", he says in a confiding tone, "because it's dangerous. You're basically playing with plutonium, dynamite, nitroglycerin, and matches. When people don't accidentally blow themselves up with it, they accidentally blow up other people. And when they don't blow up other people on accident, they blow them up on purpose. Fuckers like Aubrey Blackwell, you know? I mean, he chained a girl up in his basement, so what do you think that makes him? <br/>
<br/>
"But!" He touches a forefinger to your chest. "There are schools that teach you how to do things with this stuff without blowing yourself up, and how to do it responsibly. That teach you how to be a nuclear engineer, not a nuclear terrorist. You get me? You won't find these schools online", he continues as you just stare at him. "They have to find you. Me and Frank graduated from one. Well, I did. They kicked Frank out after I left and couldn't slip him the test answers anymore. Ain't that right, Frank?"<br/>
<br/>
"Have your fun now, Joe", his brother replies. "I know where you sleep."<br/>
<br/>
"The point is", Joe tells you, "<i>if</i> you're interested in this stuff, the faculty at our school might be interested in enrolling you. You don't have to answer now. I'm just telling you. There's a way of studying this kind of stuff"—he splays his palm over items on the table—"that's a lot safer, and where you don't have to turn an abandoned school basement into a one-man classroom and laboratory. Cool as this place is, I confess!"<br/>
<br/>
You don't know how to answer that, so you just shrug.<br/>
<br/>
"Good enough for now", Joe says. "You have anything else I can look at?"<br/>
<br/>
"The supplies. They're in the back. Oh, and a notebook that I was keeping some notes in." You're reluctant to mention the mask you made of Marc.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, let me see your notebook!", Joe exclaims. "But it's just that, and these books? You get anything else away from the professor?"<br/>
<br/>
"There's a few odds and ends we got out of his work room. Masks and metal strips and some tools."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you don't have to show me any of that", Joe says, "not right now. Or any of the things you made while playing around with this stuff. I just want to look over the theory a little more. You trust me with your library here? Taylor can stay to watch, keep us honest, while you run home. You, uh, did say you need to run home, didn't you?"<br/>
<br/>
There's an edge to the question, and you can't help feeling that he knows it was your dad who was calling you.</span></div></div>


path: 114321414211222111221222121112112212122
author_id: nostrum777
title: Hitting Close to Home
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>(Co-authored by Seuzz)<br/>
<br/>
Of course, you're not inclined to leave your "library" in the hands of a stranger, no matter how charming he is. Joe's heaped a lot of praise on you, but he does sound a bit swindly, and even with Taylor around, you fear they'll just swindle <i>him</i> and then you'll be out of your stuff completely.<br/>
<br/>
So although you don't mistrust them, exactly, you decide you'd rather risk your dad's anger. "That's okay", you tell Joe. "I'll just tell my mom I got delayed. Should be no biggie."<br/>
<br/>
Frank replies curtly. "Sounded like your thing was important."<br/>
<br/>
"Parents always make things sound important. How 'bout that school you were talking about?", you ask Joe.<br/>
<br/>
Joe looks at Frank, and chuckles. <br/>
<br/>
"Listen to that, Frank! Sure, I can tell you a thing or two", he tells you, and settles his ass on the edge of the desk. "You'll wanna know a little about the curriculum, right? So." He points at the primer on sigils. "This sort of thing you've been playing with—"<br/>
<br/>
"It reminded me of computer code", you blurt out.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh really?" Joe's eyebrows go up, and an unfriendly light come into his eye. "I thought you said you didn't take computer science."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, it's kind of the impression I got from—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, okay", he says, and his tone turns as cold as clay. "If that's the way you want to think about it, yes, sigilistic logic is like computer science. Then there's alchemy", he continues, his tone turning colder and colder, "which would probably remind you a lot of chemistry, except it has a totally different periodic table and sets of transformations. Then there's numerology, which is like math except with alephs and zahirs, and cryptozoology—the real stuff, with ettins and fae and draugar, not Bigfoots and lake monsters and thunderbirds. And geomancy and astrology and ... Is this making it sound like a real school yet?"<br/>
<br/>
You blink. "Yeah, I guess."<br/>
<br/>
"In a good way or a bad way?" There's an undertone of fury to the question that you don't understand.<br/>
<br/>
"Um ..."<br/>
<br/>
"Joe", says Frank. "I'm going to smack you."<br/>
<br/>
Joe glares at him. Then as though striving to master some overpowering emotion, he sucks in and lets out a couple of deep breaths.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, so here's the thing", he sighs, and all that mysterious anger has drained from his voice. "There's much less difference between magic and science than you'd think. It's just that each one cuts up the world in different ways and juggles the pieces around differently. So, take alchemy and psychology for example. You might think—"<br/>
<br/>
"Joe", his brother interrupts, "control yourself. If you throw the word 'incommensurable' at him, you'll lose him for good."<br/>
<br/>
Joe turns a very hard stare onto Frank. Then he turns back to you. "Incommensurable," he says with careful enunciation. "Did I just lose you for good?"<br/>
<br/>
"Um—"<br/>
<br/>
"Hang on", Taylor interrupts. "If magic and science are basically just the same, how come there's so many scientists and so few magicians?"<br/>
<br/>
"Who says there are?", Frank retorts. But Joe says, "Because they're always blowing themselves up. Dur." Then he turns back to you.<br/>
<br/>
"Look", he says, "I'm just going to assume, based on what you've been getting up to here, that I don't have to sell you on magic as a career. So you were asking about the school."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, is it like a university?", you interrupt. "Or a boarding school?" There’s a boarding school west of town: St. Francis Xavier, which is full of rich, elitist snobs. You don't think you'd like to end up someplace like that.<br/>
<br/>
But Joe takes it a different way. "You mean like Hogwarts?", he cackles. Behind you, Frank audibly groans. "Sorry", Joe says as you feel yourself reddening. "It's not like that. It's more like you'd be studying with a bunch of tutors, and you'd travel around the world to meet and live with them. But at the end of it, you'd get a degree in kicking warlock ass."<br/>
<br/>
"Does it cost anything?"<br/>
<br/>
"What?" For the first time, Joe looks wrong-footed. "No! Well, not technically ... Look, you'd get a full scholarship. Think of it that way. Why are you worried about the cost?" he demands, and is clearly flustered.<br/>
<br/>
"Because I don't have any money of my own. And my parents—"<br/>
<br/>
Frank interrupts. "We can talk about the money later. We can talk all about the school later. My brother is being very blonde, Prescott, and you're doing a first-rate job of bamboozling him." <br/>
<br/>
"Frank!"<br/>
<br/>
But Frank continues to give you a very heavy look. "There's a warlock out there we need to deal with, and there's no point talking about what comes later if we don't deal with him now. Joe, what are we up against?"<br/>
<br/>
You give Joe a sidelong glance. Red spots are showing in cheeks that have lost some of their color. He winces, and gives you a dirty look.<br/>
<br/>
"Tell you what", he says as he picks up Blackwell's notebook. "Let's give you an entrance exam. Each of these is a separate spell, right? And you reconstructed ... this one?" He points to the page for "emplastrum." "Did you reconstruct any others?" <br/>
<br/>
You take the book and flip back a page, to point to "persona." Joe studies it, then cocks his head to regard you. "Think you could reconstruct it again?", he asks.<br/>
<br/>
Again, you feel as though all eyes are upon you. You hesitate, then drop into a seat and pull the notebooks toward you. From your bag you take a pencil and a white sheet of paper. Joe drops down by your side to watch.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
He leans in very close as you work, as though boring through the paper with his eyes. Your hands get cold—it's like taking a test in front of a teacher—and you work very slowly. Joe says nothing when you draw the bounding box and the pentagram and activate them with the magic word. Step by step, consulting Blackwell's notes and yours even when you are sure of what you are doing, you proceed. Joe stops you once or twice before letting you continue, and you have the impression he comes close to stopping you a couple of more times. Once, you become aware that he is holding his breath, and when he releases it he murmurs something in an undertone. But as you get closer to the climax you grow more confident, and you make the last few sweeps of your pen with a near-mechanical precision. Joe holds his head in his hands as the box unfolds into the finished, wheel-like sigil, and he groans and pulls the paper toward him, to study it with burning eyes.<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't move for the longest time, not even when the door flies open and footsteps sound on the stairs. You look up. It's Lucy.<br/>
<br/>
"What's going on in here?", she demands.<br/>
<br/>
Frank steps in front of her. "Business", he says.<br/>
<br/>
"What kind of—? Oh Jesus! You—"<br/>
<br/>
"Please do not profane the air with vain oaths." Frank glances back at his brother. "Is everything okay, Joe?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think we have to worry about stray voltage", Joe replies without looking up. "But take Miss Vredenburg back outside," he adds, and you're struck by the soft lilt he gives her name. "Take Taylor with you too", he adds, "so she doesn't feel singled out."<br/>
<br/>
Frank seizes Taylor, who resists. Then he seems to fall off his feet as Frank drags him toward the stairs. Lucy, her face white, stumbles backward up them. A minute later, all three are back outside.<br/>
<br/>
Though you and Lucy haven't gotten along, you feel compelled to defend her. "She doesn't like that I've been playing with this stuff."<br/>
<br/>
"Neither do I." Joe's head remains bent over the sigil. "Unsupervised, I mean."<br/>
<br/>
"She thinks it's just plain evil."<br/>
<br/>
"It often is. It depends on how you use it. And people can be such <i>shits,</i> you know."<br/>
<br/>
Yes, you do know. But then you have to wonder: <i>Can I be sure you and your brother aren't a couple of shits as well?</i><br/>
<br/>
Before you can worry too much, though, your phone rings. It's your dad. Your heart sinks as you answer. "Dad? Listen, I know I promised you that—" <br/>
<br/>
"Where the hell are you?" he demands, his voice a compressed fireball of fury. "Your mother says you haven't been home all day!"<br/>
<br/>
"I—"<br/>
<br/>
"Get home. Now."<br/>
<br/>
The line goes dead, and suddenly the basement feels a lot colder.<br/>
<br/>
"Something wrong?", Joe asks. He looks up at you from under his brows.<br/>
<br/>
You swallow. "I have to get home."<br/>
<br/>
"That was your dad, right? Is he at home?"<br/>
<br/>
You nod.<br/>
<br/>
"And didn't you tell Taylor you were worried about him?"<br/>
<br/>
You gulp. "Yes."<br/>
<br/>
Joe holds your eye. Then he starts putting your stuff away. "Good. My brother and I are so looking forward to meeting him."<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
"Just leave it to us," Frank says. "In five seconds it'll all be over, one way or another."<br/>
<br/>
He drove you and his brother home in his truck, and you are just now pulling into your driveway. It seemed easiest to take two vehicles—Taylor and Lucy are following in his truck—rather than three. It also gave you a chance to plan out the attack, if there is to be one.<br/>
<br/>
The trouble, as far as you're concerned, is that your mom and brother will be at the house too, and the last thing you want is to scare them with a home invasion.<br/>
<br/>
"We just need to get your dad alone", Frank says. "You distract the others—"<br/>
<br/>
"We need Will to help get the mask off him, if there is a mask", Joe says. "Besides, he's the one his dad wants to yell at."<br/>
<br/>
"So someone goes in with me?", you suggest. "Every one else can try distracting my mom and brother."<br/>
<br/>
"Me and Joe'll go in with you", Frank says. "Taylor and Lucy can entertain everyone else."<br/>
<br/>
You say nothing. But Joe speaks for you. "Will knows his family best, Frank", he says. "Let him pick who goes in with him."</span></div></div>


path: 1143214142112221112212221211121122121221
author_id: nostrum777
title: Frankly, an Unexpected Twist
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You hesitate over your decision. You want one of these guys to go with you. But do you need both? Joe would probably be a natural at distracting Robert and your mother, so that leaves Frank. Besides, he sounds like he wants to be the one to do it.<br/>
<br/>
So you touch him on the arm. "You come with me", you tell him. "Uh, Joe, do you think you and Taylor—and Lucy", you add, "could keep my mom and brother occupied while—?"<br/>
<br/>
Joe smiles. "It's what I do best!" <br/>
<br/>
His face falls, though, when Frank says, "Yeah, it's not like its worth anything else."<br/>
<br/>
You lead your friends in through the garage. The kitchen and dining room are empty. But your mom calls out, and you find her in the living room with her knitting.<br/>
<br/>
"Your dad's in his office", she tells you without preamble. "He's not happy." She starts to say more, but catches herself as the rest of your friends pile in behind.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm late 'cos I had to call in some other guys to help with my truck", you tell her. "Because it wouldn't start", you add so everyone else will know what your excuse is supposed to be. "So, uh, this is Scott and Lucy. And Frank and Joe."<br/>
<br/>
"That's a lot of help", she says, looking startled. "But it's nice to meet you."<br/>
<br/>
"Nice to meet you too, ma'am", Joe jumps in. "Consolation prize for not getting it licked. So we had to all come back over here to—"<br/>
<br/>
He stops at the sound of thundering feet. You look up in time to see Robert hurl himself in a heap onto the landing of the stairs. His eyes pop when he sees the crowd below. "Will!" he shouts. "Uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, is this your brother?" Joe exclaims. "Hey sport, come on down!"<br/>
<br/>
But Robert hangs back and his brow crinkles. "Uh, Dad's been looking for you", he tells you. "Who's—?"<br/>
<br/>
"These are some guys from school", you tell him. "We've been hanging out at the old school—you know, the <i>old elementary school.</i> Trying to get my truck fixed."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh?" He looks very doubtful and wary, and you grit your teeth. <i>Either go upstairs and lock yourself in your room,</i> you think very hard at him, <i>or come down here and keep your mouth shut.</i><br/>
<br/>
If he is telepathic, it's the latter command he obeys. But it's on dragging feet that he comes the rest of the way down the stairs.<br/>
<br/>
"Speaking of your truck, Will", Frank says, "let's go talk to your dad, see if he's got those tools we need." He slaps you in the shoulder. Probably he means it to be a tap, but you stagger under the blow.<br/>
<br/>
"I need to talk to Dad too!", Robert exclaims.<br/>
<br/>
"Talk to him after he gets done yelling at me", you tell him.<br/>
<br/>
"But it's important", he insists.<br/>
<br/>
"Later!"<br/>
<br/>
"Come hang out with us", Joe tells him. "We're all gonna go into town, have some fun when we leave here. Assuming your dad doesn't kill your brother. Is that likely, Mrs. Prescott?"<br/>
<br/>
"What? Well, uh—", she stammers.<br/>
<br/>
But Joe is off again. "And if he does kill your brother", he tells Robert, "that just leaves more room for you." He raises his hand for a high five, but Robert only returns him a dark look.<br/>
<br/>
At least he doesn't follow you and Frank down the hallway to your dad's office. Dread fills your chest as you stop outside the door. "Okay, what's the plan?", you whisper to Frank.<br/>
<br/>
"Just follow my lead."<br/>
<br/>
"You can't just attack him!", you hiss.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure I can. But don't worry. Listen, I know what I'm doing, I helped Joe get one of those masks off a thing earlier this afternoon. If I need your help I'll call you over."<br/>
<br/>
"But—"<br/>
<br/>
"Will!", your dad's muffled voice calls from the other side of the door. "Is that you?"<br/>
<br/>
You swallow hard. "I'm not covering for you if he calls the cops", you warn Frank as you grasp the door handle.<br/>
<br/>
Your dad is behind his desk when you enter, and he glares at you over the top of his bifocals. His expression is very stern, but at least he hasn't turned purple. Well, at least not yet.<br/>
<br/>
"Sit down", he growls at you. Then, as Frank follows you in, he says, "Who's this?"<br/>
<br/>
"He's a friend from school", you stammer. "I had to call him out when Keith couldn't, uh, get my truck to jump. It turns out it wasn't the battery—"<br/>
<br/>
"Never mind", your dad snaps. "You're the one I need to talk to. You and your brother. Robert!", he shouts; then, he addresses Frank. "If you need something, young man, you can wait out in the haw—"<br/>
<br/>
The air suddenly dies in his throat, and his jaw falls open. His eyes bulge. "Haw— Huh— Hrgh!", he gasps.<br/>
<br/>
Your feet freeze to the floor.<br/>
<br/>
"Excuse me, sir", Frank says. "Are you alright?"<br/>
<br/>
Your dad's chest heaves and his face reddens and puffs up. He leans forward in his chair and grips the edge of his desk. His eyes begin to stream, and he wheezes from the back of his throat.<br/>
<br/>
"Will, get out your phone", Frank orders as he pushes past you. "Don't call nine-one-one yet, but be ready too." He leans over your dad, putting one hand to his chest and the other to his face. "It could be a heart attack, but it could be—"<br/>
<br/>
"Should I go get my mom?" You grab the door handle.<br/>
<br/>
"No, let's just see if— What was that phrase you were telling me and Joe earlier? That special one?"<br/>
<br/>
"<i>What?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"That special phrase", he says, "for <i>getting things off of people!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Either your brain is seizing up and running very slow, or the world has sped up dramatically, for it seems to take forever for his meaning to penetrate the gauzy fog of horror that has engulfed your brain.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh!", you finally exclaim. "Uh—" It takes you a moment to recall it. Then you yell it all in a rush.<br/>
<br/>
Frank bends over your dad. He murmurs under his breath.<br/>
<br/>
Then he falls back, and sits on the corner of the desk between you and your dad. Of the latter, you can only see a form slumping in the chair.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh, fucking God!</i>, you think wildly to yourself. <i>Is he dead? Did these guys actually kill your dad? Are they outside killing your mom and brother too?</i><br/>
<br/>
Then Frank turns to give you a grim look. He holds something up. "What's going on here?", he says.<br/>
<br/>
You stare, dumbfounded, at the thing he is showing you. For it is one thing to suspect and fear the worst. It is another to have it confirmed.<br/>
<br/>
Frank is showing you a mask.<br/>
<br/>
You almost pass out. But Frank revives you with a sharp word: "Prescott!"<br/>
<br/>
"It's a mask", you burble. "Holy shit, it actually was a—"<br/>
<br/>
"Get away from the door", Frank orders. "Get over here."<br/>
<br/>
"But—"<br/>
<br/>
Something closes around your torso. It's like a hand or a claw, but it's the size of a giant's, and it's invisible. You fall off your feet as you are dragged by an invisible force over to your dad's desk. But you don't fall over, though your feet have gone limp. The invisible thing grips you tightly and holds you erect so you can see the figure in your dad's chair.<br/>
<br/>
It's Robert, dressed in your dad's clothes, looking like a child playing dress-up. He's passed out, his chin sagging to his chest. Your mouth falls open.<br/>
<br/>
"Prescott?"<br/>
<br/>
You shake yourself all over (inside that invisible, iron grip) and gape. "It's my brother", you mutter.<br/>
<br/>
"If this is your brother, who's that outside with your mom and everyone else? Prescott", Frank growls when you don't answer, and you are rattled on your limp feet.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't— A fake? I don't get how Robert could be pretending to be my dad!"<br/>
<br/>
"So who's pretending to your brother?"<br/>
<br/>
Only one possibility occurs to you—Blackwell—but you still can't reconcile it to what you see before you.<br/>
<br/>
You are lofted into the air and dropped into one of the chairs in front of your dad's desk. "Wait here", Frank says as those iron talons vanish from around you. "If you move I will tear your head off when I come back." He stalks from your dad's office.<br/>
<br/>
You cover your face with your hands and fight to keep from throwing up. You've no idea how many minutes have ticked by—though it feels like hours—before Frank stalks back in. "Come out here", he says.<br/>
<br/>
In the living room he shows you the limp trio lying on the sofas like cast-away dolls: Taylor, Lucy, and Joe. Of your mother and the person who looked like your brother, there is no sign.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
It takes awhile for the banging of pots and pans to penetrate your consciousness. It's like your skull has thickened or your brain has fossilized. You can hardly think, and are hardly aware of your surroundings.<br/>
<br/>
But you lever yourself to your feet and hobble into the the kitchen. Lucy is there, frowning at the stove. She glances over at you, and bites her lip.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not much of a cook", she says. "But there was some ground beef in the refrigerator, and I think I could manage to fry up some hamburgers."<br/>
<br/>
"What for?"<br/>
<br/>
She looks at you gravely, then gives you a small smile.<br/>
<br/>
"Because, Will", she says, "I don't have much of a mothering instinct, but I can see when someone needs mothering."<br/>
<br/>
You wince. <i>Mothering.</i><br/>
<br/>
You haven't got a mother now. Nor do you have a father. You're lucky, you suppose, to still have a brother. <i>Speaking of whom ...</i><br/>
<br/>
You look around with a feeling of vague guilt. Here you are, moping around and feeling sorry for yourself when Robert's got to be in the same shape, or worse. <i>Where is he?</i> You're pretty sure he didn't go with Taylor and Frank and Joe, who are out scouring the city for signs of your missing mom and fake brother. Probably he's up in the bedroom. You should go find him.<br/>
<br/>
Lucy intercepts you first, and gives you a strong hug. But you are limp in her arms.</span></div></div>


path: 11432141421122211122122212111211221212211
author_id: nostrum777
title: The Consequences of Meddling Blindly to the Unknow
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Lucy's hug is warm and soothing. You'd have done anything to get one from her; something that showed that she appreciated all the shit you did for her – at least, what little you did. Taking her away from Blackwell's basement. Hide her in your own. Give her some of your mom's clothes –<br/>
<br/>
That's when you notice the blouse she's wearing – definitely out of fashion for at least ten years, and a bit large on her body. The jeans are even older, but you also recognize your mom wearing them. In a way, it feels like if your own mom was hugging you, and it makes you long for her embrace. Your mind struggles to register the conflicting emotions. <br/>
<br/>
“You can cry if you want to", Lucy says. "I know I would.”<br/>
<br/>
You didn't know you were waiting for permission. But apparently you were, for you immediately crumple into tears and bury your face in her shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
"Shh, shh", Lucy says, and rocks you gently. "Let it all out."<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
"I'm so sorry", you tell her afterward, when you're huddled in the corner of the sofa, and she's sitting in the easy chair across from you. <br/>
<br/>
"For what?", she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"All this crap. All this shit." You shudder. "You were right. About magic."<br/>
<br/>
Her gaze goes thoughtfully distant. Then she says, "You know, I'd've given anything, Will, to have stopped all this shit from happening to you."<br/>
<br/>
"That's what you were trying to do, wasn't it?", you mumble. "By trying to get me to stop playing with this stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
She winces slightly. "No. I was trying to get you to stop, period. I didn't have any idea that anything like <i>this</i> could happen."<br/>
<br/>
And what is "this"?<br/>
<br/>
When you and Frank returned to the living room, it was to find Lucy and Taylor and Joe unconscious. Frank, snapping like a Marine sergeant, told you to try waking them up while he went to find your mom and brother. But though you shook and slapped Joe and the others, they were in a deep sleep. <i>An enchanted sleep,</i> the awful thought occurred to you.<br/>
<br/>
Frank returned a minute later, to report that your family's SUV was gone and that there was no sign of your mom and brother. He took over from you and got very rough with Joe, smacking him harder across the face than you've ever seen anyone get slapped before. When that did nothing, he dove into your kitchen and mixed up a vile concoction of various herbs, vegetables and juices, and forced it down Joe's throat. His brother woke, vomiting and spewing all over the carpet and furniture. The stench still lingers.<br/>
<br/>
The story Joe related, as Frank woke the others with the same concoction, was chilling, bewildering, and frightening. While you and Frank were in your dad's office, Joe became aware that Robert was acting strangely, but before he could do anything, your brother hauled something out of his pocket and blew a dust into his face. That was the last he knew. Taylor and Lucy, when they had recovered, confirmed Joe's story of a dust, but hadn't noticed anything else.<br/>
<br/>
Robert, when he revived, had a similar story to relate. He was in his room when his father got home and summoned him down into his office. He too had a dust blown in his face, and knew no more until he woke behind his father's desk in his father's clothes. <br/>
<br/>
In a matter of minutes, deductions were made and shared. As you had feared, someone (the warlock-professor, mostly likely) had infiltrated your house in the guise of your father. After surprising your brother, he switched disguises with him, probably with the intention of surprising <i>you</i> in turn. When he found himself over-matched by superior numbers, he fled, taking your mom with him.<br/>
<br/>
Frank and Joe quickly swung into action, and took Taylor with them and left for the professor's villa. Robert has gone up to his bedroom. And you and Lucy—<br/>
<br/>
"You knew something like this could happen", you tell her. "It happened to you. Worse."<br/>
<br/>
She smiles through a small wince. "And you've been trying so hard to do something about it", she says. Then she sighs. "I don't think I've told you how much I appreciate it, Will. How grateful I am to you."<br/>
<br/>
It's a nice thing to say, but some of your old, sullen resentment surfaces: <i>No, but you've had an easy time telling </i>Taylor<i> how much you appreciate it.</i> But aloud you reply; "You were too busy trying to save me from the shit I was getting myself into."<br/>
<br/>
She argues with you a little about that. "You're not the one who did anything to your family", she reminds you, "and you didn't hurt anyone else with your stuff."<br/>
<br/>
You don't argue back. You don't say anything at all. After a long silence, Lucy gets up and goes upstairs. <i>She's gone to talk to Robert,</i> you realize. <i>I should go up there too.</i> But you don't stir.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Taylor texts while Lucy is upstairs, to report that there is no news. They haven't found your mom or fake brother, and the professor's house is dark and there's no car outside. When you ask if he or the others have broken into the villa, he replies in the negative. <i>They say there's a monster or something guarding the premises and they can't risk it till morning.</i><br/>
<br/>
You pass the news on to Lucy when she comes back down and goes into the kitchen to finish fixing those hamburger patties. She nods, then tells you that you should go up and talk to your brother. "I know", you say. Then you rub your eyes. "God!"<br/>
<br/>
"Will?"<br/>
<br/>
"I just don't know what to say to him! Jesus." You start to tremble all over. "He's all I've got left. And it's all my fault!"<br/>
<br/>
"No it isn't. I told you—"<br/>
<br/>
"But it <i>is!</i> I—" You almost break down. "I <i>knew</i> there was something wrong with Dad! I felt it! I knew it could—" You hiccup. "It could be the professor disguised as him, but I didn't do anything about it! And I sent Bo— Robert home anyway! I didn't even warn him!"<br/>
<br/>
"Why not?"<br/>
<br/>
You flinch at the hard tone in her voice. "I didn't want to scare him. I was scared, and I figured if I was scared, then he—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he's scared shitless now, Will, and he needs you", Lucy says. "You're right, he's all you've got left. And you're all he's got left. Go upstairs and take care of him." She doesn't yell, but her tone is very firm.<br/>
<br/>
You wince and nod and trudge to the staircase. You pause with a groan, then mount them.<br/>
<br/>
Robert's bedroom door is open, but the hall bathroom door is shut, and there's a light underneath it. You hesitate, then knock at it. "Robert?", you call.<br/>
<br/>
"Just a minute", he calls back. "I'm busy!"<br/>
<br/>
You can't stop your lips twitching as you hear the spin of the toilet-paper holder, and you step back from the door. The toilet flushes, and water runs in the sink. Robert gives you a look of dull hostility when he emerges.<br/>
<br/>
"Robert", you say.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
You hesitate. Brotherly affection is not something either of you is used to expressing.<br/>
<br/>
Impulsively, you grab him and pull him to yourself. He struggles briefly, then as you embrace him, he sags. Eventually, as you continue to hold him, he hugs you back.<br/>
<br/>
"How are you doing?", you ask when you part.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm okay." He makes a face. "I liked it better when it was your boyfriend's girlfriend hugging me."<br/>
<br/>
"He's not my—!" you start to yell.<br/>
<br/>
Then you choke. Laughter bubbles up inside your chest. Robert gives you a puzzled look as you gasp and snerk. But when you fall back against the wall, and sink to the ground, giggling helplessly, he smiles and starts to laugh along. Soon you are both on the floor, howling.<br/>
<br/>
You end up sitting side by side in the hallway, shoulders touching. "I'm sorry about all this", you tell him. "How much of what's going on do you understand?"<br/>
<br/>
He chews his lip. "That wasn't Dad, was it?", he says.<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
"And he took Mom and Dad away, didn't he?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes."<br/>
<br/>
He chews some more on his lip. "So I guess we can stay up until three in the morning if we want, now, right?"<br/>
<br/>
You sigh. "Yes."<br/>
<br/>
He sighs in turn. "I'd rather have Mom and Dad back."<br/>
<br/>
"So would I."<br/>
<br/>
He digs the heel of his hand into his eye. "So who were those guys who were here? With Lucy and—"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't call him my boyfriend."<br/>
<br/>
"—Taylor?"<br/>
<br/>
"A couple of guys from Eastman. They're, like, experts in this stuff. They're warlock hunters or something."<br/>
<br/>
"And they go to Eastman? What, do they have classes in—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't understand it all. I met them just after I—" A lump forms in your throat. "After I sent you home."<br/>
<br/>
Robert is silent for a long moment, and you tense. "You didn't know that Dad wasn't Dad, did you?", he says at last.<br/>
<br/>
You suppress a groan. "No, I didn't. But I wondered. I thought I was just being paranoid. I wanted you to be careful, Robert. But I didn't want to scare you or make you paranoid too."<br/>
<br/>
Again, he falls silent. "I get it", he says at last.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm so sorry. We were coming back to check on Dad when—"<br/>
<br/>
A door slams downstairs, and you hear a muffled voice. Lucy answers. Then there's a long silence. You listen hard, and tense.<br/>
<br/>
There are footsteps across the living room, and on the stairs. You scramble to your feet with a beating heart. Frank appears, his eyes hard and filled with a fell light. Before you can speak, he grabs you by the throat with one hand, and by the face with the other.</span></div></div>


path: 114321414211222111221222121112112212122111
author_id: nostrum777
title: The Stars Unveil
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“Hey!” Fear engulfs you as Frank grips you by the throat and grapples at your face. The thought <i>Is it Blackwell?</i> comes to you in a panic. Has he caught Frank and Joe and Taylor, and now he's got you and Robert? Is this the end?<br/>
<br/>
Abruptly, Frank drops you and grabs Robert by the head and neck, to pry at his face. You shout, but that invisible claw you felt earlier slams you against the wall and pins you in place. You can only stare in horror as Robert flails weakly in Frank's grasp.<br/>
<br/>
Then Frank drops him too, and the invisible claw vanishes from your chest. "What the fuck was that?", you gasp with bulging eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"Just making sure the professor didn't double back while we were away", Frank says. "I'm sorry if I scared you, but I don't fuck around. Come on downstairs." He turns.<br/>
<br/>
Robert grabs your arm. "Will?", he says in an undertone. "Who are these guys?  I mean—" He gulps. "What <i>are</i> they?"<br/>
<br/>
You don't know. But you're going to get some answers.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Joe and Taylor are with Lucy and Frank when you join them downstairs. None of them look happy, though Joe gives Robert a quick smile and a wink.<br/>
<br/>
But it's Frank who takes charge. "First thing, Prescott", he says, "we want to see your notes. And the professor's. And any others you've got."<br/>
<br/>
"What happened at the professor's?", you demand.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll explain while Joe looks over those notes", Frank replies. He is very calm but very firm.<br/>
<br/>
You glare at him, but fetch your bag from your dad's office, where you had dropped it earlier. Frank takes it from you and dumps the contents into his brother's lap.<br/>
<br/>
"Now, what happened at the professor's?", you demand again.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing happened at the professor's."<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing?" Robert shrieks. He is panting hard, and the whites of his eyes are showing. "Then what's going on? What were you—?" <br/>
<br/>
In one step Frank is atop him, lifting your brother's chin with one hand and staring down hard into his eyes. You start to leap at him—<i>He's hurting my brother!</i>—but something stops you.<br/>
<br/>
No, it's not that invisible hand again. It's not a force field either. It's just that your legs don't want to move. It's like your muscles have turned to unbending iron. You sway and almost topple off your feet.<br/>
<br/>
But as you watch, aghast, Frank bores his gaze into your brother's. Robert stares back with a white face, and his lips work. He tenses all over.<br/>
<br/>
And then he relaxes. His eyes droop, and the color comes back into his face. When Frank releases him, he steps back and blinks a couple of times. Then he smiles.<br/>
<br/>
Frank turns to give you a steady look. "Do I need to calm your shit down too?", he says.<br/>
<br/>
Now your bones liquefy, and you grab the back of the sofa to keep from fainting.<br/>
<br/>
"Who <i>are</i> you guys?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"We are the <i>Stellae Errantes</i>", Frank says, "and you and your brother are under our protection. If anyone tries fucking with you, tell them that."<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
So what is, or are, the <i>Stellae Errantes</i>? Joe wants to do the explaining, but Frank tells him to concentrate on the notebooks.<br/>
<br/>
"We're a secret society", he tells the rest of you. "My brother used the phrase 'warlock hunters' earlier. But we're more than that. There's an invisible world, one you've all now had a glimpse of. It's our job to patrol the borders between that world and this one. To do that"—and here might have allowed himself just the tiniest shadow of a smile—"we have to be capable of fighting on either side of that border."<br/>
<br/>
"You— You have magic powers?", Robert asks. He's much calmer since Frank gave him that very steely look, but there's still a stammer in his voice.<br/>
<br/>
"We have prodigies", Frank says. "That's all. Certain abilities that look 'magical'." His lips twist derisively around the word. "But don't let them throw you."<br/>
<br/>
"How did you get them?", Robert asks. He's getting that pestilential, inquisitive look like when he gets interested in your shit.<br/>
<br/>
"We were born with them, but we had to train to use them."<br/>
<br/>
"Who trained you?"<br/>
<br/>
"The other members of the <i>Stellae Errantes.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Joe groans, but buries his face back in the book when Frank gives him a look.<br/>
<br/>
"Does this have anything to do with that school you were telling me about earlier?", you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"We <i>are</i> that school. It's all one thing. It's a training academy for people like me and Joe, and then it sends us out to deal with assholes like Professor Aubrey Blackwell. Speaking of whom—"<br/>
<br/>
"And you'd let <i>me</i> join?", you ask in disbelief. You try to ignore the startled glance that Robert gives you.<br/>
<br/>
Frank's lips whiten. Then he says. "It's not up to Joe or me. But you've, uh, shown certain talents—"<br/>
<br/>
"Proclivities", Joe says from behind the book.<br/>
<br/>
"—that might get you an, um, association with us."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't understand!", Robert whines. But he straightens up when Frank shoots him a sharp look.<br/>
<br/>
"Here's all that you have to understand", Frank says. "A black magician has taken your parents away. It's our job to get your parents back <i>and</i> to stop him from getting you two or anyone else as well. So you are under our protection. Anyway, it's not like there's anyone else you can turn to."<br/>
<br/>
"Way to be diplomatic, bro", Joe mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"We've got an aunt and uncle", Robert protests.<br/>
<br/>
"What are you going to tell them happened to your mom and dad?", Frank asks. "Do you want to tell them that they disappeared? Is that what you want to tell the police? Do you want to tell the police that a black magician used a magical disguise to— This <i>is</i> the best way to tell them, Joe", he tells his brother, who has begun to mumble again. "The sooner they understand it's us or nothing, the sooner we can get onto the job of getting their parents back."<br/>
<br/>
"So what are <i>you</i> going to tell the police?", you retort.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing. We're not going to stick around to tell anyone anything, and we're taking you with us."<br/>
<br/>
"What?", you exclaim. "Where?"<br/>
<br/>
"Frank", says Joe, "I think Dad or Rick would have something to say about that." His brother shrugs. "But he's not wrong", Joe tells you and Robert. His expression is grave. "You can't explain what happened here to anyone, so there's no point in sticking around to try. The safest place for you is with us, the safest thing to say is nothing, and the best thing for you to do is to disappear."<br/>
<br/>
Your brother sinks onto the sofa. You join him.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
It's almost impossible to argue with what they say, but that doesn't mean you don't try. The plain fact is that, until you can get your mom and dad back, you are orphans, and both to keep you safe and to spare you the embarrassment of blaming your parents' disappearance on an evil warlock, you are going to have to go undercover.<br/>
<br/>
"It's not going to be so bad", Joe assures you. "You might not even have leave town, and if we can get a track on the professor it might not be for long. But you're going to have to trust us."<br/>
<br/>
But that's easier said than done, given that they don't want to talk much about their "prodigies" or their "secret society." <i>We'll take care of you,</i> is about all Frank will say or allow his brother to say. <i>That's our specialty.</i> He mentions that he reported your family's SUV stolen and that he'll keep your dad's phone ready in case he tries to contact the thing he left behind.As for active measures: Frank explains that they couldn't get in to the professor's house on account of some kind of magical guard dog, but they will return there at daybreak.<br/>
<br/>
"What about Lucy?", Taylor finally asks. "And me?"<br/>
<br/>
Joe jumps in before Frank can answer. "That's a thought", he says. "I'll want to look some more at that mask we took off the golem. We should also gather up all the stuff they have back in that clubhouse."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll go get it", you say, for you like Joe's idea of keeping busy. Taylor says he'll go with you. And Robert says he wants to go as well.<br/>
<br/>
"Call if it looks like there's any trouble", Frank says, and gives you his number. "And be prepared to account for yourselves when you get back."<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
"So what do you think?", you ask Taylor as you pile into his truck. "Are they really on the level?"<br/>
<br/>
"They helped me get Lucy's doppelganger, and they took it apart", he says. "They tried helping with your dad."<br/>
<br/>
"Tried", you growl.<br/>
<br/>
"That fucker was waiting for you in an ambush." Taylor looks past you at Robert. "How are you doing, tiger?"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I guess", Robert says. "Considering."<br/>
<br/>
"What did Frank do to you?", you ask him. "Back there in the living room, when he grabbed you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," Robert says. "He just looked at me. But I felt ... better. Calmer. Stronger." He chews on his lip. "I think I like them, Will", he suddenly says. "Well, I like Frank, at least."<br/>
<br/>
You're not sure how you feel about that. But you're not sure how you feel about anything.<br/>
<br/>
At Taylor's suggestion, you call Frank and keep the line open as you work in the basement pulling the stuff together. Robert's the one who takes the phone, and he cheers up as he talks to Frank about his school and sports. This puzzles you, and you mention it quietly to Taylor. He only shrugs. "Your brother's into football", he says.<br/>
<br/>
"He is?"<br/>
<br/>
Taylor looks surprised. "Don't you ever talk to him?"<br/>
<br/>
You're interrupted by Robert, who hands you phone.<br/>
<br/>
"We've decided to split up for the night", Frank says. "Joe will take Taylor and Lucy back to our place. I'll keep watch at your place with you and your brother."</span></div></div>


path: 1143214142112221112212221211121122121221111
author_id: nostrum777
title: De Re Natura Personae; Et Faciem Qui Sunt Intra
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I'd like to go with Taylor and Lucy instead", you tell Frank.<br/>
<br/>
"Why?" His tone is clipped.<br/>
<br/>
You hesitate. It's just a feeling, a preference. But you need a reason to give him.<br/>
<br/>
"Because of the stuff we're bringing back", you say, and as you say it you realize you've found the words for that feeling you've got. "I want to keep talking to him about it." <i>About all of this stuff.</i><br/>
<br/>
Frank says something to someone on the other end of the line, and there's a muffled conversation. "Okay, that'll work too", he says when he returns. "How long until you guys get back?"<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
You're not long returning, and after Frank (more gently this time) has checked everyone for masks, you transfer it all into his truck. You squeeze into the cab with Taylor and Lucy, with Joe driving.<br/>
<br/>
<i>"¡Nuestra casa es su casa!"</i> Joe grandly declares on ushering you all into a tiny living room that opens out directly behind the front door. "Get comfortable, grab a seat, rest for a while." He shoves a pile of books off a brown sofa that looks and smells like a dead bear.<br/>
<br/>
"You guys live here alone?", Taylor asks.<br/>
<br/>
Joe grins and spreads his arms. "Ain't it great?"<br/>
<br/>
It's a small, spartan little place just south of the university. Behind the tiny living room is a kitchen and dining nook, and just down a short hallway are two bedrooms and a bath. "You can have Frank's bed", Joe tells Lucy after giving you a very short tour. "Us guys'll figure out where to crash later. TV there." He points. "You two can relax on the sofa", he tells Taylor and Lucy. "Me and Will'll bring the stuff in." He plucks at your shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
You step outside, towards Joe's truck, and start lofting boxes out of its back, when Joe startles you by saying, "Frank's the master of first impressions, huh?"<br/>
<br/>
"My brother seems to like him", you reply.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, there's no accounting for a brother's taste, right? You guy's share a room back home?"<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
"Lucky asshole. Me and Frank slept in bunk beds growing up. You get to know each other <i>real good</i> that way. But a brother can still be full of surprises."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't look like brothers", you blurt out as you follow Joe back into the house.<br/>
<br/>
"We're not. Biologically, that is. Dad picked us up from the gypsies. Guys like Frank and me are born before we're made. Dad ferreted us out when we were each about seven."<br/>
<br/>
"You're both adopted?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's the way of putting it without implicating our dad in a felony."<br/>
<br/>
Joe leads you back into his bedroom and directs you to set your burden on the floor. "Now, bring me in your book bag and a chair from the dining room, and we'll jaw."<br/>
<br/>
The TV is on as you cut through the living room, and Taylor and Lucy are both watching it from the sofa. He has his arm around her, and her temple is resting against his cheek. But after the day's crises, you feel nothing but exhaustion and numbness when you see them this way.<br/>
<br/>
"Ah!", Joe exclaims on your return. He takes the bag from you and hurls himself onto the bed. "Pull up a seat there", he says, pointing a spot beside him. He opens your bag and starts pulling books out.<br/>
<br/>
"Now, Frank is all for action", he says after you're settled, "and I assume you are too. But we need to know what we're up against, and that's where this stuff comes in. So, first of all, no judgments, but which of these spells have you executed and what have you made?" He opens Blackwell's notebook.<br/>
<br/>
His expression is so encouraging that you find it surprisingly easy to start confessing everything to him. "Well, back when I had that book—"<br/>
<br/>
"The <i>Libra Personae."</i><br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. My dad and me—"<br/>
<br/>
Suddenly, your chest feels like it's being crushed as you think back to that day. That's when it all went wrong, it now hits you. <i>If I hadn't shown the book to Dad, he wouldn't have gone to see the professor, and then—</i><br/>
<br/>
Joe squeezes your hand in his, and smiles. You feel a flood of warmth, and the tightness in your chest eases.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we made a mask", you continue. "That got Dad all curious, because he's an engineer and he didn't understand why it would work. So he looked online and he found the professor—"<br/>
<br/>
"And what else did you do? You don't have to go over the stuff with your dad again", Joe gently adds.<br/>
<br/>
So you describe getting the mask onto a friend at school, which is how you met Taylor, and how you put the Emplastrum into the mask earlier that day and took turns with Robert trying it on. That last bit finally embarrasses you. But Joe either doesn't notice, or he tactfully ignores it.<br/>
<br/>
"When you tried on the mask of your friend", he asks, "did you find that you had any of his memories? Did you suddenly know any of the stuff that he should know? Like his birthday or penis size?" He frowns when you shake your head. "Find me that mask", he says as he hops off the bed. "I'll be right back."<br/>
<br/>
He brings three masks with him when he returns a few minutes later, and he smiles when he sees that you've not only set out Marc's mask, but all others you brought as well. Joe lays them out in a row.<br/>
<br/>
"This is the second one you made", he says as he picks it up. Then he picks up another. "And this is the one you and Taylor got out of the professor's house." He turns them over in his hands, comparing them. They seem to be identical. "And you didn't put it on anyone, or put any of that Emplastrum in it?" You shake your head. "So this is the basic persona", he muses. "Which one did you use on your friend at school?"<br/>
<br/>
You point to it, and he examines the inner surface. "No name", he murmurs.<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
He flips over the remaining four masks. Over the inner surface of three of them floats a name: PENELOPE LUCILE VREDENBURG. SCOTT MICHAEL BICKELMEIR. HARRIS BRIAN PRESCOTT.<br/>
<br/>
"Taylor had all of Scott's memories while he was wearing this mask", Joe says. "Personality too, by his account. So did the, uh, wearers of the other two masks. But you say you didn't have any of your friend's memories when you donned <i>his</i> persona." He tugs his lip. "Because the mask doesn't know your friend's name, it looks like, which it ought to know if it knows anything about him other than his face and form. But these other masks do know the names of— Hello!" Joe picks up the mask or your dad and rubs the inner surface, on the spot over which his name seems to float.<br/>
<br/>
"It must be on account of this ridge here," he says. He hands it to you, then picks up the other two named masks to examine. On each, there is a raised place beneath the name, maybe an eighth of an inch thick, an inch wide, and several inches long. Then he shows you that there is no similar ridge on Marc's mask.<br/>
<br/>
"Something extra," he says. He flips forward in Blackwell's notebook, and points to a page. "<i>Mens,</i>" he says, reading the block letters at the bottom. "In English, the plural possessive of the word for the male of the species, minus the apostrophe. But in Latin, 'the mind'. A separate spell, huh? Conveniently modular." He turns the page. "<i>Gluten.</i> I'm guessing that's what you use to stick a <i>mens</i> to a <i>persona.</i> Then, when you stick them on a—"<br/>
<br/>
Well, let him mumble to himself. You're too wrapped up in the mask you're holding, the one with your father's name in it. <i>This is what Blackwell made so he could impersonate my father,</i> it comes to you. <i>This is the thing I was talking to, and was talking to me.</i> <br/>
<br/>
The mask suddenly feels very loathsome, and you drop it like it's a tarantula.<br/>
<br/>
"Here", Joe says, and from one of the boxes pulls out a metal strip that's about the same dimension as the ridge inside the masks. "I bet this is the little devil." He examines both sides. "Score! Runework! That simplifies things. It's already prepped for— Uh oh!" He tosses the strip from hand to hand, as though it's burning his fingertips, then drops back into the box he dug it out of.<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong?", you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing, I hope. I just suddenly got worried it was copying my brain! My precious, gigantic, engorged-and-throbbing-with-esoteric-knowledge brain!" <br/>
<br/>
He glares down at the strip, then looks up at you. "Anyway", he continues, "that will be one of our projects, yours and mine. Figuring out how to make a <i>mens.</i> Making a <i>mens!</i>" He bursts out laughing. "A <i>mens?</i> Amends? Almost a joke, son! Pun, that is!"<br/>
<br/>
You can't help feeling a little irritated. He's a live wire, this one, but he's more amusing to himself than to you. Or maybe you're just tired.<br/>
<br/>
So when he says, "Come on in the back yard, there's something I want to show you", you tell him you'll join him in a minute, and make a side detour into the bathroom. You flinch a little on entering, for it is dingy and smells of mold, dirty socks, and pee. The toilet lid is up, and there's a yellow crust along the water line.<br/>
<br/>
<i>So this is what it looks like when you don't have a mother to clean your bathroom for you,</i> you think. It gives you another twinge.<br/>
<br/>
You're splashing some cold water on your face when your phone chimes. You pull it out with a sigh and check the screen.<br/>
<br/>
Your heart nearly bursts out through your chest. It's your mother calling.<br/>
<br/>
You gulp. <i>But is it?</i></span></div></div>


path: 11432141421122211122122212111211221212211111
author_id: nostrum777
title: Criminals Always Return to the Scene of the Crime
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>(Co-authored by Seuzz)<br/>
<br/>
You answer without hesitating. "Hello?"<br/>
<br/>
"Mr. Prescott?" <br/>
<br/>
Your blood chills even as your anger boils up. But the professor continues before you can interrupt. "I know this is awkward", he says, "but we need to talk."<br/>
<br/>
"No shit! You and I got some business to settle!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, I suppose. Let me preface our conversation by extending my most heartfelt regrets for what has happened. Truly, it was a, uh, most disastrous meeting. Even before this afternoon, I now realize, I should have been more forthcoming with you, and for that, I am truly sorry."<br/>
<br/>
"Cut the crap", you growl. "Where's my mother?"<br/>
<br/>
"She is safe", he admits. "She's sleeping now. That is one reason I am calling you, to arrange her return."<br/>
<br/>
"And my dad?"<br/>
<br/>
Blackwell doesn't answer right away. Then there's a knock at the door. "Will!", Joe shouts through it. "You good in there?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, yeah!", you shout back as you hurriedly mute the phone. "Just lemme pull up my pants and I'll be out!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll be in the back yard!" You wait until you hear footsteps moving off, then unmute the phone. "Are you there?", you hiss into the phone.<br/>
<br/>
"Perhaps it would be best if we talked tomorrow", the professor says in a clipped tone. "You can reach me at this number." The line goes dead.<br/>
<br/>
You're in a daze when you join Joe in the back yard, and he notices. "Something wrong, Will?", he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm suddenly really tired", you tell him. And it's true. Your feet and shoulders are suddenly very heavy.<br/>
<br/>
Joe cocks his head and sucks a tooth. Then, he says, "Sure, I guess it can wait. And you need your sleep. Tomorrow's gonna be a big day."<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
You wake with a start. <i>Was that thunder?</i> You listen intently and blink yourself awake. It's as dark as the inside of a sack.<br/>
<br/>
Then you hear soft voices in the other room. You whip out your phone and check the time. It's a little after seven.<br/>
<br/>
You are hurrying into your clothes when there's a knock at the bedroom door, and you hop over with one foot in one shoe to open it.<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry if it's early", Joe says. "We want to hit the professor's at the literal crack of dawn. You coming?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," you reply. "Is Taylor coming too?"<br/>
<br/>
"He'll stay here with Lucy," Joe says. "They spent the night together."<br/>
<br/>
A few days ago, you'd be furious with jealousy, but now you hardly think about it. "And Robert?", you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"He's out in the truck waiting for us."<br/>
<br/>
You were thinking that maybe you should stay behind, to call and talk to the professor. But now you are <i>definitely</i> going. No way you'll let Robert storm a warlock's castle while you hide out behind.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
The ride out to the professor's is quiet, with you and Robert squeezed in between Frank and Joe. Your brother looked pale when you climbed into the truck cab with him, but he is also alert and excited. He doesn't ask about your night or what is about to happen, and you don't ask him about his.<br/>
<br/>
It's enough to know you're going off, together, to help do something about the asshole who stole your parents.<br/>
<br/>
It's cloudy, and the eastern horizon is a dark streak of gray against the sky still inky with night when you arrive at Blackwell's villa. You all dismount, but Frank and Joe tell you and Robert to hang back while they approach the gate. "Time, Joe?", Frank asks.<br/>
<br/>
"In two."<br/>
<br/>
"What are you doing?", Robert asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Waiting for the crack of dawn," Joe says. He and Frank lapse into a long, watchful silence that you don't interrupt.<br/>
<br/>
Then Joe says, softly, "Now."<br/>
<br/>
A sheet of light, like summer lightning, erupts across the front of the house, and all the shadows flee. The gates fly back with a metallic crash, and Frank and Joe sprint into the yard.<br/>
<br/>
Except ... No, wait, Joe is still with you, hands on hips, staring at the house. "Just stay here with me a minute", he says. "We're checking out the grounds."<br/>
<br/>
"We?"<br/>
<br/>
"Shh." He seems to be listening. "Okay, we're clear. Last thing any of us want is that guard dog barreling down on us because the clock on my cell phone was fast. Come on."<br/>
<br/>
He leads you into that barren and blasted yard, but stops you halfway up the walk. Frank is standing at the foot of the front portico, staring up at the second floor. "You wanna start by getting his attention?", Joe asks him.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes", Frank says. "Then we'll see what we can do about that lintel."<br/>
<br/>
He plants his feet and presses the palms of his hands together. Your ears are suddenly stuffy, and you yawn to pop them. Joe nudges you. "Just wait," he says.<br/>
<br/>
Your chest tightens, and you have the odd impression that something is trying to push you away from the house. Robert grabs you by the arm, and takes a step back. You have to fight the feeling that the world is tilting backwards, and that you are about to fall off.<br/>
<br/>
Then every window on the upper floor explodes outward, and shards of glass patter to the ground below. Thunder growls inside the house.<br/>
<br/>
"Is that Lurga?", Robert asks in an awestruck tone. "Or the other one?"<br/>
<br/>
"Lurga", Joe says. He spares Robert a narrow glance. "Frank must've been in a talkative mood last night."<br/>
<br/>
The pressure on your head and shoulders recedes. "I don't feel anything, Joe", Frank says. "So let's see what we can do about that lintel."<br/>
<br/>
"What are you doing?", you ask, but Joe just says, "Gotcha," and runs up to join his brother at the front door.<br/>
<br/>
"They're breaking some kind of enchanted shield", Robert tells you. "Frank told me all about it last night. There's an enchantment on the house, and they won't be able to use their prodigies inside if they don't break it. But they had to make sure Blackwell wasn't home, or else he might have—"<br/>
<br/>
You stare at him as he rattles on, in an admiring voice, about how Frank and Joe are slowly tearing the magic off the house so they can get inside and get at the warlock. "That was Lurga Frank was using just now!" Robert exclaims. "That's one of Frank's o— ousiarchs! And you see how it looks like the door is on fire?" He points—the door does in fact look as though it's burning inside an invisible flame. "I bet that's Joe invoking Arbol!"<br/>
<br/>
<i>If I wanted to learn something last night</i>, you think, <i>I spent it with the wrong brother.</i><br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Frank and Joe leave you outside while they check out the interior of the villa. You sit in front of the open doors leading to the foyer, which gives you a chance to catch up with Robert. "What's all that stuff you were talking about?", you ask. "Lurga and ... airball?"<br/>
<br/>
"Me and Frank spent a lot of time talking last night", your brother says. He sounds very pleased with himself. "He was telling me about him and Joe and the <i>Stellae.</i> Did you know they get their prodigies from the planets?"<br/>
<br/>
"Really?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah! It's kind of like astrology, but real astrology? So, like, he said the planets influence everyone, but in their case they get like a super-duper, million-times dosage, so it comes out extra strong. He's got influences from two planets, Lurga and— Well, that's their names for the planets. He says they were named by the Atlanteans, tens of thousands of years ago. But for him it's Mars and Saturn. You know how Mars is the planet of war? Well, that's how come Frank's such a—" He punches at the air while making <i>kch-pew!</i> noises. He turns shining eyes up at you. "He says he thinks I've got a lot of Martian influence too. Says he can tell."<br/>
<br/>
"You are a little space alien."<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up!" Robert punches at your stomach, but he laughs. "He says you've got some kind of planetary influence too. Probably Your-Anus!"<br/>
<br/>
You cuff him in the side of the head, and the two of you fall to wrestling. You break off after a minute, smiling at each other. You have to fight the urge to pull him in for a hug. "What else did he tell you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he told me about how their job is to go out and fight things. Him and Joe have run into a couple of ghosts, and a troll, and some other stuff. They just finished their training, and this is their first real mission. He also said that they sometimes take on ... associates? People who help them out. He said we might wind up being associates." His enthusiasm falters a little. "Even if we ... get Mom and Dad back. Will?"<br/>
<br/>
You tense. "Yes."<br/>
<br/>
"Do you think they'd let us join? Mom and Dad?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. It depends." You don't know what else to say. <br/>
<br/>
Then your phone rings, and your heart goes sideways. You check it: It's your mom's phone. "Hello?" you answer, and stride off to put some distance between you and Robert.<br/>
<br/>
"Mr. Prescott!" It's the professor again, but now he sounds pissed.<br/>
<br/>
"Listen", you tell him, "I was going to try call later, but—"<br/>
<br/>
"No, <i>you</i> listen! I know what you and your ... <i>friends</i> are doing", he spits. "And I warn you, you are messing with things beyond your comprehension. If you value your lives and sanity— No." He catches himself, and his tone turns even colder. "I hate to sound thuggish, but if you want to see your <i>parents</i> again, you will immediately exit through the front gate of my villa and proceed northward until you reach the corner of the cemetery at Farm Road and Orlando. And—need I add?—you will come <i>alone</i> and <i>unobserved!</i>" The line goes dead.<br/>
<br/>
The strength melts from your legs, and you whirl when, from inside the house, Joe shouts, "Watch it! It's a trap!"<br/>
<br/>
Of course it's a trap. But Blackwell holds all that is dear to you. Your mother. Your father. Will you leave them to his mercy? You're unsure if you wish to risk them by calling out the cavalry.</span></div></div>


path: 114321414211222111221222121112112212122111112
author_id: nostrum777
title: Where the Right Reasons leave you Orphaned
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You glance around, and shiver. <i>Blackwell's nearby,</i> you realize. <i>He's watching! It's the only way he--</i><br/>
<br/>
You freeze when you see that Robert's gone. He was on the front patio just a minute ago, and now he's vanished!<br/>
<br/>
Panic overwhelms you. Was Blackwell's call just a distraction? Was he just trying to make you look away while he got ahold of your brother somehow, to spirit away, the way he spirited away your mom and dad?<br/>
<br/>
You dash inside the house, slipping on the slick, parquet floor of the foyer and almost falling off your feet. Muffled voices echo nearby, and you follow them into the library. You almost pass out with relief when you see that Robert is there, with Joe. They're standing in front of the open doorway to the secret cellar where Lucy had been trapped.<br/>
<br/>
"And that's what happens when you let Dum-Dum conduct the search", Joe is saying to Robert. "The idiot here was about to--"<br/>
<br/>
"It's not like I haven't faced magic-based fear before, Joe", Frank says as he steps from the darkness behind the secret door. "Give me five minutes", he growls," and I could break it like a--" He stops short when he sees you, and frowns. "Something wrong, Prescott?"<br/>
<br/>
You look down at your phone, and realize that by running inside you've probably just blown your chance to negotiate with Blackwell. It's like a punch to your heart. You feel the blood draining from your face as you look back up.<br/>
<br/>
"I just got a call from the professor", you say.<br/>
<br/>
For half a second, no one reacts. Then, in two steps (it seems like) Joe is by your side. He snatches the phone from you grasp. "He hung up. But he called from my mom's number". you tell him.<br/>
<br/>
As fast as liquid light, Joe's left your side and vanished out of the library. You look back at Frank. He restrains Robert even as he waves at you to follow Joe.<br/>
<br/>
You catch up to him on the patio, where he's already got your phone to his ear. He gives you a sharp, querying look, and you stammer out a fast account of Blackwell's phone call. When you mention the meeting place, Joe shoves the phone into your hand and is gone faster than you could blink, leaving only a blur in the air. But his voice floats in the air, like a ghost: "Bastard doesn't answer!"<br/>
<br/>
You stare off at the open gate in astonishment, then turn to find Frank and Robert, their faces pale with concern and curiosity, watching you from just inside the foyer. "I think--", you start to say.<br/>
<br/>
"Joe's gone to find him", Frank interrupts you. "Where?"<br/>
<br/>
"Corner of Farm Road and Orlando. The cemetery."<br/>
<br/>
Frank's expression hardens, and his eyes go distant. "I should be out there", he mutters. <br/>
<br/>
Then: "Gimme your phone", he tells you. You hand it over, and he punches in a number. "What's the situation, Joe?", he asks after lifting it to his ear. "No, I want to hear it from you. I also want you to keep this line open until we get out there." He listens. When Robert starts to ask you something, Frank silences him with a loud snap of his fingers. "Be there in five", Frank tells Joe. He keeps the phone near his ear as he gestures you and your brother to follow him out to his truck. <br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
"It's another trap", Frank informs you and Robert thirty minutes later, as the three of you (plus Joe) are examining a grassy spot at the corner of the cemetery. "Like the one on the stairs in the library." <br/>
<br/>
He kneels to point to couple of bright, white stones. "But this one's kind of like a bear trap", he says. "One of those nasty metal ones, with teeth. Step into it, and--" He claps his hands, making a noise like a gunshot. "Easy enough to dismantle, though", he says, and flicks away one of the rocks. "There." He steps onto the patch of ground he warned you against. "Gone."<br/>
<br/>
It might be your imagination, but it looks to you like Joe is fighting hard to suppress a smile.<br/>
<br/>
It's the first chance you've had to talk to him since arriving at the rendezvous point. You and Frank and Robert parked on the shoulder inside the cemetery, about fifty yards back from the corner, on one of the dirt tracks that wind past the rows of graves. For almost half an hour the three of you watched the spot where you were to meet Blackwell, during which nothing happened except that Frank talked to his brother over the phone in a foreign language that sounded like none you'd ever heard before. Frank finally declared that it looked like nothing was going to happen, and together you went to examine the rendezvous point directly. Joe materialized, seemingly out of thin air, as you approached it.<br/>
<br/>
"What was he trying to do?", Robert asks now.<br/>
<br/>
"The professor? Capture your brother", Frank says.<br/>
<br/>
"Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"This place has a real homey feel, doesn't it?", Joe interrupts. "Bet you'd love to have a picnic here", he tells his brother.<br/>
<br/>
Low, dark clouds are rolling overhead, and there's a sense of thunder in the atmosphere. But the trees are still heavy with leaves, which have only just begun to change color, so despite the the chilly air and the nearby cemetery, the feeling is still closer to summer than to Halloween.<br/>
<br/>
Frank gives Joe a narrow look. "Why do you say that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Ooh! You didn't tell Robert about <i>that</i> side of Lurga last night, did you?"<br/>
<br/>
Frank stares at Joe, then grunts. "We should get some breakfast", he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Best idea you've had this morning. Me and Robert'll go pick up some biscuits and sausages, or something", Joe says. "We'll meet you and Will back at the professor's."<br/>
<br/>
Frank gives his brother a long, thoughtful frown, then nods. Joe slaps Robert in the shoulder, and together they vault the low wall that surrounds the cemetery and trot off toward the truck. You and Frank trudge off the other way, toward the villa.<br/>
<br/>
You walk in silence for a minute before Frank says, "I don't want you worrying about it, Prescott. You did the right thing."<br/>
<br/>
"What thing?", you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Coming to find us instead of running off like a brave but suicidal moron to meet the professor."<br/>
<br/>
You glance back at the stop sign. "Was there really a trap there?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be gullible. That was for your brother's benefit. The trap would've been in the car that the professor picked you up in."<br/>
<br/>
You blink. "So why tell Robert there was a trap by that sign?"<br/>
<br/>
Frank doesn't answer right away, and you have the impression he's trying to check his temper before replying.<br/>
<br/>
"The professor told you to meet him back there, or you'd never see your parents again", he says. "Right?"<br/>
<br/>
You nod.<br/>
<br/>
"What are you going to tell your brother about that phone call?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well ... I'll tell him what the professor said."<br/>
<br/>
Frank snorts. "Oh, so you <i>are</i> a suicidal moron. So answer me this. Are you kicking yourself now for <i>not</i> running off to meet the professor?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well ... No. Because you said it was a trap."<br/>
<br/>
"But now you'll never see your parents again."<br/>
<br/>
You stumble in mid-stride, and shoot Frank a hard, quick glare. <i>The fuck?</i> His words were like a cast-iron plate dropped right on your head.<br/>
<br/>
"That's what you're thinking now, isn't it, Prescott?", he continues. "That you'll never see your mom and dad again? Because you blew off the professor instead of coming out to meet him?"<br/>
<br/>
Your jaw slackens, then tightens as hot fury boils up in your guts. Tears sting the back of your eyeballs. Didn't this asshole just get through saying you did the right thing? And now he's telling you that the right thing means <i>you'll never see your parents again?</i><br/>
<br/>
"Yes, <i>now</i> you're thinking it, right?", Frank says, as though reading your thoughts. "That you did the <i>wrong</i> thing. That you should have run off to meet the professor, instead of coming to tell us."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, now that you put it like that", you reply. Your tongue is thick in your mouth. Your chest starts to ache, like it did back at your house when that invisible claw grabbed you.<br/>
<br/>
Your confession doesn't seem to bother Frank. "Exactly", he says. "But you <i>did</i> the right thing. You absolutely did. And I think I can convince you of that. Because you have a chance now, of getting them back. You had no chance with the professor, not by yourself."<br/>
<br/>
You'd like to argue, but you're pretty sure he's right.<br/>
<br/>
"Because he's a sociopath. He's a black magician, and black magicians are sociopaths. Even if they don't start that way, that's the way they end. They think of no one but themselves, and of who they might betray in order to get what they want."<br/>
<br/>
<i>He sounds like Lucy,</i> you suddenly think. <i>But more convincing.</i> "Okay," you mutter at him. "You've convinced me."<br/>
<br/>
He stops, and you pull up to a stop beside him. He gives you a long, speculative look.<br/>
<br/>
"No", he says. "I don't think I <i>have</i> convinced you. But chew on this. If I can't convince <i>you</i> that you did the right thing, could you, or any of us, convince your brother that you did the right thing?" He lets the question hang in the air, long enough for the horror of it to begin to dawn on you.<br/>
<br/>
"What would Robert think", he asks you, "if you told him what the professor said? That he threatened your mom and dad, but you turned around and did <i>exactly</i> what the professor told you <i>not</i> to do? What would he think of <i>that,</i> Prescott? And what would he think of you?"<br/>
<br/>
Suddenly, you want the ground to open up and swallow you.<br/>
<br/>
"That's why you don't tell him what the professor said", Frank concludes, and resumes his slow stroll back toward the villa. "You tell him the professor wanted you to meet him. And that's all."</span></div></div>


path: 1143214142112221112212221211121122121221111121
author_id: nostrum777
title: The Call So Long Awaited
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Your hand is numb and your eyes unfocused as you stare down at the screen of your cell phone. The icon beside your mom's phone number is a just a blur on your retina, and the number itself a jumble. The ringtone shrills distantly, as though it's coming from another room.<br/>
<br/>
<i>One.</i> Your heart skips a beat.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Two.</i> Your heart has moved into your sternum and pushes upward.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Three.</i> Your heart is already at your throat, and you feel like puking it out.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Four.</i> The nerves in your hand prickle.<br/>
<br/>
And then, the connecting click. The word <i>Hello?</i> tries to form your throat. But what's the point? "We're sorry", the operator says. "The number you called is not available at the moment."<br/>
<br/>
You disconnect with a flick of your thumb, and make the call again. <br/>
<br/>
<i>One.</i> Your heart skips a beat.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Two.</i> Your heart has moved into your sternum and pushes upward.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Three.</i> Your heart is already at your throat, and you feel like puking it out.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Four.</i> The nerves in your hand prickle.<br/>
<br/>
And then, the connecting click. "We're sorry", the operator says. "The number you called is not available at the moment."<br/>
<br/>
You disconnect with a flick of your thumb, and make the call again. <br/>
<br/>
<i>One.</i> Your heart skips a beat ...<br/>
<br/>
How many times have you made the call to your mom's phone, with the same result? How long have you been slouching here, your limbs paralyzed and nerveless, on the professor's sofa, in his dark, sunless living room? Even when the morbid thought, <i>Maybe the couch is enchanted, and is going to eat me,</i> can't get you to stir.<br/>
<br/>
You arrived back at the villa only a few minutes before Joe and Robert did. Your brother had a thoughtful, distracted look to him, but he looked happier and more energetic than you felt. You took a sausage-egg-and-muffin from Joe and retreated into the living room to eat it, but it is now sitting, cold and congealed, with only one bite taken from it, on the arm of the sofa. You don't remember the last time you ate, but at the moment you'd be happy if you never ate anything again.<br/>
<br/>
Frank was worried so much about convincing you that you did the right thing. And you probably are convinced. At least, when you try to imagine yourself in the professor's clutches, you don't see a way out for yourself or your parents. But what's the point? You've lost them this way as well. As for getting them back ...<br/>
<br/>
Joe has called the police to report your family's SUV stolen, which might get you a lead if the cops spot it. You're calling your mom's phone over and over again. (Even if the professor never answers, maybe you're torturing him with its incessant ringing.) The others, though, are busying themselves searching the house. Mostly they seem preoccupied with the library.<br/>
<br/>
At one point Joe comes stalking into the living room with hard, bright expression on his face. "Is this yours?", he asks, and holds up a large piece of paper.<br/>
<br/>
You peer at it. It's torn from an art sketchbook, and there's an intricate sigil drawn on it. You nod. "It's the sigil I drew to make the masks. Where'd you find it?"<br/>
<br/>
"In the library. Sitting out in plain sight along with a bunch of notes and books. Any idea how it got there?"<br/>
<br/>
You'd shiver, but your nerves are too shredded and your muscles too leaden to so much as twitch. "I gave it to Robert to hang on to. I guess the professor found it in his room?"<br/>
<br/>
Joe nods. "The professor is certainly interested in you. Check this out." He holds up a book. The title is impossible to make out, and you only shrug.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, trust me", Joe says. "The professor was very interested in you, Prescott. And suddenly I'm interested in you too. We need to talk."<br/>
<br/>
But at that moment Frank calls him back, and he leaves the room. From outside you hear their raised voices. But either something has gone wrong with your hearing, or they're talking in that strange language again, but you can't make out the words. At any rate, Joe doesn't return.<br/>
<br/>
Eventually, you doze off.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
You dream.<br/>
<br/>
You're once more in the planetarium so familiar to you. Once again, you are drawn to its majesty – to the star within, and how the incredible energy it contains is freed in such an intricate mechanism. You feel relief in its presence; you touch the symbols that gravitate around it – sigils, you now recognize – and gently move your fingertips around it. You thrill with excitement as, with a simple exercise, you change the sigil, and the intricate mechanism seems to change and alter to your whim. And as you do, the very mechanism comes to life before your eyes, becoming more active. The heaviness on your body seems to lighten up, and you feel more energized.<br/>
<br/>
It makes you venture towards the other planets. The Moon, distant, beckons to you – but you do not heed its call yet. Rather, you try to associate the other planets to what they're meant to be. You recall what your brother said - about the <i>Stellae,</i> and about how the planets seemed to impart them with power. You recall the words that Robert said. <i>Lurga. Arbol.</i> But the names don't bring anything to you...save for what he claimed were the planets that exerted their influence upon Frank.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Mars.</i> At the thought find yourself hovering over a hard, red plane, torn by iron cliffs and frigid seas. As you observe, you notice figures struggling below. The world seems unforgiving, as it pushes them to the lowest of the low, but as you see the figures stand victorious, your body vibrates with the throes of their victory. You wonder how Robert could be influenced by this world of hardships – you clench your fist, feeling your brother would be unable to face this insurmountable challenge.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Saturn.</i> Another thought, and you find yourself in a cathedral, ample, yet full of solitude. If Pluto is cold in its exterior, but brimming with life in its interior, Saturn seems to be its polar opposite – for, while there is no brimming life within, its interior hints of a deathly, contemplative silence. The brimming energy you felt seems to fade, and your burdens seem heavier; you gaze into its intricate archways, into the corridors leading deeper, and all you feel is the need to stand there and simply rest. Have you really rested since the moment you found your brother behind your father's face? Have you felt solace since that moment? This world beckons, and yet, it doesn't - as you make a step, a sinister scythe blocks your path. The air feels cold and clammy, and heavy, and dark. It seems, yet, there isn't enough time.<br/>
<br/>
You turn around, and see that one planet is shining brighter than the others. You should know, for it is not a planet – it is a star, and it is the Sun. You step closer, inch by inch, and bask in its warmth and light. It is within the Sun that all the other planets draw their light, and it is this stellar body that draws you. And as it draws, the other planets – even the industrious Pluto, and the toil-filled gauntlet of Mars, and the dark sanctuary of Saturn, and even the ever-reflecting Moon – gravitate closer, and closer. One, however, looms upon you. Gigantic in size, it approaches in unabashed majesty, but rather than awe struck through primal fear, it is awe manifested by sheer wonder. You feel your knee weaken, almost as if it wished to bend of its own will and volition, and as you gaze it closer, it returns a gaze at you – with a single, majestic eye, alone upon all the others. The eye watches in wonder, in curiosity. It gazes at you, deeply, but you fear it not. As it fixes its gaze upon you, you feel the other planets draw closer, surrounding you. Pluto rests close to your right hand, and as you touch it, you feel the same enthusiasm that drove you to pursue the secrets behind the notes - the blasted notes, your mind recalls, that contain the spells that have ruined your life. And the Moon rests at your left hand, and you see your reflection within, flashing a bright smile.<br/>
<br/>
And you feel the planets showering you with confidence, with worth. For a moment, it feels so clear – they stand by you.<br/>
<br/>
But, as they draw clear, they also must depart. You feel a great pressure bringing you back; you turn, and you see Saturn behind you. It beckons you to fall, but to trust. You let yourself go, and you feel as if falling, as the first time you saw them. You turn around, and see the Earth, basked in the light of the Sun you stood in front of. Even as you fall, you don't fear, for as Saturn dragged you, it also softens your fall.<br/>
<br/>
You see a stone cottage – no, a stone <i>villa,</i> as you fall in. And just as you saw before you woke up, there are three specks of light. But rather than distant, the three are together. And as you fall, you notice you fall into one of them...<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
"Prescott!" Someone is shaking you awake. "You with us!?"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh!?" You shake your head, only to see Frank, and Joe, and Robert, watching at you. Robert's eyes are open wide, trembling. "What's going on?"<br/>
<br/>
"The cops called", Frank says. "They found your dad's car."</span></div></div>


path: 11432141421122211122122212111211221212211111211
author_id: nostrum777
title: The Last Laugh of a Warlock
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The call from the police takes your quartet west of town, to Plumtree Road. The very name fills you with dread, for it's a road that winds into a hilly part of the countryside, and is notorious for its dangerous switchbacks. "Accident" and "Plumtree" are two words you never want to hear in close proximity to each other.<br/>
<br/>
It's near just such a switchback that you find a cluster of patrol cars, and your heart plunges when you see the ambulance. Paramedics are just stepping onto the road, heaving a gurney up the hillside with them.<br/>
<br/>
Something is resting on it. Robert puts his hand in yours, and you squeeze it back.<br/>
<br/>
Frank parks, and with a curt word orders the rest of your party to wait in the cab as he goes out to speak to an officer. You watch anxiously as he has a long conversation with the man. They talk and point, down the hillside, up the road, and at the truck at you. The officer at one point takes Frank to the ambulance and lets him climb into the back. He's there for only a minute, though, before he climbs back out. There's more talk, which lasts until after the ambulance, lights flashing, has departed.<br/>
<br/>
Frank looks very grim as he trudges back over to the truck. He climbs in, starts the truck, buckles himself in, and backs into the road to return to town before he speaks.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, it's your family's SUV", he says. "What's left of it. The cops say it's a total loss down there in the ravine. But the license plate matches. Oh, by the way", he adds, "Joe and I are cousins of yours. That's what I told Officer Mueller."<br/>
<br/>
"Get to the point, Frank", Joe snaps. "You're not sparing anyone by dragging it out."<br/>
<br/>
"There was one occupant in the car", Frank says. "It wasn't your mom and it wasn't your dad, at least not by the looks of it. It wasn't the professor, either. Though, again, looks can be deceiving."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, who the fuck was it?", Joe demands, speaking for you as well.<br/>
<br/>
"It was a male. Early teens." Frank touches the tip of his tongue to his lips, and squints at the road. "They let me look at him, and I identified him. I had to, because they'd have identified him anyway. I identified him as Robert Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
You're too stunned to say anything. Even Joe takes a moment to find his tongue. "The one who knocked us out yesterday and ran off?", he says.<br/>
<br/>
"I assume so."<br/>
<br/>
"So it <i>was</i> the professor!"<br/>
<br/>
"We can't assume that, Joe."<br/>
<br/>
Your chest is starting to hurt, but you force out the question anyway. "Why did you tell them it was Robert?", you demand. "I mean ... Robert's right here! If they take him to the— Where are they taking him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Keyserling Memorial. He appears to be in a coma."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, how can my brother be at Keyserling and with us at the same time?", you demand. "How are we going to explain—? I've got an aunt and an uncle in town! And a cousin! A <i>real</i> one!"<br/>
<br/>
"That's why I had to identify him. Because if I didn't, they would. And you're going to have to talk to the cops about your mom and dad, Prescott", Frank concludes. "You're going to have to tell them they've gone missing. Because they are not going to be coming out to see 'Robert', are they?"<br/>
<br/>
The world reels, and you want to faint.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Frank drives you all back to the place he shares with Joe, and he remains there with a dumbstruck Robert while Joe drives you up to the hospital. You give your name at the front desk, but are intercepted there by two uniformed policemen who ask you to give them a statement. Fortunately, on the drive up, Joe had given you a simple cover story you could relate to the police. It's close enough to the truth that you don't stumble and contradict yourself as you relate it:<br/>
<br/>
<i>I came home Sunday afternoon after studying with friends. They came home with me and found the house empty. My parents and brother were gone. I didn't have any texts from them, and there wasn't a note. When I got worried I tried calling them, but they never answered. I stayed overnight with one of my cousins while another cousin stayed at my house to watch for them. The SUV was gone, and we called to report it stolen so maybe the police would start looking for it and for them. We were killing time when we heard about the accident.</i><br/>
<br/>
You replay the reality in your mind as you give this story, and it feels like the scene from a horror movie.<br/>
<br/>
The cops go over it with you again, and they ask about your parents and what they do. When they ask why you didn't call your aunt and uncle, you stammer and blush and tell them that you were confused and didn't know whether you should alarm them.<br/>
<br/>
Finally, they let you leave so you can see your brother – or whatever's passing off as him. Joe follows you up. You're quietly debriefing him on what you told the police, when around the corner come two people that you know very well. <br/>
<br/>
One is your Aunt Mary, who is dabbing at her reddened eyes with a crumpled-up Kleenex. The other is your Uncle Scott, who has his arm around hers. You mutter a bad word and spin around to put your back to them.<br/>
<br/>
"Bad news?", Joe asks you in a low voice.<br/>
<br/>
"My aunt and uncle. I don't want to talk to them."<br/>
<br/>
"You're going to have to", Joe says. "Sooner or later. Hate to say it, Prescott, but you're going to be moving in with them, probably."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Moving in with them. And with Umeko.</i> A month ago, that would have been a consolation in the current disaster. Now it means nothing.<br/>
<br/>
Joe grips you by the arm. "Don't make this harder than it has to be", he tells you. "Turn around. It'll look awful if you're trying to hide."<br/>
<br/>
<i>But I do want to hide,</i> you think as you spin slowly around again. And, fiercely to yourself, you pray, <i>Don't see me, don't see me, walk on past, don't see me.</i> But you raise your eyes to look them in the face.<br/>
<br/>
Closer they come, and they look up and look directly at Joe—<br/>
<br/>
—and after giving him the tiniest of acknowledging smiles, they walk right on past without so much as glancing at you. You and Joe both turn to watch their retreating backs as they go down the hall and disappear around a corner.<br/>
<br/>
"I thought you said that was your aunt and uncle", Joe says in an accusing voice.<br/>
<br/>
"It was!"<br/>
<br/>
"They didn't seem to know <i>you.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Your mouth works, but you can only shrug.<br/>
<br/>
"In fact", Joe says slowly, and when you glance over he is giving you a very hard look, "they didn't even seem to <i>see</i> you."<br/>
<br/>
You can only shrug. "Well, come on", Joe says, and he grasps your elbow. "Let's go see what we shall see." He pulls you on stumbling feet down the hallway.<br/>
<br/>
It is your brother in the room. It looks just like him, even through the bruises and contusions on his face. He is hooked up with wires and tubes all over. <i>It's not Robert,</i> you remind yourself as you bend over him. <i>This is a fake. An evil twin. Bobby is back home with Frank.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Promise me you're not going to scream?", Joe murmurs in your ear.<br/>
<br/>
"Why would I scream?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because we're going to take his face off. See who's underneath."<br/>
<br/>
You sway on your feet. "Hold it", you say as Joe grasps Robert's face. You grip the side of the bed. "Okay, go."<br/>
<br/>
Joe leans over the figure and murmurs under his breath. The knuckles of his hand whiten, and he pulls. A mask comes away in his hand.<br/>
<br/>
The face underneath is very white, unnaturally so. It is so white that it takes you a moment to recognize it.<br/>
<br/>
When you do, Joe has to muffle your scream.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
"Cadaver", Joe says. "The cocksucker seemed to gloat over it." He taps the notebook. "He doesn't just write the word, he writes it in sigil form."<br/>
<br/>
You're back at his place with him and Frank and Robert. Joe had hustled you out of the hospital after your near-breakdown and rushed you back. You are now slumped on the sofa, feeling as though you've been melted into a pudding, while the others sit in on the floor before you. Robert is sprawled on his side, his eyes closed, and you suspect that he feels as bad, if not worse, than you do. And you feel so awful you can't even clamber down and crawl over to comfort him.<br/>
<br/>
Joe is examining Blackwell's notebook for clues as to what you found in the hospital bed under Robert's mask. It was white and hard, like cement, but it's face and head were a perfect copy of your father's. After running his fingertips over it, Joe had replaced the mask and taken you home.<br/>
<br/>
"What exactly does it do?", Frank asks Joe.<br/>
<br/>
"Impossible to know without looking at the <i>Libra.</i> As a rough guess, I'd say it turns a person into the same kind of thing as we've got in the back yard. By the way", Joe asks, "where'd our lovebirds fly off to?"<br/>
<br/>
"Taylor's got school, remember? Lucy's laying down. But can the spell be reversed?"<br/>
<br/>
"No idea. I'm just guessing here, Frank, based on the notes that got left behind. Although if Will can pull himself together, we might be able to figure out a lot more a lot sooner."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't push him, Joe", Frank says. To you: "How are you holding up, Prescott?"<br/>
<br/>
"I've been better." You ignore your phone, which is ringing again. It'll be your Aunt Mary.<br/>
<br/>
"You're going to have to answer that sometime", Joe says.<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe not", Frank says. "Robert's going to have to go undercover, come home with us. Might be easiest if Will did too. We could bug out tonight. What do you think, Prescott?", Frank asks you. "Tough it out here, or leave town with us?</span></div></div>


path: 114321414211222111221222121112112212122111112111
author_id: nostrum777
title: Leavin’ on a (Commuter) Jet Plane
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It sounds like an echo on your ears, distant and muffled. The apartment has blurred into blots of colors, some of which you barely register moving. Your body is unresponsive. Your breathing has slowed almost to a halt. It's as if you were fusing into the sofa, and you became as inanimate as it. <i>It'd be better,</i> your mind conjures the thought, <i>if I were a sofa. That way, I'd have a purpose.</i><br/>
<br/>
And you feel yourself go. It's easier this way, no?<br/>
<br/>
If only it were that easy. You feel someone grasping your chin. You feel heavy, bound to chains that seem to want to drag you down to the cold and dark earth, and you feel like death has finally caught up to you. Yet, as moments pass, you feel your pain, your anger, your sorrow, struggling to escape, receding like the tide. You feel relaxed, as if a weight had been lifted off you – in fact, you feel as if you could take that weight off you now. Your mind is clearer, your body feels rejuvenated, and your soul no longer languishes.<br/>
<br/>
Frank steps back, and you shake your head in disbelief. "You still with us, Prescott?", he asks.<br/>
<br/>
The blur has gone, and you see things clearly. Robert watches at you in shock, and only mutters a single phrase. "Don't tell me I looked like a dork when you did that to me, Frank."<br/>
<br/>
You laugh. It's a stupid thing, but you feel, for who knows how long, a clarity you thought lost. You register the last question made by Frank. Stay? Or leave?<br/>
<br/>
Your reply is quick, harsh and pained. "Going. The faster, the better."<br/>
<br/>
It didn't take long for you to figure it out. It's been long since you even took out your phone to speak with Caleb, or Keith; it's been forever since you've hanged out with Carson and James and Paul and Jenny. Westside High wasn't exactly a place you longed to be. You'd be with Uncle Scott and Aunt Mary—and Umeko—but it wouldn't be the same. The only people you'll really miss are Taylor and Lucy.<br/>
<br/>
Your mom, disappeared. Your dad, under a mask of your brother, with no chance to save him. And Blackwell could come at any moment to snatch you. You can't return home. You don't even have a home anymore.<br/>
<br/>
The only thing you have is Robert ... and if you stay in Saratoga Falls, even he'll have to be gone. Everyone will think of him as gone, after all. <i>Just like Taylor,</i> you grimly recall, <i>but there's no Scott for him to replace.</i> You want to be with the only family member that remains with you.<br/>
<br/>
Saratoga Falls is cast on a gravely, deathly, heavy shadow, and you feel the desperate need for release. You stand up, scratching your eyes with the palm of your hand.<br/>
<br/>
"Joe?" Frank barks at his brother, as if a drill sergeant. "Go call Dad, tell him we need three tickets outta here, soon as possible. Prescott, you're coming with me to your house to pick up your clothes and anything you need to take. We're leaving as soon as Joe confirms we can leave."<br/>
<br/>
"What about Robert?"<br/>
<br/>
"He'll stay here with Joe."<br/>
<br/>
"Not that", you retort to Frank. "Of course he's staying here. He can't be seen. Which is the problem." You move towards the box, checking the masks until you find a particular one. "We're gonna stop on a thrift store nearby. Get something close to my size."<br/>
<br/>
"Whaddya mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, uh... You said he has to go undercover, no?" You wiggle the mask. "What better than as an entirely different person?"<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
It's hard sifting through your things at your house. The same desolate air of abandonment that you felt at the professor's has settled over yours. Frank insisted that you be quick and pack light, but though you want to be out of the house too, you feel yourself dragging as you know this will be the last time probably that you will ever be inside it. Certainly it will be the last time you will see it the way it was when you and your family lived her. But though it is a struggle, you do get through it, packing not only your things but also Robert's. On the way out, you instinctively grab a family photo from the living room—one where your mom, your dad, Robert and you, evidently younger, posed as a happy family. The photo brought you pain, yes – pain that you wouldn't take a silly photo like this ever again, but you gripped it with a glint of determination. One that Frank surely must have noticed, as he relaxed and flashed a rare smile at you.<br/>
<br/>
As you left, taking all the needed stuff, you stopped and gave one last look at your childhood home. You take out your cell phone and snap one last photo of it in the dimming light.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
It's the next morning before you are able to leave, taking one of the handful of commuter flights that connect Saratoga Falls to Chicago. Final plans are made the night before. Taylor has to keep Scott's mask, of course, and almost everything else that is magical—all the masks and sigils and the notebooks—will go with you and Robert and Joe to Olympia, Montana, where the <i>Stellae</i> have their base. Joe will accompany you on the flight before returning to Saratoga Falls to rejoin Frank, where they will keep alert for any sign of Blackwell.<br/>
<br/>
If parting from your house was emotional, parting from the last two remaining friends you have is wracking. You don't feel the oppressive pain of loss as strong anymore, but you still feel a tinge of sadness as you see Taylor, out of Scott's mask, and Lucy, standing beside him. You'd love to have them with you as well, but they have their lives to live. Frank and Joe think it will be safe for Lucy to return to her former life—they got rid of the double that the professor put in for her—and they will be on hand for a little while, at least, to keep an eye on her. And Taylor will have to remain as Scott, for perhaps the rest of his life.<br/>
<br/>
Taylor's the first to speak, as he looks at you. "Man ... I wish you guys didn't have to go."<br/>
<br/>
"I agree." You hug Taylor firmly, for a good while, before stepping back. You look at Lucy, who's barely able to contain her emotions. "Lucy? Um..." You find the words hard to say, but you muster the strength to speak them. "Thanks for worrying about me. I...I maybe didn't appreciate them as much." You remain distant; you don't feel as comfortable hugging her, though you wish so desperately that she took the chance. "I'm sorry if I..."<br/>
<br/>
As if she had read your mind—or maybe the emotion in your eyes—she lunges upon you and crushes you with a hug. Not even the awkward boner you get can kill the tender moment, and your brain once again registers that warm feeling of having your mother hug you once again. "Will? I..." She mutters behind her teeth, almost sobbing. "I'm gonna miss you."<br/>
<br/>
You look at the two of them, and you fight your last clashing thoughts as you join their hands. "I hope your relationship gets strong. And...next time we meet?" You sniff, biting your lip. "I wanna hear that you tied the knot, you two."<br/>
<br/>
Both Taylor and Lucy chuckle with tears in their eyes. They hold hands, and as you see them smiling at each other, you feel glad that you never intervened in their relationship. You help Frank and Joe unload your bags as you see them make an awkward farewell wave to your brother. You understand them; it's not easy to see Marc Garner following you, after all, behaving as a pre-teen trying to act a bit more mature. He tries to awkwardly hug Lucy, and though the two hesitate, they finally confound in a hug. Taylor has it rougher, as he's seen Marc, and the resemblance is so uncanny that he has to point how uncomfortable he feels to know that the guy in front of him isn't your schoolmate, but your brother.<br/>
<br/>
As you walk towards the doors to the airport – a small facility – you turn around to see Taylor and Lucy waving you a tender farewell, and you return the gesture in kind. You turn around, only to hear your brother – in Marc's voice – speaking in a rarely sullen voice. "You think we'll ever come back home?"<br/>
<br/>
"Dunno if we'll ever be back again." You turn your back to Saratoga Falls one more time, and sigh. "But we'll find a solution to this. I promise."<br/>
<br/>
Your brother nods, and draws a pained smile. "Don't make promises you can't keep, bro." There's a strange feel of maturity on his words – perhaps because they sound like Marc's. "But I hope we fix this."<br/>
<br/>
The process of stepping through the airplane ran without complications. After you are seated and are waiting to taxi, Joe takes out a sketchboard and a pen. He leans over to murmur to you. "Say, you remember we had a pending talk, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah", you agree, though confused.<br/>
<br/>
"Good. I think this'll distract you a bit. So here's the first question. What's your name?"</span></div></div>


path: 11433
author_id: seuzz
title: The Devils One Has to Deal With
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You're late getting home for supper, and your dad raises his eyebrows when you explain that you were up at the university library doing research. "On what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Um, kind of a chemistry thing," you stammer.<br/>
<br/>
"You're not taking Chemistry."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm helping a friend out."<br/>
<br/>
"Is he helping <i>you</i> out with any of <i>your</i> schoolwork?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," you improvise. "Kind of an exchange of favors."<br/>
<br/>
Your dad still looks skeptical, but he grunts approval.<br/>
<br/>
That was kind of a narrow escape, but for what? The afternoon's research didn't help you much—the guys who write those books on magic are really good about promising what you can do with magic, but as far as explaining the theory behind it? Just a lot of hand waving. And precious little in the way of actual spells.<br/>
<br/>
As you get ready for bed you decide: <i>I'm gonna need some help.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Sure," Caleb tells you the next day in Walberg's class. He's giving the teacher a gimlet-eyed stare. "After you help me out with <i>my</i> project."<br/>
<br/>
"What project's that?"<br/>
<br/>
He glances around with a wary expression. "Tell you at lunch."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay. Well, my project, what I need help with—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not gonna commit to anything unless I can count on your support."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, sure. You got it."<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a sharp look. "Is that a promise?"<br/>
<br/>
Now it's you who are wary. "What is it you need help with?"<br/>
<br/>
"I said, I'm not gonna tell you till lunch."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, can I tell you what <i>I</i> need help with?"<br/>
<br/>
"Knock yourself out. But I'm not gonna commit 'til I get a commitment from you."<br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes. "Look, I'll just talk to you at lunch."<br/>
<br/>
"Good. That was my original idea."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But before you have lunch with Caleb you have fourth-period English class with him. Caleb has kind of pissed you off, so you ignore him for the moment to watch Braydon Delp out of the corner of your eye.<br/>
<br/>
Delp is a warlock. Okay, he doesn't <i>call</i> himself that, and if he is one then he's underdressed for the part. But he's got a reputation for being seriously into the occult. So seriously into it that he doesn't have to overdress for the part.<br/>
<br/>
Right now, for instance, he's dressed out in black jeans and black sneakers, but he's wearing nothing more Satanic than a gray t-shirt advertising a local barbecue joint. He's pale and on the small side, with a waif-like build, so he's not scary-looking that way either. Only dark mascara, which makes his eyes pop, and his dark hair (dyed to an ebony shade by shoe polish, it looks like) give him anything like a spooky air.<br/>
<br/>
You haven't had many dealings with Delp during your high school career. You've shared other classes with him, and talked to him a few times. You weren't impressed with his world-weary air, or the tilted-chin arrogance that implied he knew things that you didn't. You have no idea what it would be like to work with him. Maybe he would be enthusiastic about getting his hands on an authentic magical grimoire. Maybe he would try hogging it.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Or maybe,</i> you think as he drops a pencil, then knocks his books off the desk as he bends to retrieve it, then falls halfway out of his desk, <i>he won't be nearly as competent as a warlock ought to be.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Where's Caleb?" you ask as you saunter up to Carson's group out on the quad at lunchtime. This will be, like, the fifth day in a row that you will have eaten with them. Pretty soon it's going to become a new habit.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno," Carson replies. "A minute ago I wasn't even wondering where <i>you</i> were." He puts out a hand, and James pours some chips into it.<br/>
<br/>
"I thought I was supposed to meet him out here for lunch." <br/>
<br/>
Carson replies, but it's probably something snarky, so you don't pay attention. Instead, you're wondering if you were supposed to meet Caleb behind the school, where you usually have lunch. When you parted outside Ms. Gladstone's classroom, he'd only said he'd "meet you in a few."<br/>
<br/>
"What are you two up to?" Carson asks when you're done scoping out the quad.<br/>
<br/>
"Up to? What makes you think we're up to something?"<br/>
<br/>
Carson and James exchange a quick, excited glance. "Oh, so you <i>are</i> up to something," James chortles.<br/>
<br/>
"Guilty conscience before you've even started," Carson teases as you sputter. "It must be something godlessly fucked up, and I want in on it."<br/>
<br/>
You insist that you're not "up to something," which Carson receives with a sarcastic "Sure, you're not." When Caleb still doesn't show up, you text him: <i>where r u?<br/>
<br/>
dwing rstrm,</i> he replies. Then: <i>shut up.</i><br/>
<br/>
The hell? "Be back in a minute," you tell the others. "Maybe."<br/>
<br/>
"Just remember, Prescott," Carson yells as you sprint off. "You're not allowed to get in trouble! Unless I'm there to get in trouble with you!"<br/>
<br/>
The D wing boys' restroom is right next to the cafeteria, and a line of students snakes out one door almost to the other. That should have been a warning, but like an idiot you just charge in.<br/>
<br/>
You freeze in horror on entering the boys' restroom—a failure of nerve that costs you the 1.2 seconds during which you could have wheeled around and made your escape.<br/>
<br/>
Five basketball players are lined up at the sinks, laughing hoarsely as they fix up their hair and scope themselves out in the mirrors. Ryan Shuler—who makes up with muscle and meanness what he lacks in height—is nearest the door, and he turns to give you a cold stare. You can see the gears and pulleys working behind his eyes as he weighs whether you are worth the bother of molesting. He and his friends have the restroom to themselves.<br/>
<br/>
Before you can back out and run—before you can even remember that backing out and running would be the worst thing you could do—another of the quintet does a double-take at you. "Hey Will," shouts Scott Frazier, your erstwhile writing partner in Astronomy. "We gonna pair up again next time Cash gives out an assignment?"<br/>
<br/>
"Er, sure," you croak, and feel your mouth stretching into a rictus as Brendan Tummler and Darren Green turn curious glances on you. <br/>
<br/>
"Wha' wuzzit, chemistry?" Green mutters at Scott. "Astronomy," Scott mutters back.<br/>
<br/>
"How's the line out there?" Dylan Lloyd shouts. When no one answers, he turns on you. "Yo!" He snaps his fingers. "I asked how the fucking line is!"<br/>
<br/>
"Er—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck!" Dylan hurls his comb into the sink. You back away as he advances to seize you by the shoulder and shove you out the door.<br/>
<br/>
"You see that line?" he says, pointing to the line of students snaking outside the cafeteria. He grips your shoulder so hard it will probably raise a bruise. "How's it doing? Is it getting longer or shorter? Is it still out here in the hallway or is everyone inside now? <i>Well?"</i> He grabs the back of your neck.<br/>
<br/>
"Guh, it's getting shorter?" you stammer around your heart, which seems to have lodged in your throat.<br/>
<br/>
"How much shorter?" He tightens his grip.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, it's still out in the hallway?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's right. Dumbass." He shoves you back into the restroom and returns to his station at the mirror.<br/>
<br/>
"How's the line?" Green asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, getting—"<br/>
<br/>
"Still as long as fuck," Lloyd says.<br/>
<br/>
"Wanna hand me a paper towel there?" Shuler lifts dripping hands from the sink. He doesn't even look at you. But the paper dispenser is at your shoulder and—crimsoning all over—you rip a few brown sheets from it and hand them to him. He wipes his hands while still staring at himself in the mirror, then crumples the towels and hurls them in your face. "I'll go get us a place up at the front," he says, and bumps past you hard.<br/>
<br/>
You're still trying to figure out if you're coming in or going out when Scott again addresses you. "So you did a great job catching those typos," he says as he adjusts his shirt and checks out his sideburns in the mirror. "I's thinking, next time we have a paper due in English, we could check each other's work."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, sure." You hop out of the way as Green swaggers past and out the door. As the number of assholes seems to be diminishing, you take a chance on pretending to do some real business, and hobble over to a urinal. You unzip yourself, but your dick has shriveled up inside itself, and you doubt you could relax enough to loose a stream. Sneakers squeak on the tiles, and the door creaks on its hinges. There's a blast of water into the sink, and the sound of towels being ripped from the dispenser. The door creaks again.<br/>
<br/>
You're about to relax when a meaty hand claps you on the shoulder, and you almost launch yourself into the urinal.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't let 'em fuck around with you, Prescott," a reproachful voice sounds in your ear. Scott mauls the side of your head and trudges out.<br/>
<br/>
You take a couple of deep breaths, and tuck yourself back in. "Fuck," you sigh.<br/>
<br/>
"Are they gone?" a hollow voice calls out.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus!" You spin around. "Caleb?"<br/>
<br/>
"Will?"<br/>
<br/>
You waddle back over to the sinks and look under the stall doors. A pair of sneakers drops into sight behind one of them.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It turns out that Caleb actually does want to get you into trouble. He has changed his mind on what to put into the time capsule, and he wants to sneak into Walberg's desk to do a swap out. He needs you to be a distraction while he does it.<br/>
<br/>
You've got other options for getting help on your project, though. Carson is a candidate, and Braydon definitely is one too. And it occurs to you that Scott Frazier might be one as well.</span></div></div>


path: 114334
author_id: seuzz
title: The Court of the Basketball Kings
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Do you ever get tired of being scared of guys like Seth?" you ask Keith as you accompany him into the parking lot after classes have let out.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you, man," Keith retorts. "I ain't scared of Seth!"<br/>
<br/>
"No? 'Cos you're doing a really good impre—"<br/>
<br/>
"I ain't scared. I'm just too smart to be anywhere close to where he might find me, is all."<br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes. "Okay. Do ever get tired of <i>being too smart</i> to—?"<br/>
<br/>
"No one ever gets tired of being too smart, Will."<br/>
<br/>
Whatever. You part company with Keith when you reach your truck, but you're still preoccupied with the issue you raised with him.<br/>
<br/>
Because although you are too cautious—or maybe "too smart"—to help Caleb with his ding-a-ling plan to break into Walberg's desk, you still want a partner on this weird-ass book you've found. And after running into Scott in the restroom, you have the even weirder idea that maybe he should be the one.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's probably the stupidest thing you've ever done, and all the next day the sense of your own folly presses on your heart like a weight. But even as you remind yourself of what your plan is, you can't help anticipating that it's all going to go horribly wrong.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Make friends with one of them,</i> you mutter to yourself as you take the book from your locker in time for Astronomy, <i>and maybe you'll wind up making friends with more of them.</i><br/>
<br/>
You don't know how exactly the idea sprouted. It was like a daydream. Scott, who has never gone out of his way to trouble you, made a semi-decent research partner. Maybe you could turn that into a minor kind of friendship. Maybe if his friends caught you hanging out with him, doing schoolwork or other projects with him, they'd figure you weren't a person worth hassling. Maybe if they figured you weren't a person worth hassling, they would tolerate your existence and even your presence when Scott wasn't around. And maybe if they tolerated your existence, they would—<br/>
<br/>
No, not even a daydream can encompass the final ridiculous link in the chain: that maybe they'd become friends with you and include you in their reindeer games.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey man," you murmur as you slip into the desk in front of Scott. (Then you cough the tremble out of your voice.) He's lounging back, feet up on the desk you've taken, studying his cell phone. He looks up at you with wide eyes and parted lips. "So, uh, you ever do any science project type stuff?" you ask. You hate the way your heart is beating hard.<br/>
<br/>
His brow furrows. "You mean like science fair stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, sort of. Like, you ever look online and see stuff that uh ... Projects you can build?" Sweat pops out under your cap. "You know, stuff you can play around with, learn how, like, things work?"<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself reddening as Scott's eyes further widen with what looks like alarm. "No," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Well. Um." You wish the desk you're sitting in would turn into a fly-trap or something and swallow you whole. "Never mind, then."<br/>
<br/>
You start to get up, but—<br/>
<br/>
"My cousin and I built a catapult last year," he says.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You told Scott you'd meet him in the school library after he got through with basketball practice, but you can't shake the suspicion that he'll forget or stand you up, so you sneak into the gym to watch practice—that way he'll see you and know you're waiting for him.<br/>
<br/>
Normally, you try to avoid the school gym as much as possible—too many horrifying memories from your freshman and sophomore years of being humiliated on the courts and on the fields by guys who were bigger, stronger, faster, smellier, and nastier than you and your friends. It all hits you again as you put your head into the gymnasium, and are socked in the nose by the sour smell of sweat, rubber, polished wood, and filthy socks.<br/>
<br/>
This year's boys' basketball squad is already being touted as a contender for state finals. The guys you ran into in the restroom—Dylan and Ryan and Brendan and Scott—are fast enough and sharp enough that they'd make Westside a contender even if they were the best the school could field. But even they shrink in size and skill next to the two stars of the squad.<br/>
<br/>
Gordon Black is the captain, and he towers over almost everyone else at six-and-a-half feet. He's built like a football player, with tree-trunk legs and biceps that are bigger than your own thighs. He moves across the court like a locomotive, but he can also nail a three-point shot with regularity. <br/>
<br/>
Even taller is Steve Patterson, who is leaner and rangier but can handle the ball with more polish. He's fast, too, and even when he only hustles, he forces the others to sprint. <br/>
<br/>
Of the other members of the team only Jeremy Richards and Seth Javits are of special note. Javits is the one who takes an interest in abusing your friend Keith, and in abusing you and Caleb when Keith isn't available. He's a horse-faced goon who (you hear) is determined to join Gordon and Patterson to make the dominating duo a dominating trio; and as Black and Patterson have a long-standing reputation for casual cruelty in the hallways, you glumly suppose that you'll have more of Javits to worry about as he tries to keep up. As for Jeremy, he was a friend of yours back in middle-school, back before a growth spurt tempted him into a life of athleticism and jerkwaddishness.<br/>
<br/>
The team is practicing hard now, split into two competing teams with Sax and Tummler watching from the sidelines. The court resounds with the squeak of sneakers and the hoarse shouts of the players. An eerie atmosphere envelops the play, as though it's a pantomime being enacted to sinister purpose with you as the one-person audience; it takes you a moment to realize that you're missing the chatter and roar of a spectating crowd.<br/>
<br/>
But you're not the only one who has turned out to watch. A handful of cheerleaders perch on the bleachers with bags and discarded jackets spread around them. Mostly they're checking out their cell phones, even though two of them—Chelsea Cooper and Cindy Vredenburg—are dating two of the basketball players. Chelsea, who is one of the bitchiest and most stuck-up girls in the school, glances up at you briefly as you stare at them, then returns to her phone.<br/>
<br/>
You hurry over to the bleachers opposite, where a dozen or so students are spread out, and take a seat.<br/>
<br/>
You're soon completely bored, though. You've never been into sports and only understand basketball enough to know that each side wants to put the ball through the other's basket. You are also feeling exposed and embarrassed. Yet you can't bring yourself to take out your phone and go online, even though the cheerleaders are doing exactly that. Nor can you bring yourself to leave for the library again—Scott has seen you, and if you leave now you worry he might think you were just checking in on him to make sure he didn't forget your meeting, even though that's exactly what you're doing.<br/>
<br/>
So you pass a very miserable thirty minutes, pretending to be into the action on the floor, before Coach Brooks calls a halt from the sidelines. He pulls the guys into a brief huddle before releasing them to the changing rooms. Scott jerks his chin at you as he jogs away, but he doesn't come over.<br/>
<br/>
Instead, it's Jeremy who swings in your direction.<br/>
<br/>
And—<i>Oh God, no!</i>—Javits comes with him.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey man, what's up?" Richards pants as skids up to you. From your sitting position, he looks about five miles tall. You're further struck that these are just about the most civil words he's exchanged with you in a couple of years.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, just hanging out after school," you stammer, trying to keep your eyes off Javits, who is looking down at you with narrow-eyed amusement. "Actually I'm waiting for Scott. We— Uh, I think we might be doing a project together."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh. Um, we— we worked together on a r-report—"<br/>
<br/>
<i>God damn it, Seth, would you fuck off instead of sneering down at me!</i><br/>
<br/>
"—in Astronomy. There's something kind of, uh, extra-curricular or other that we, uh, might be doing."<br/>
<br/>
"Astronomy?" Seth says. You cringe in anticipation even before he says it: "Something to do with Uranus?"<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up, man," Jeremy tells him, but Seth snickers to himself. "Well, cool seeing you around, Will. We should hang out together sometime, do something."<br/>
<br/>
"That'd be great," you lie. Jeremy nods at you and turns around. Seth snickers again, and follows. They murmur at each other as they trot to the changing rooms, and you would bet your next five years allowance that Seth is giving Jeremy major shit about having once been friends with you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's another twenty minutes before Scott, dressed in a long-sleeve t-shirt and track pants comes out. His mousy-brown hair is plastered down, and the whiskers along his jaw—too short to be a beard, but too long to be a few-days' growth—glint wetly. You stand up as he approaches, but he collapses onto the bench. "Hey man," he groans. "So tell me again about this old arts-and-crafts book you wanted to show me?"<br/>
<br/>
That's how you'd described it in class: an old Latin book that claimed to be magical grimoire and that contained some "experiments" it might be fun to try out.<br/>
<br/>
Before you can answer, though, he leans forward to wave at a blonde-haired girl who is looking into the court. She comes running in, grinning brightly. Then you spot Ryan Shuler and Brendan Tummler and Shawn Sax swaggering your way.<br/>
<br/>
"Will?" Scott says, and you feel your knees weaken as you're swarmed from multiple sides by people you don't know and don't much like.</span></div></div>


path: 1143341
author_id: seuzz
title: Show and Tell for Two
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It's like the gym is undergoing gravitational collapse.<br/>
<br/>
(That's a concept you learned about while working with Scott on that research project for Astronomy: put enough loose matter in one place, and it all falls in on itself and kaboom you've got a star or a planet where once there was only a lot of empty space and floaty stuff. <br/>
<br/>
Yes, weird metaphors come to you when you're feeling stressed.)<br/>
<br/>
So one minute you're crouching on a bleacher with Scott, the next there's half a dozen people crowding around. <br/>
<br/>
"Fuck, man," Ryan Shuler barks as he falls onto the bleachers. "Some'n needs to kill Gordon and Steve b'fore they kill us."<br/>
<br/>
Shawn Sax grabs his package and growls, "Yo, Steve, I got yer fucking hustle right here, asshole" while Brendan mutters, "It's gonna get worse before it gets better." <br/>
<br/>
"Fuck," Ryan groans again. He sprawls back, spreading his arms across the bleachers. "Hey babe," he calls to the golden-haired girl who is approaching. "Come sit on my face, make a shitty day all better for me. Better for you too."<br/>
<br/>
The girl smiles tightly as she squeezes between you and Scott, giving you a faceful of blonde hair as she does so. She says something to Scott about "hanging out," but the rest of her words are lost as Shawn croons, "Jamie, Jamie, Jamie." <br/>
<br/>
Across the court, Gordon Black and Steve Patterson exit the changing rooms and hook a right onto the narrow staircase that will take them up into the loft where the school's top jocks keep a kind of private clubhouse. You look away, before either of them can glance over and see you with their teammates.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Why am I still here?</i> you wonder as Ryan cusses Matt Nichols out, Matt cusses him back, and Shawn knees Brendan Tummler in the hip. They're going to notice you in a moment, the way a pack of wolves will eventually notice the rabbit hunkered down in the grass in the middle of the pack, and then you'll be sorry you ever had the crazy idea of talking to Scott.<br/>
<br/>
But Brendan is studying you, so you don't dare move—it would only call attention to your retreat. And though you're sure they won't follow you or do anything to stop you, you fear that running away will only make them remember you.<br/>
<br/>
So you shrink down, trying to make yourself inconspicuous while staring across the gym at the entrance to the changing rooms. When Jeremy comes back out, you tamp down the urge to run across to talk to him; and it's just as well, for a moment later, while he's still studying his cell phone, Seth comes out, claps him on the shoulder, and the two of them exit together.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The pile of basketball players has stabilized around you: Scott, Ryan, Shawn, Brendan and Matt, plus this girl squeezed between you and Frazier. Talk is fragmented and allusive, with references to Gordon and Steve and the shit that goes down in practice sessions; mutual friends; trash talk about reproductive organs; and other stuff that isn't actually much different from the shit that you and your friends sling around but which is somehow harsher. There's also a lot more physical jostling.<br/>
<br/>
But it's not long before things begin to break up. The girl is the first to leave, and it's only a minute after that Matt drifts off away as well. Brendan and Shawn leave together a few minutes after that, leaving you alone with Scott and Ryan. Shuler has draped himself over the bleachers as though crucified on them, but after Scott growls at him to "get a fucking move on," he lifts himself up with a long groan. "You owe me a beer," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Fucker, you owe me a case by now," Scott retorts.<br/>
<br/>
"Owe me one and I'll owe you two back," Ryan says. He rubs his face, then stretches and flexes all over; and though he's shorter than you he has the build of a wrestler so that his muscles bunch up in big knots. <br/>
<br/>
Scott gives you a sidelong look from under lowered brows; it takes you a moment to realize that he's checking to see if you're staying, going with him, or going your own way. You run your tongue over your lower lip and murmur, "You still interested in looking at that thing?" He shrugs, then lifts himself to his feet. You scramble up as well, and follow along behind him and Ryan.<br/>
<br/>
"Hold up for me, will ya?" Scott mutters as you near the doors, and he ducks back into the changing room. Ryan lets his eyes slide over you—they are drooping now with exhaustion—then shoves the door open and exits, leaving you alone. When Scott returns, he doesn't ask where Ryan has gone, and doesn't even glance at you as he walks out. You hustle after, almost catching the heavy metal door in the side of your hip as it swings shut.<br/>
<br/>
Scott is talking to Brendan when you emerge into the afternoon light. "Just as fuck go home," he's saying.<br/>
<br/>
"You need to watch your back with Nichols," Brendan says.<br/>
<br/>
"He's not gonna fuck anything up." Scott catches you looking at him, and he jerks his chin at you. "Where's this thing you wanna show me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, back in the library."<br/>
<br/>
Scott grunts. "Catch you later," he tells Brendan, and pokes him in the side.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Finally!</i> you gasp to yourself as you lead Scott back into the school. <i>And just watch,</i> you then ruefully anticipate. <i>He'll look at it and tell me to go fuck myself.</i> Again, you find yourself wondering why you're trying to trouble Scott with this weird book you've found when you're not even friends with him.<br/>
<br/>
But things take an even more complicated turn than you could have possibly guessed.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Scott has his head in his hands and is staring down into that crazy-ass book when the library door bangs open and Brendan—who you thought you'd shaken off ten minutes ago—comes in. He doesn't even look at you before pulling out a chair and dropping down next to his teammate. "Didn't know this place was open this late."<br/>
<br/>
Scott raises his head. "What happened to Kyler?"<br/>
<br/>
"Got caught at work. What's this?"<br/>
<br/>
"Something Will's showing me. Some old arts and crafts book. Lookit this." He slides the book over to Brendan.<br/>
<br/>
It's the faces on the end papers that he points to: the four faces at the bottom of the page that shift and change age, gender and aspect as you stare at them. After telling Scott that you'd found this old book at Arnolm's, you'd shoved it under his face and shown them to him—it seemed like a good introduction to the weirdness. They mesmerized him. Even as he listened to your story about finding the book, he kept glancing back down at them.<br/>
<br/>
"Whoa, that's kind of cool," Brendan mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"You see it?" Scott points. "They way they keep, uh, changing?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. What is this?" Brendan tries flipping to the middle of the book, and grimaces when the pages remain fast shut.<br/>
<br/>
"Will found it. Yeah, it's weird. Lookit this." He thumbs at the book. "You can't turn the pages."<br/>
<br/>
"They glued shut?"<br/>
<br/>
"Dunno. But check this out."<br/>
<br/>
He sets the book on its spine and lets the two covers fall apart. Then he points to the gilded edges of the pages "See how the pages flex?" He shuts the book, runs a finger along the edges, then lets it fall open again. "See? When you close it, all the page edges line up flat, all together. But when you open it, they spread out in a slope."<br/>
<br/>
"So?"<br/>
<br/>
"So they wouldn't do that if they were glued together, or if the book was, like, a solid block." Scott looks at you. "How'd you say you got that one page to turn?"<br/>
<br/>
You flinch a little, partly from the keen glance that Brendan is giving you, and partly from dismay at Scott's observation. You hadn't noticed the thing with the pages—that the book isn't stiff and unyielding, like it should be if it was a fake, but bends and flops about like a real book—and your engineer dad hadn't either. It makes the book look even weirder.<br/>
<br/>
"It was these pages." You lean across the open book. "When I found it, it was stuck shut here. But after I bought it, this page turned loose—" You flip it. "Then after I, uh, did something else, this page here turned loose." You flip the last loose page.<br/>
<br/>
"He fed it some blood, bro," Scott tells Brendan. He flips back to the sigil where you pressed a bloody thumbprint. "It told him it wanted blood, so he gave it some."<br/>
<br/>
"Whoa," Brendan says, but he's still studying the book. "So what is this? Like something out of Harry Potter? What's it say?" He points to a paragraph. "What is this, Latin?"<br/>
<br/>
"It says it'll show you how to make, um, masks and disguises," you reply. Scott as well as Brendan returns you a steady look. "I got no idea what that means, exactly. But this, um, looks like it's the first spell in the book."<br/>
<br/>
"A spell?" Scott echoes.<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. "It seems like something out of Harry Potter, right? Anyway, it lists a bunch of ingredients. Directions. A thing you need to use to actually perform it." You slide your finger down the page. "I haven't tried it out, so I don't know what it actually does, but—"<br/>
<br/>
Brendan interrupts you with a snicker.<br/>
<br/>
"Masks," he mutters at Scott. "We should totally get Kyler in on this." </span></div></div>


path: 11433411
author_id: seuzz
title: Scream for Ice Cream
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Scott and Brendan both seem interested in the book, so when you cautiously suggest trying out the first spell, they are both agreeable. But when you suggest making shopping expedition to pick up supplies, they both demur. "Gotta get home for supper," Scott says, and Brendan nods.<br/>
<br/>
You need to get home too, of course, but somehow they maneuver you into volunteering to buy all the necessary supplies. They don't even volunteer to reimburse you, and there seems to be some unspoken assumption that they'll hang out and watch while you do the actual work. You're not exactly happy with you part, and you can't help noticing that as the two ballplayers walk out together, neither of them waits up for you, or even looks around to see if you're accompanying them.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's Friday, and if you had any ambition at all you'd be out looking for a party. But you've never really been one to party, and neither Caleb nor Keith are available when you text them, so you spend the night at home, streaming one movie on your laptop while scrolling through YouTube videos on your phone.<br/>
<br/>
The next day is warm and sunny, with temperatures forecast to hit the mid-eighties. After showering and eating breakfast, you make up a shopping list, then text Scott to see if he wants to hit the crafts stores with you. He replies that he's going to an exhibition soccer match between the Eastman and Westside girls' soccer teams, but you should text him when you're done. You're tempted to blow him off, but decide to wait until after you've got the stuff before deciding whether to keep it all to yourself or to share it.<br/>
<br/>
It takes you a couple of hours of running around, from arts and crafts stores to garden nurseries, to collect it all, and you're hot, blown, and more than a little grumpy by the time you've got it all together. It cost a lot more than you bargained for, too. Luckily, the last of your birthday money is enough to cover it all, but as you text Scott to tell him you've got the stuff, you are silently fuming that someone had better help you cover the expense.<br/>
<br/>
Your temper isn't improved by his curt reply: <i>Cool.</i> When he doesn't follow up, you ask if the game is over and he's ready to meet you someplace. That at least earns you a longer reply: <i>Lol ya dun I'm at dolce vita n at south creek come by if u want.</i><br/>
<br/>
It takes you a moment to decipher the message, then you look up and around with a frown. You're parked at the South Creek Shopping Center, in front of Michael's. Is Scott somewhere around here? Your eye finally lights on a small sign at the end of the center: <i>Dolce Vita Gelato.</i> At least it'll be easy to find him.<br/>
<br/>
The gelato shop is long and narrow and very, very white: white floor, white walls and ceiling, white countertops, white tables, and wrought-iron chairs that have also been painted white. Perhaps because of all that white, it's easy to see the faint grime that's everywhere, so that the place feels dingy and worn out.<br/>
<br/>
At least a dozen teenagers are crowded up near the door, around a couple of tables that have been pushed together. Their voices bounce loudly off the hard surfaces of the shop.<br/>
<br/>
Scott's in the middle of them, and though he's not the only blonde in the pack, his close-shorn hair shines brightly. He sits in a hunch, but is grinning and laughing with the others.<br/>
<br/>
You give him a moment to look around and see you, then when he doesn't you lean over into his eye line. His eyes pop, and he jumps a little.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, man!" he exclaims. "What, were you hiding in the bathroom?"<br/>
<br/>
"I was over at Michaels." You look over the others, whose upturned faces have swiveled in your direction. You don't recognize a single one of them.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, get a chair and a gelato," Scott says. "Hey everyone, this is, uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"Will."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, Will, he goes to Westside with me. We're in Astronomy together."<br/>
<br/>
"Are you a space cadet?" asks the girl nearest you. Her coppery hair drizzles down the side and back of her head in loose, sloppy ringlets, and she ogles you mischievously.<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you a space cadet? You're into space"—she giggles—"so are you a space cadet?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't pay any attention to Eileen," says dark-haired boy whose buzz cut fairly bristles. "<i>She's</i> a space cadet."<br/>
<br/>
The girl squeals and pinches him in the shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
You've no money for overpriced Italian ice cream, but you do grab a chair and squeeze in between Scott and a girl whose sheet-like platinum hair is parted straight up the middle to disclose very black roots. Scott only makes a few introductions, and you glean only that everyone here except you and Scott attends Eastman High, and that the guy with the bristly black hair is on the Eastman basketball team, and is named "Jordan." You can't help feeling surprise that Scott would be fraternizing with "the enemy"—Westside and Eastman, and especially their sports teams, are arch-rivals—but you say nothing.<br/>
<br/>
There's no room for you to insert yourself into the conversation, and no one seems very interested in you, so you just eavesdrop and keep your mouth shut. Talk is cryptic and allusive and hard to follow given that there's about three different conversations going, but you gradually glean that most everyone here attended the soccer meet, and that they all (including Scott) were at the same party last night. It was at the house of someone named "Joshua," but it's several minutes before you actually pair that name with a frizzy-haired kid sitting across the table from you. With his sleepy eyes and his dazed smile, he looks like he took a massive bong hit a couple of years ago, and it hasn't worn off yet.<br/>
<br/>
Eventually, though, you notice that the girl with the dark roots is peering at you with a quizzical smile. When she notices that you've noticed, she says, "You look like Adam, you know that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Adam?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. You know Adam?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"Doesn't he look like Adam?" She turns to her neighbor, a Latina girl, one side of whose head is dyed purple.<br/>
<br/>
"Karter?" says Jordan. His glance is skeptical. "No."<br/>
<br/>
"I think he does. Are you his cousin?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't— What's his name?"<br/>
<br/>
"Adam Karter," says Jordan. "And you don't look anything like him."<br/>
<br/>
"Yes he does," the girl insists. "Everyone raise your hand if you think— What's your name again?"<br/>
<br/>
"Will."<br/>
<br/>
"If you think Will looks like Adam."<br/>
<br/>
She's the only one to raise her hand. Most of the other girls giggle, and the guys exchange knowing grins. Finally, the girl with the coppery curls half-raises a tentative palm.<br/>
<br/>
"There! Eileen sees it!"<br/>
<br/>
"I—"<br/>
<br/>
"Izzy, take a picture of him."<br/>
<br/>
"You take a picture," says the girl with the half-purple hair.<br/>
<br/>
"You're the professional."<br/>
<br/>
"Pss! My camera's in the car!"<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong with your iPhone?" asks Jordan.<br/>
<br/>
The girl rolls her eyes, but digs inside her purse. She pulls out her cell phone and turns it on you. You feel your eyes and lips twist up in embarrassment as the shutter clicks.<br/>
<br/>
"There!" she says as she bends over the phone. "I've got you in my— What's your last name?"<br/>
<br/>
"Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
"Will ... Prescott," she murmurs as she types with her thumbs.<br/>
<br/>
Awkward as it was, at least it gets you some attention, and a few questions get lobbed your way. Were you at the soccer meet? <i>No.</i> Do you play basketball? <i>Not really.</i> Do you have a girlfriend? <i>Um ... I just broke up with one.</i> That gets you some long looks and raised eyebrows from a few of the girls.<br/>
<br/>
"Will's into magic," Scott says. <br/>
<br/>
Your heart goes sideways.<br/>
<br/>
"You mean like pulling rabbits out of hats?" asks a guy. "Is that how you got rid of your girlfriend, you sawed her in half?" laughs another. "Show us a card trick," says a girl.<br/>
<br/>
"Not that kind of magic," says Scott. "Real magic. Harry Potter stuff."<br/>
<br/>
More laughter, but it's derisive, and you shoot Scott a slit-eyed glare, which he completely fails to notice.<br/>
<br/>
At least the subject gets changed almost immediately after, and they all go back to ignoring you. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But someone is still interested, apparently. First in a pair, then in a trio and some singles, people drift off in answer to summons on their cell phones, until it's just you and Scott and Joshua and Eileen. You can't help noticing that Eileen is giving you long, speculative looks. It's unnerving enough that when Scott excuses himself to the restroom, you follow.<br/>
<br/>
He's washing his hands when you catch up to him. "So, are we going to go find Brendan or something?" you ask. "I got the stuff I was supposed to buy."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, sure," he says. "I'll text and see if he can turn loose." He dries his hands and takes out his phone. "You really want to do that now?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, that's how come I came looking for you."<br/>
<br/>
Scott pauses to look up at you from under his brows.<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing, I guess," he says, and goes back to typing. "Only, Eileen is totally into you."<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. Are you freaking blind?"<br/>
<br/>
Scott's assertion staggers you, so you don't know what to say.<br/>
<br/>
"If you want," he says, "I can take the stuff and meet up with Brendan, we can play with it. You can hook up with us later, after you and Eileen—"<br/>
<br/>
He puts the phone to his ear, and winks broadly at you.<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 114334111
author_id: seuzz
title: One Giant Leap for Will Prescott
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>She was into me? That girl with the tangle of coppery hair?</i><br/>
<br/>
Scott's assertion is like a sandblaster to your brain, leaving it scoured and incapable of thought.<br/>
<br/>
Incapable of speech too, but Scott raises a warning finger, telling you to be quiet, as a someone picks up his call.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, it's me," he says into the phone. "You in a place you can turn loose?" He listens. "No, nothing's going on here. I'm just here with Will, and we're talking about doing something." More listening. "Will," he repeats. "Guy with the freaky book we were looking at yesterday. He's got the stuff for trying it out." He queries you with a lifted eyebrow, but doesn't wait for a reply. "No, it's up to you. Actually, I think Will's gonna hook up with this girl, she was eyefucking him across the table from the minute he sat down."<br/>
<br/>
The world briefly goes out of focus, and you sway. Through the roar in your ears you hear him say, "Eileen."<br/>
<br/>
The rest of what Scott says is a lot of mumbles and grunts and fragments of phrases. You hardly pay attention as you try to sort through your instincts and emotions. It feels like your mind is racing, but if it is, it's the kind of racing you get in a nightmare, when you're running from a monster but your legs won't work and your feet feel like they're stuck in the mire.<br/>
<br/>
Scott slips the phone into his pocket and cocks his head at you. "Are you okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nah, I'm just— I mean, yeah, I'm—"<br/>
<br/>
But Scott brushes past you, exiting the restroom. You shuffle out after him.<br/>
<br/>
At the front of the shop, Eileen is leaning back in her chair, studying her iPhone.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're not sure what it was, but something about her pose made you take it as a challenge. <i>She's already looking past me,</i> you thought. <i>Looking for something else, someone else.</i> It made you bridle, and mentally, at least, you felt yourself squaring your shoulder and putting out your chin. <i>I got this,</i> you told yourself, even as your knees wobbled as you marched over to the table with Scott.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," he is saying, leaning over to address Eileen and her friend Joshua. "I'm taking off now. Will—" He looks up at you, his eyebrows arching.<br/>
<br/>
"I got nothing to do," you say. Your heart races as Eileen and Joshua twist around to squint up at you. "You guys doing something?"<br/>
<br/>
The two Eastman students look at each other.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll catch you all around later," Scott says. "Will," he adds. "See at school Monday?" You nod.<br/>
<br/>
As he turns toward the door, you move to stop him, but catch yourself. <br/>
<br/>
Maybe you should give him the book and the supplies you bought, let him and Brendan mess around with it while you hang out with Eileen, that way you've got something to return to if things don't work out between you and the girl.<br/>
<br/>
Or you could just keep the stuff to yourself. Scott really doesn't seem all that into it, even if he did seem interested when you showed him the book yesterday. <br/>
<br/>
Besides, maybe Joshua and Eileen would be more interested in it.<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1143341111
author_id: seuzz
title: Give the stuff to Scott to take with him.
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>This is the placeholder for a poll. For details, see: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/polls/item_id/2279498-BoM-Poll-II" target="_top" title="Pick a path for the story to continue.">BoM Poll (II)</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/polls/item_id/2279498-BoM-Poll-II" target="_blank" title="Pick a path for the story to continue."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a>.<br/>
<br/>
To vote for this option in the poll, send a tip through the tip form below.<br/>
<br/>
Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form.<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1143341112
author_id: seuzz
title: Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down!
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You drop into a chair opposite Eileen and Joshua. "So," you say, searching for small talk. "You guys were all out at the soccer meet today? How was that?"<br/>
<br/>
"It was okay if you're into that kind of thing," Eileen says. She's slumped back in her seat and has her phone up in front of her, though she doesn't seem to be paying it much attention. "Go on, ask us who won."<br/>
<br/>
"We did," Joshua promptly replied. "Five four."<br/>
<br/>
Eileen gives him a sour look. "I was trying to prove a point." He whinnies with laughter. "Are you into soccer?" she asks you.<br/>
<br/>
"Not especially. I played some in elementary school, middle school."<br/>
<br/>
"Everybody did," Eileen says. "Even Joshua did. Didn't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I was pretty good." He squints at you. "What school'd 'ju go to?"<br/>
<br/>
"Schuyler."<br/>
<br/>
"We went to Fell's Lake, Eileen and me."<br/>
<br/>
You whistle. "You live up around there?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. We were just in the district or something. You guys win any championships or anything?<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
"Us neither." He grins. "Probably 'cos they had guys like me playing for 'em. So what are you into?"<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. "Nothing, really. Games?"<br/>
<br/>
"Everybody's into games," Eileen says. Now she is absorbed in her phone, which is starting to make you wonder if Scott was really right about her and her interest in you. "You into theater? Band? Debate? Graffiti?" Your denials at least have the effect of getting her to drop her phone to stare disbelieving at you. "You gotta be into something!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not into anything!" Joshua tells her with an impudent grin.<br/>
<br/>
"You're into puppets," she retorts. "Oh, hey," she says to you, "you're not into crossdressing or cosplay or furries stuff, are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"No!"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't act all offended. It's cool, whatever. Joshua's got this puppet fetish—"<br/>
<br/>
"It's not a fetish!" he protests.<br/>
<br/>
"It's a fetish," she informs him. "You wanna show him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh—" Joshua looks momentarily confused. "Sure!"<br/>
<br/>
Eileen hops to her feet and gives you and Joshua both a look, which gets you and him onto your feet as well. "What's your address?" she asks him. "You got that?" she asks you after he tells her. "You can follow us out, but you can look for his house in case you lose us."<br/>
<br/>
She falls back beside you as the three of you exit, and for a moment you think she might be indicating an interest in you, but it's just so she can tell you, in voice that's low but still audible to Joshua, "You'll wanna drive separate, because you <i>will</i> be freaked out and want to get away."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
They lead you up to the the far northeast side of town, past the mall and the car dealerships, to a neighborhood of modest-sized ranch-style houses. Inside one of these, Joshua introduces you in passing to his mom, who is as frizzy-headed as her son and is dressed in a burnt-orange dress that's as shapeless as a bag. Unkindly, you wonder if she's a dope-smoker like her son seems to be. She's very friendly, though, and nods cheerily when Joshua says the three of you are going to hang out in the "basement."<br/>
<br/>
It's a narrow staircase in back of the kitchen that takes you down there. It's a big space, a lot bigger than you were expecting, almost like a second, underground floor, that has been turned into a rumpus room. The walls are lined with knotty pine, and the cement floor is softened (slightly) with cast-off scraps of office carpet. There's a dumpy brown sofa and lots of beanbag chairs.<br/>
<br/>
Also puppets. At least two dozen marionettes dangle by their strings from the low ceiling, drifting and clattering gently against each other as they are stirred by the gush of air conditioning from a large vent high in the wall. Half-dozen lava lamps sit on wall-mounted shelves.<br/>
<br/>
"Neat collection," you observe as you study the marionettes. They are brightly colored, and many are dressed exotic costumes. The faces are exaggerated and grotesque, with bulbous noses, floppy ears, and pop-out eyes, but there is absolutely nothing about them that would "freak" you out.<br/>
<br/>
"Tell him their names," Eileen challenges Joshua.<br/>
<br/>
His face twists up into a glassy grin of panic. "They don't have names."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, they do! You have names for all of them."<br/>
<br/>
"They don't—! I used to have names for them, but that was all a joke! That was back in middle school!"<br/>
<br/>
"I remember one of them was Peter," Eileen says, "and another one was Conor, and another one was Penny." She touches some of them, sending them swinging more wildly on their strings. Joshua whinnies again.<br/>
<br/>
"Do you know how to work them?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes." "No!" Eileen and Joshua speak at the same time. "You used to," she chides him. "Are you out of practice?"<br/>
<br/>
"What is your deal today?" he begs. "Why are you giving me so much shit?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not giving you shit. I just want Whatsisname here to understand what a freak and a weirdo you are."<br/>
<br/>
"She doesn't even remember your name!" Joshua cries in triumph at you.<br/>
<br/>
"What <i>is</i> his name?" she asks him.<br/>
<br/>
"It's Will," you remind them when Joshua turns that same glassy grin on you.<br/>
<br/>
"Didn't you used to have a 'Will' up here?" Eileen pushes the marionettes around, searching.<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure! Will Hoffer. Hoffer the Huffer. I think it was this one." She tweaks the foot of a marionette with a large beard, dressed as a Cossack.<br/>
<br/>
Joshua looks at you and twirls his finger by his temple. "She's crazy," he tells you.<br/>
<br/>
Eileen gives him a reproachful look. "I'm just trying to tell him it's okay if he's got a fetish. <i>You've</i> got a fetish, and I don't mind."<br/>
<br/>
You're starting to feel really sorry for Joshua, so you try to soften the subject by asking where he found all these puppets. But Eileen instantly jumps in to answer. "He made them."<br/>
<br/>
"Some of them," he corrects her. "I bought a lot of them. Online."<br/>
<br/>
"Like porn," says Eileen.<br/>
<br/>
"It's not like—!" Now Joshua turns red. "Will you <i>fucking stop it</i> already? Jesus!" To you, more calmly, he says, "I liked <i>Pinocchio</i> when I was a kid, it was like my favorite movie. You know Stromboli's circus?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's been a long time since I've seen it."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he's the guy with the puppet circus. It's where Pinocchio sings 'I Got No Strings on Me'. Anyway, I took a woodworking class in middle school, and I made a marionette for it, a couple of marionettes, actually, and that just kind of turned into a hobby. And the ones I bought online—!" He wheels hotly on Eileen, "were just as models I could study!"<br/>
<br/>
She's accepted all this with a ducked head and huge, bashful smile. Now, she says, "You wanna put on some music and we could all chill out?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck you," he grumbles, but crosses over a stereo set up. He puts something on with a slithering zither and stumps upstairs.<br/>
<br/>
Eileen shoots you a mischievous look. "It's a fetish," she murmurs. "He used to have all these names for his puppets, names of people in our class, and he'd do little skits with them for us. For me and some of the rest of our friends. Make them do these, you know, embarrassing things. It was funny. It was hilarious. Doing these stories about people we went to school with."<br/>
<br/>
"That doesn't sound like a fetish."<br/>
<br/>
"He got <i>into</i> it. And, I mean, the stuff he did was funny. We were all, like, you should go into theater, we told him. You're so funny with this. But he wouldn't, said he wasn't interested. But he <i>would</i> do things with the puppets. So I think it was the puppets he liked, not the, you know, making stuff up and acting it out."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe he just was afraid he'd have stage fright."<br/>
<br/>
She gives you a long, searching look, then shrugs.<br/>
<br/>
Then with a soft "Unff," she falls into one of the beanbag chairs. "You know," she says after showing you a lazy smile," you do kind of look like Adam."<br/>
<br/>
It takes you a moment to recall the subject of "Adam." "Who is this 'Adam' guy," you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Just someone who goes to school with us. It's funny, I guess I always just kind of assumed that everyone would know who Adam is. It's like he's everywhere, and he's really popular. He plays in a band."<br/>
<br/>
"And I look like him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Kind of. There's a resemblance." She grins. "Girls like him. He's had lots of girlfriends. Have you had lots of girlfriends?"<br/>
<br/>
"Um, not really."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe that's good. Adam can be kind of skeezy. I'm pretty sure you're not."<br/>
<br/>
 "How can you tell?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because you keep trying to be on Joshua's side. 'Maybe he had stage fright.' You're a nice person."<br/>
<br/>
You can't help wincing.<br/>
<br/>
"Why are you still standing?" she asks, so you drop into the beanbag chair opposite her. "And you really don't have any fetishes or anything? You don't even look at porn?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I look at porn," you assure her. "But I—"<br/>
<br/>
You break off as Joshua returns, carrying three glasses. One's a Coke, he tells you, another's a Diet Coke, and the third is a Dr. Pepper. He gives the diet drink to Eileen, and asks your preference. You take the Coke.<br/>
<br/>
"Will was just about to tell us what he's into," Eileen tells Joshua.<br/>
<br/>
"You found out his fetish?" Joshua asks. He seems to have recovered his humor, for he grins.<br/>
<br/>
You're about to insist that <i>No,</i> you don't actually have any interests except maybe playing games, but then you remember the stuff you've got out in your truck. Scott and Brendan don't seem all that interested, but maybe Joshua and Eileen would be.<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11433411121
author_id: seuzz
title: Backyard Magic
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Okay, there's this one thing I've sort of got into, recently," you tell Eileen and Joshua. "I don't know what it is, but— What?" you ask, for they are looking at you like you just sprouted another head.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing," Eileen giggles. "Only that kind of came out of nowhere."<br/>
<br/>
You blush. "Well, you were asking me what I'm into, and there's nothing, really. But I found this book recently, it looks like an arts and crafts thing, and— Well, lemme show you. 'Cos it's really weird and I don't know what to make of it. You might be interested, though, if you're into, uh, crafts stuff." You nod at the marionettes, still swinging in the draft under the shadowy ceiling.<br/>
<br/>
You put your soda down, and Joshua and Eileen put theirs down to follow, but you tell them you'll be right back.<br/>
<br/>
When you return, you can tell they've been talking about you and probably laughing at you, too, but you brush your embarrassment to show them the book.<br/>
<br/>
"I found it at Arnholm's, you know, the used book store, about a week ago," you say as you squat down between them. "It was in the special collections for, like two hundred dollars"—Joshua's eyes widen—"but they let me have it for two."<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus!" he exclaims, but he doesn't ask why they cut the price. Instead he bends over to examine the book, and to brush its red leather cover with his fingertips. "Looks pretty cool," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, lookit this." You open the cover to show him that row of faces directly inside. You say nothing to him or to Eileen, who has shifted over and twisted her head around to get a look too. For a long moment neither of them say anything. Then Joshua says, "Whoa!"<br/>
<br/>
"I know, right? Massive optical illusion!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah!" He touches a fingertip to one of the faces. "How does that work?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's a trick your brain plays," Eileen says.<br/>
<br/>
"I think these things play tricks on your brain," you retort.<br/>
<br/>
"Whew! What else is in here?" Joshua turns the page, and bends to peer at the script. "What language is this?"<br/>
<br/>
"Latin."<br/>
<br/>
He looks up, startled. "You read Latin?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, but I got a phone and an online translator."<br/>
<br/>
"So what's it say?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. Some gobbledy-gook about arcane secrets and danger." You pause for effect. "I think it's, like, a book of old magic."<br/>
<br/>
Eileen looks up sharply, her mouth a perfect "o" of skepticism and amusement. Then she laughs.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God, you <i>are</i> into magic! Remember what Scott said back at the gelato place?" She giggles at Joshua. "He said his friend here is into magic, into Harry Potter, and—!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not into Harry Potter! I'm not even into ... magic! I just found this thing, is all, and it looked interesting, so—"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh!" Eileen's eyes dance. "So what kind of spells does it do? Could we turn someone into a frog?" She pinches the corner of the book and tugs. "Hey, what's wrong with the pages?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's something else that's weird." you pull the book away from her. "The pages won't turn. That's how come I got it cheap, it's like the pages are glued shut."<br/>
<br/>
Eileen's jaw falls open, and then she snorts. "Well, that's bullshit! This whole thing is bullshit if—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, except this one." You flip to the page with the ingredients and the instructions. "I—"<br/>
<br/>
Then you pause. These guys seem interested, or at least intrigued—more intrigued than Scott and Brendan—but they might back off if you tell them you got a page to turn by feeding some of your blood to the book. "Well, this one turns," you lamely conclude, "and it looks like a real spell. It's got ingredients and instructions and everything." You run a fingertip over the wheel-like sigil. "I haven't tried it out, though."<br/>
<br/>
"What's it do?" Joshua asks. He's turned a lot more sober since you uttered the word "magic."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. It doesn't say. It just says gather these ingredients and—"<br/>
<br/>
"Do you have to do it by moonlight?" Eileen asks.<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
She squints mischievously at Joshua. Then she looks up at you. "Do you want to try it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure." You have to swallow your heart, which has suddenly bobbed up into your throat. "I've got the stuff out in my truck."<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. That's what I was going to do today. I showed this stuff to Scott and one of his friends, and we were going to work on it today, but they don't seem interested." You look between Eileen and Joshua.<br/>
<br/>
They look at each other. No one moves for a long moment.<br/>
<br/>
Then Eileen says, "Let's do it!" and scrambles to her feet.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Initially, the plan is to try it out in Joshua's basement, but when you mention that you'll have to set something on fire, he insists on moving to the back yard. You're a little nervous about doing the thing out in the open, but there's some tall, solid fences around to block the view from neighboring houses, and while you and Joshua are hauling a pair of sawhorses and a sheet of plywood out of the garage, his mom comes out to tell him that she's running in to town on a few errands. She asks what you're doing, but Joshua brushes her off by telling her it's an arts project.<br/>
<br/>
You supervise using the book and your cell phone while Joshua mixes and Eileen watches. The dry and liquid ingredients go into a mixing bowl—set on the sigil—that Joshua fetched from the kitchen, and after a nervous moment of grinning at you and Eileen, he drops a lighted match into it. A white smoke and a horrible stench come pouring out, and the three of you hop away, choking and coughing, until the wind has dissipated it. You creep up back up when the smoke has stopped billowing out, and lean in to peer into the bowl. It is now filled with a viscous, grayish goo, like runny oatmeal.<br/>
<br/>
The next step is to set a convex mirror—a small half-globe, and the most expensive of the items you had to buy—onto the makeshift table, and pour the paste over it. Eileen insists on getting involved at this point, and she grins and squeals as the goop dribbles out and pours evenly over the globe. It doesn't pour out over the table, though, but stops where the edge of the mirror meets the wood, with the rest of the paste backing up and thickening over it. It becomes very smooth, with no clumps and clots, and when Joshua gingerly touches it, he exclaims that it is solid. "It says you can pick it up now," you tell him after consulting the book. With his tongue poking thoughtfully into his cheek, he peels the gray shell off the mirror.<br/>
<br/>
You and Eileen crowd in to look at it. It looks like a perfect mold of the mirror—a hemisphere—and is perfectly smooth both inside and out. Joshua turns it over in his hands, rubbing it with his fingers. "So what is it?" he asks. "What do we—? Yaahhh!" He suddenly flings it from him, and before you can duck it bounces off your head and falls with a clatter onto the work table.<br/>
<br/>
"Way to sperg out!" Eileen laughs. "Whatsa matter, you get spiders in your—? Uh—"<br/>
<br/>
She falls silent, and gapes down at the table. Joshua is staring down at it too. You're rubbing the spot on your forehead where you got bumped and glaring at him, but follow their stares, to the shell you made, which is slowly wobbling to a stop.<br/>
<br/>
But it's not a shell anymore. At least, it's not a hemisphere. It's now an oval, and a shallow one, and it's misshapen, with bulges and hollows inside it.<br/>
<br/>
The three of you stare at it. Then Joshua gingerly picks it up. "Whoa!" he whispers as he turns it over in his hands, and you'd mouth the same exclamation except that your throat has gone dry.<br/>
<br/>
The shell is still concave, but when turned over, to become convex, those hollows and bumps inside it take on a very different appearance. They look like a brow, with hollows for eye sockets, and a nose that connects those eye sockets to a pair of lips, a pair of cheeks, and a chin. There's no expression, but it is unmistakably the form of a human face.<br/>
<br/>
"It looks like a mask," Eileen breathes. "Holy—! How did that happen?"<br/>
<br/>
The three of you stare at the thing—it looks like one of those mummers' masks that you sometimes see decorating a theater—then look at each other, then turn as one to stare at the book, lying open and fluttering a little in the afternoon breeze.<br/>
<br/>
You're sure their thoughts echo your own: <i>Magic! Real magic!</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
With some trepidation, but more excitement, you study the rest of the spell. It says that the thing now has to be polished, and after that it can be set upon a face so that it "absorbs" the image of the person. None of you query what the latter means, but Joshua fetches a soft rag from the house, and you all sit around to watch as he tries "polishing" it. Nothing seems to happen, and you take turns at it, until finally it looks like one patch has begun to fade from gray to white. It looks like it will take forever, though, until Joshua has the bright idea of firing up the car buffer in the garage and applying that to the job. Inside of an hour, with each of you taking a turn working it, you've polished the mask from a dull gray to a brilliant blue the color of a summertime sky.<br/>
<br/>
That's when you turn to the last bit, about setting it on someone so it can "absorb" their image. The other two look as nervous as you feel. Haltingly, over the next hour, you discuss what to do.<br/>
<br/>
One idea is to draw lots and hazard the experiment on one of yourselves. But the second is to find an unwary victim and try it out on them.<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 114334111211
author_id: seuzz
title: Volunteer yourself.
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>This is the placeholder for a poll. For details, see: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/polls/item_id/2279771-BoM-Poll-IV" target="_top" title="Pick a path to continue the story.">BoM Poll (IV)</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/polls/item_id/2279771-BoM-Poll-IV" target="_blank" title="Pick a path to continue the story."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a><br/>
<br/>
To vote for this option in the poll, send a tip through the tip form below.<br/>
<br/>
Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form.<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 114334111214
author_id: seuzz
title: Let Mikey Try It
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You and Eileen and Joshua all look at each other. No one speaks.<br/>
<br/>
Someone is going to have to put the mask to his or her face.<br/>
<br/>
It seems like such a small thing. Just pick it up, lift it, and put your face into it. A very simple action, when you think about it.<br/>
<br/>
But what happens after that?<br/>
<br/>
If this was just a regular arts and crafts project, just some ... <i>thing</i> ... you had made with plaster or soap or anything normal, then there'd be no big deal.<br/>
<br/>
But this is magic. Or, at least, it looks like magic. No one carved or sculpted the thing into the shape of a mask, with blank eyes and brow, nose and mouth, cheeks and chin. It was just a hemisphere of hardened goop. But you made it according to a recipe in book that contains a magic sigil, and after Joshua picked it up, it just <i>jerked and twisted</i> in his hand into this new shape.<br/>
<br/>
That isn't natural. So what would happen if you put it onto your face? Something equally unnatural? Something that would cripple or even kill you?<br/>
<br/>
You can tell that's what the other two are also thinking.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Look, nothing says we have to do <i>anything</i> with it," Eileen argues after you've cleaned up the mess in the back yard and moved back into the basement. "I mean, the book says what you have to do in order to finish the spell. It doesn't say that you <i>have</i> to finish, or that something bad will happen if you—"<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes go very wide, and some of the color drains from her face. "If you don't," she finishes in a whisper.<br/>
<br/>
You and Joshua exchange an uneasy glance. Well, uneasy in your case. He looks frightened. Because Eileen has just accidentally voiced a thought you hadn't yet had. What if something bad could happen as a result of leaving the mask unfinished? Would it be like leaving some magical box open? Could some of the magic start leaking out, mutating things? Could the thing be, like, magically radioactive or something, and it <i>has</i> to be sealed up? With a prickling fear you grab the book (which you carried into the basement) and consult the spell again. There's nothing that <i>says</i> bad things will happen if you leave an unfinished thing around. But the spell is in Latin, and what comes out of the online translator is pretty garbled. You can make out the sense of it. But what if there are nuances of the Latin that the translator has lost, or which an experienced magician would know or recognize but you wouldn't?<br/>
<br/>
None of you talk much, because there doesn't seem much that has to be said; you can read on each other's faces the worry and fear.<br/>
<br/>
But finally, as it gets on toward five o'clock, you get a text from your mom, asking if you're going to be home for supper, so they'll know whether to eat leftovers get some kind of takeout. That stirs you into movement.<br/>
<br/>
"I gotta get going," you tell the other two as get to your feet. You wipe your sweaty palms on your pants. "Um, do you mind if we leave the stuff here? I mean, the stuff I bought to make the ... you know?" It's all in Joshua's garage, and that seems the most convenient place to leave it. He blanches, though, so you add, "I don't really have a place for it back at my place."<br/>
<br/>
"You want to leave <i>everything</i> here?" Joshua asks. His face and tone are wary.<br/>
<br/>
"Well—" You bite your lip. You've got the book in your hand. "I'll take <i>this</i> with me. I won't be able to do anything with it if I leave the stuff in your garage," you add, "so that'll be safe." You don't add the corollary: He won't be able to do anything without the book, which has the sigil in it.<br/>
<br/>
"What about the, uh, thing we made?" Eileen asks.<br/>
<br/>
You hesitate. You'd volunteer to take it with you too, except you're not sure how that would look to them. Like you're taking one for the team by exposing yourself to its magic? Or like you want to continue the experiment without them?<br/>
<br/>
You're saved from deciding by Eileen. "Maybe I should take it," she says. "That way each of us"—he points to each of you in turn—"has something. Then maybe tomorrow we could get together and ... talk about it some more?"<br/>
<br/>
You wonder what good that would do, if you can't talk about it and decide about it now, but you nod. Maybe things will look different in the morning, after you've all had a chance to sleep on it.<br/>
<br/>
It's an awkward parting. Eileen and Joshua both follow you up and out to the front door, and there you all tentatively agree to talk later. There's an unsuccessful attempt to shake hands or bump fists or something, but you wind up just giving them a little wave before walking out the door. In your truck you squint back, half-expecting or -hoping that they will have followed you out to wave at you or see you off, but the door is shut.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Probably,</i> you bitterly reflect to yourself, <i>they're down in that basement, with its creepy marionettes and slithering zither music and the lava lamps, looking at each other and saying, God what a fucking perv and weirdo that guy is!</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You would expect to have weird dreams that night, and maybe you do, because you are exhausted and clammy when you wake the next morning, as though you spent the night thrashing in your bed, but you have no memory of any. It's a very unpleasant morning anyway, on account of it's Sunday and you have to go to church. But it doesn't help that—besides the itchy woolen pants and the badly fitting dress shirt, the constricting tie and the jacket that cuts you under the armpits, and the hard-fought and totally unsuccessful battle to get your stiff shock of hair to lay down neatly—that you feel like a guilty blasphemer against all that is holy when you troop into the sanctuary. Not that your mom or dad apparently notice how you feel. To them, you probably look just as sullen and resentful and twitchy as ever.<br/>
<br/>
But it also ruins what should have been a fairly decent outing. Your cousin Umeko sang specially today, and because Umeko (who was a Japanese orphan adopted by your aunt and uncle, so it's sortof-okay to notice things) is a sweet, smart and smoking college girl, you had been looking forward to enjoying her church recital, and to talking to her about it afterward, and congratulating her. It was going to be especially nice, because you were going over to be joining her and your Uncle Scott and Aunt Mary for lunch. But though you do perk up a little and do talk to her, it's your little brother, Robert—a pestilential thirteen-year-old who thinks he can compete with you at everything—who shoves in and gets all the face time with her.<br/>
<br/>
What with one thing and another, it's not until you are home and changing out of your church clothes that you find the text message on your phone. You had to turn your phone off, of course, the moment you got in the car to go to church, and it's not until you find the lump of metal and plastic in your sports jacket coat pocket that you remember you never turned it back on. There's texts from your friends, too, but it's the one from Joshua that gets your attention. <i>Dood u got to come over n see this.</i> It was sent at ten-thirty, and there are a trail of follow-ups, all begging you to come out to his house. Instead of texting back, though, you call him direct to find out what's up.<br/>
<br/>
What he tells you sends you racing over to his place.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Joshua pushes his long, thick, curly hair out of his face with both hands, then grips it. "It was fucking freaky, man," he says with staring eyes. "Fucking <i>freaky.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"It" was what happened when he put that mask on someone. He didn't like having it around his house—Eileen hadn't left yet, him and her were still hanging out last night after you'd gone—and when he saw a chance to use it and to finish the spell, he took it.<br/>
<br/>
It was one of Eileen's friends, a girl named Julie, who he tried it out on. Eileen said she needed some distraction, so she called Julie out to his place, and everyone got high. Maybe that's what gave Joshua the courage to try the mask out. The girl was asleep or something—she was lying back with her eyes closed, so Joshua got the mask from Eileen's bag, and dropped it onto her face.<br/>
<br/>
And it vanished.<br/>
<br/>
Joshua says that was the worst hour of his life—or maybe the worst ten seconds; being pretty baked he wasn't sure how long it lasted—but he put the mask onto the girl and it just disappeared. He freaked out hard and crawled all around with Eileen looking for it, and made so much noise that even his mother looked in to see what was going on, but it worked out when they discovered it had been sitting on Julie's face all along. Or it had returned there. In the cold light of day, Joshua isn't sure what really happened.<br/>
<br/>
It's just you and him (Eileen has to do something with her family) when you haul out the book to see what, if anything, comes next. You're both astonished when you turn to the spell, and find the page disfigured by the faint outline of an oval that hadn't been there before. You stare wide-eyed at each other, then with a gulp—and feeling like you're picking up something very dangerous—you set the mask onto the oval. It fits perfectly over it.<br/>
<br/>
And when you lift the mask again, the page beneath flutters. The page that had been locked down to the book beneath has now turned loose. You turn it over.<br/>
<br/>
There's a continuation of the spell on the reverse side. And what looks like a new spell on the facing page.<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1143341112141
author_id: seuzz
title: Face Time
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Joshua looks over your shoulder as you bend over the book, translating the continuation of the spell. It's a lengthy passage, and because the translator still glitches out occasionally on you, it takes awhile to get the gist out. <br/>
<br/>
What it says gives you the creeps, but it also excites you. It would be creepy and exciting fun just reading about it, but the thought that it is <i>probably real</i> and not just some garbage fantasy gives it the power of a punch to the gut.<br/>
<br/>
According to the spell's continuation and conclusion, the mask now contains the "image" of the person that you laid it on. Now all you have to do is "seal" the mask, and if you (or Joshua; anyone, apparently) puts the mask on, it will transform you into the exact image of the person you copied. (It also includes instructions for how to get the mask off again, after it's been put on.) You and Joshua exchange a long, silent, beady-eyed glance.<br/>
<br/>
Then you both scramble for the mask.<br/>
<br/>
He gets to it first, and hugs it close as he bends over to peer at it. You try to get in so you can look at it too, but you can't get a good angle. All you can see are the streaks of reflected light beading and shimmering in its glossy, blue depths. Joshua's breathing is loud and scratchy as he stares into the mask. Then he says, "Dude, lookit this," and holds the mask out to you. You take it, but he keeps tight hold too, so that you both can bend over it.<br/>
<br/>
You're not sure what you're looking at until Joshua traces it with his fingertip. Some of those lines of light break and shift liquidly as he turns the mask, but others remain in place in the depths, no matter how he shakes the mask. And these lines come together to make a face.<br/>
<br/>
You don't recognize the person, but it is a recognizable face. Large, wide-set eyes, a long nose, a mouth that hangs open a little to show large front teeth. Thick hair cut short. It is girlish, but also a little androgynous, a little tomboyish.<br/>
<br/>
You ask, "Is that—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. That's Julie," Joshua says. He swallows thickly.<br/>
<br/>
"Dude, was she okay afterward?"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Oh yeah! Fine! A little baked, you know, but— She seemed totally normal."<br/>
<br/>
<i>So,</i> you think, <i>this is like the paper that comes out when you scan and print a part of your body.</i> It doesn't snip anything off—you hope!—it just makes a copy.<br/>
<br/>
But unlike a scanned and printed copy, if you put this on—<br/>
<br/>
"Dude, what do you want to do?" Joshua asks. He sounds breathless.<br/>
<br/>
You return to the book and point to the spell.<br/>
<br/>
"It says— Well, if you ... 'seal it'—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I know!"<br/>
<br/>
"But you can also put other copies into it. We could ... copy other people into it. And, you know, like it says—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah."<br/>
<br/>
What it says is that you can keep adding copies of people into it, and it will mix those "images" to create new images. Like, new faces that morph real ones together.<br/>
<br/>
"We could try to—" You gulp. "Put another face in. See what happens."<br/>
<br/>
"Who?" Joshua looks a little green.<br/>
<br/>
"Well ... One of us?"<br/>
<br/>
"Ew! Mixing a girl and a guy?" Joshua cringes. "And then putting <i>that</i> on and wearing it?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's just an experiment. Or, um, when Eileen can turn loose, we can show her, and maybe she could—"<br/>
<br/>
"We could ask her," Joshua agrees after taking a deep breath.<br/>
<br/>
"Or, you know." Your heart is beating in your chest. "We could figure out how to 'seal it up,' and then we could—"<br/>
<br/>
Joshua's eyes are almost bulging from their sockets, and his mouth is curled up into a rictus that shows all of his teeth.<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11433411121411
author_id: seuzz
title: Add your image to the mask.
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>This is the placeholder for a poll. For details, see: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/polls/item_id/2280094-BoM-Poll-V" target="_top" title="Pick a path to continue the story.">BoM Poll (V)</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/polls/item_id/2280094-BoM-Poll-V" target="_blank" title="Pick a path to continue the story."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a> <br/>
<br/>
To vote for this option in the poll, send a tip through the tip form below.<br/>
<br/>
Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form.<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11433411121413
author_id: seuzz
title: A Girl Who Never Was
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Joshua wants to seal the mask up right away and try it out, but you insist on waiting until Eileen can join you. As you wait, Joshua tells you a little about Julie McDowell. Not that there is much to tell. She's just a girl who goes to Eastman, and she hangs out with various people without seeming to be part of any particular crowd, and she thinks nothing of barging in on Joshua and smoking a bowl, if he's up for it with her. All in all, a not-quite-but-almost-random girl to have tested the mask on. But neither of you give any thought to showing it or the magic to her.<br/>
<br/>
Eileen shows up at a little before, eager to find out what has been going on, and gets pissed when she learns that you and Joshua have done stuff without her. "You couldn't wait?" she says.<br/>
<br/>
"We didn't do hardly anything!" Joshua protests. "We just read the rest of the spell and then looked at the next one, but we didn't—"<br/>
<br/>
"Wait, what new spell?"<br/>
<br/>
You show her the book, and the stain on the page, and explain how you laid the mask atop that stain and got the page to turn, revealing the rest of the first spell and the beginning of a new one. "We think that's part of the magic," you tell her. "You have to perform a spell, and then that lets you turn the page to get a new spell."<br/>
<br/>
Eileen bends over the book, flipping between the two pages and studying the writing and the sigils. "So what does this say?" she asks, pointing to the continuation of the first spell.<br/>
<br/>
"That's what we were telling you," you reply, <i>before you got pissy about us going on without you.</i> "It explains how the mask works. If we seal it up now, we could put it on—one of us could put it on—and it would, uh—" You look up at Joshua, but he just grins a terrified smile back at you. "It would turn that person into a copy of Julie."<br/>
<br/>
Eileen's expression doesn't change, but her eyes get very wide. "Or," you continue, "it says we could put it on another person. Then that person's, um, form or whatever would go into the mask, and it would mix up with Julie's to make a new form, one that's not exactly like her form or the other person's. Like, the form of a new person, I guess." You twist your hands in the air, trying to explain.<br/>
<br/>
"So what did you do?" Eileen asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing. I— We decided to wait for you. So now you're caught up."<br/>
<br/>
Joshua points at the new spell. "We think that's the spell that seals up a mask, so someone can wear it."<br/>
<br/>
"You 'think'? What does it say?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's just ingredients and instructions," you reply. "I think you have to perform the spell before the page turns loose, or something. It doesn't tell you what it does before you do it."<br/>
<br/>
"Wow," Eileen says. "The book is kind of an asshole, isn't it?"<br/>
<br/>
"So what do you want to do?" Joshua asks. "I say we seal it up, so we can test it out."<br/>
<br/>
Eileen's eyebrows go up. "So you can test it out how? By putting it on? So you—" She looks between you and Joshua. "So one of you can turn himself into a copy of Julie?" Joshua looses a terrified giggle. "Oh no," Eileen says. "We're not doing that!"<br/>
<br/>
"So what <i>are</i> we doing? We have to test it out!"<br/>
<br/>
"We don't <i>have</i> to do anything! But you're not gonna— What's the other thing? About mixing forms and things?"<br/>
<br/>
"One of us would have to put the mask on," you tell her. "And it would mix her face with theirs."<br/>
<br/>
"But I don't want to put it on!" Joshua cries. "I mean, Jesus! Mixing up a guy and a girl!"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you want to do it for science?" Eileen retorts. "But fine, I'll do it."<br/>
<br/>
Before you can react, she throws herself into one of the beanbag chairs and holds the mask high over her face. Your throat and limbs freeze, so that she has all the time in the world to change her mind before she goes through with it. But neither you nor Joshua say anything, and after taking a deep breath and licking her lips, she lowers the mask onto her face.<br/>
<br/>
There is, maybe, a glint of light from her face as she settles the mask there, and then her hands fall away, and she stares, with a naked face, glassy-eyed and unresponsive at the ceiling. Beside you, Joshua whinnies like a frightened horse.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's just like with Julie, he tells you, and the two of you perch anxiously on either side of Eileen, watching to see what happens, and you are itchy all over and just about to declare that you need to get Joshua's mom, at least, or call 911, when something ripples over Eileen's face, and the mask reappears there, shining with a blue light. You and Joshua look at each other, opened mouthed, then scramble for it, knocking it from Eileen's face to the floor. Joshua gets it first, and you have to crowd up close to examine it. Has there been a change to the face inside the mask? You can't tell for sure, but the image inside doesn't look like Eileen, and Joshua says it doesn't look like Julie anymore either. You go back to consult the book while Joshua gently chafes Eileen back into consciousness, but it says only what it said before. That you can either keep adding faces to it, or you can seal it up.<br/>
<br/>
After waking, Eileen says she is ready to seal it up, and since there's nothing else to do but experiment with the new spell, you set up stuff like you did yesterday, in the back yard. The next spell uses the same ingredients in almost identical proportions, which again you have to burn in a bowl set atop a sigil, but this time though there is smoke there is no overwhelming and disgusting stench. The result is a bowl of a thick but smooth liquid like you made yesterday, but there are no further steps, such as pouring it over a mirror. And this time, when you lift the bowl from the sigil, the page beneath comes loose. You turn it and read the continuation of the spell. There's not much there, and when you translate it, it confirms what you'd suspected and hoped. You have made the sealant; all that remains is to brush it over the inner surface of the mask. Joshua gets a paint brush from the garage, and inside of five minutes the entire inner surface is coated and dried.<br/>
<br/>
And before you can argue about who should be the guinea pig, Eileen snatches the mask away and marches back inside. You and Joshua follow, exchanging excited but slightly nauseous grins.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"How's my voice?" the girl asks. "Do I sound like—? Who do I sound like?" She is staring at the screen of her cell phone, which she is using as a mirror, and touching and pushing at her face. "Wow," she says. "It feels so real!"<br/>
<br/>
Eileen had thrown herself again into the beanbag chair, and set the mask onto her face. This time, when her hands fell away, they fell away from a face you have never seen before. Neither has Joshua, for he says the girl looks nothing like Julie either. Together you stared at her for a very long minute before Joshua, swallowing thickly, knelt beside her and gently rubbed and massaged her back into wakefulness.<br/>
<br/>
The girl, once awake and animated, does look sort of like Eileen—she could pass for maybe a cousin—but she definitely talks like her, and the first thing she demanded to know was if either of you "perverts" had gone digging through her pants and panties while she was knocked out. But physically, no one would guess that it was Eileen in the basement with you now. Where Eileen's reddish-gold hair trailed past her shoulders in coiled ringlets, this girl's dirty-blonde hair drops only to the tops of her shoulders, and it has stiff waves rather than ringlets. Her eyes are a little larger, and her jawline and chin a little more firm. Her eyes are an olive color. Below the neck, though, she seems to have the same general shape and proportions as Eileen.<br/>
<br/>
As for her voice: "Eh, you sound kind of the same," Joshua tells her. "Maybe a little, um—"<br/>
<br/>
"But I don't sound like Julie?" the girl drawls, putting a lot of vocal "fry" into her voice.<br/>
<br/>
Joshua jumps. "Okay, <i>that</i> sounded a lot more like—"<br/>
<br/>
"But I don't look like her," the girl says. "And wow, it—" She pulls at her cheek. "It feels totally real!"<br/>
<br/>
"What about the rest of you?" you ask. "I mean," you add when the girl gives you a sharp, slightly horrified look, "when you move around? Walking, and, uh—"<br/>
<br/>
With Joshua's help, the girl gets to her feet and tests her balance. "Feels fine," she says, but gasps as her jeans drop a little. "My clothes feel loose!" She grabs the hem of her pants to hold them up.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, Julie's smaller than you," Joshua says. The girl hits him. "Ow! I mean she's shorter than you! Jeez!"<br/>
<br/>
The girl starts marching around the room while holding her pants up. "Okay, so I wanna— I'm gonna need some new clothes to go with this look. We should go out and buy some."<br/>
<br/>
"So when do we get to try it out?" Joshua protests. "Will and me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Try what out? This?" The girl gestures at face. "Oh, you're not gonna—"<br/>
<br/>
"Why not?"<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos you'll just got digging around inside her! Besides, <i>your</i> clothes'll fall right off if you put the thing on."<br/>
<br/>
"So what are Will and me supposed to do? We wanna have some fun too!"<br/>
<br/>
"So make you up a new mask," the girl retorts, "and put <i>your</i> faces in it."<br/>
<br/>
Joshua gapes at her. Then, reddening, he charges from the basement. Eileen prances around a little, then says, "I'm gonna go into town, get something that'll fit me better."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll go with you," you say, but Eileen shakes her head.<br/>
<br/>
"You need to stay here with Joshua," she says. "Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. Which he totally will."<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 114334111214131
author_id: seuzz
title: Go with Eileen.
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>This is the placeholder for a poll. For details, see: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/polls/item_id/2280312-BoM-Poll-VI" target="_top" title="Pick a path to continue the story.">BoM Poll (VI)</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/polls/item_id/2280312-BoM-Poll-VI" target="_blank" title="Pick a path to continue the story."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a>.<br/>
<br/>
To vote for this option in the poll, send a tip through the tip form below.<br/>
<br/>
Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form.<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 114334111214132
author_id: seuzz
title: More Equals Merrier?
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Eileen knows Joshua better; and besides, your instinct aligns with hers. So though you follow her up and out of the basement, you veer toward the back yard while she goes out the front door.<br/>
<br/>
Joshua is in back, already measuring out ingredients. His hands shake and he glowers to himself.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, can you be careful with that stuff?" you call.<br/>
<br/>
"What?" He glowers up at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing. I'm just asking you, be a little calm there. You don't wanna mess up."<br/>
<br/>
He bites his lip, but he does slow down. After watching him a minute, you start measuring stuff out too. "So what are you planning to do?" you ask in a carefully neutral tone.<br/>
<br/>
"Make another mask."<br/>
<br/>
"And do what with it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Use it on someone."<br/>
<br/>
"Who? Me, you, someone else?"<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't answer. He still hasn't answered after setting fire to the stuff, and pouring it out over the mirror. He has picked it up and is holding it in a death grip when you ask, "Do you want to make another one?"<br/>
<br/>
"What?" The question seems to startle him. Or maybe it's the shell, which spasms in his grip, turning into a mask.<br/>
<br/>
"Do you wanna make another one? One for you and one for me. I mean, I'd like to have some fun too."<br/>
<br/>
He blinks a couple of times, then sets the mask down and starts measuring out ingredients again. You help. You're just combining them all when he mumbles, "I'm sorry."<br/>
<br/>
"For what?"<br/>
<br/>
"For being in a pissy mood. Eileen, sometimes, she just— What did she say after I went? Is she still inside?" His glance is keen.<br/>
<br/>
"No, she left, said she wanted to pick up some clothes that'd fit her better. And she didn't say anything, except that maybe I should come out here to help you."<br/>
<br/>
Joshua snorts. "Well, I'm sorry anyway. This is your stuff, and—" He freezes in the act of taking out the lighter to set fire to the stuff. "Oh, Jesus. I <i>am</i> sorry."<br/>
<br/>
"For what?" you ask again.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck me. You should just tell me, tell both of us, to fuck off," he sighs. "This is your stuff, and here we are—" He twists on his feet.<br/>
<br/>
"No, it's okay, I wanted someone to test this stuff out with. It's freaky, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, you should be the one in charge, since it's your stuff. And you should tell Eileen that!"<br/>
<br/>
"I will," you promise, though you also wonder if you really will be able to impose yourself on her. She doesn't seem the impose-ible-upon type. "But seriously—" You take the lighter from Joshua. "What do you want to do with the things?" you ask as you set fire to the bowl and scamper back from the stench.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what do <i>you</i> want to do?" he ripostes. "I mean, there's not a lot to do with 'em, except, you know—" He chews his lip. "Use 'em on us."<br/>
<br/>
"To make a new face? Well, that's one mask. What about the other one?"<br/>
<br/>
His eyes dart between you and the smoke pouring from the bowl. "I dunno. I mean, I guess I could get another guy out here. Or a couple of guys, and we could—"<br/>
<br/>
"A couple? How many?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, like, two. One for each of—"<br/>
<br/>
"You know, it might be simpler," you say, voicing the thought almost as soon as it comes to you, "to just use up all the stuff and make up as many of the things as we can. That way we don't have all this stuff laying around where you have to store it. And we'll also have a bunch of, you know, things instead of just two."<br/>
<br/>
Joshua stares. Then he breaks out into a grin. You grin back.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You are able to make up five more masks before you run out of some of the stuff. You clean up the work station in the back while Joshua starts polishing one, and he is almost done with it by the time Eileen gets back. You do a hard double-take when she comes into the garage, for you'd almost forgotten what the new girl looks like, and at first you take her for a stranger busting in on you. Even after she's said, "Hey, how's it going?" you haven't quite grasped that it's her. Joshua seems equally panicked, and not until she says, "What's wrong?" do you finally get yourself sorted out.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, nothing," you stammer. "You get new clothes?"<br/>
<br/>
"Wearing them!" She spins around. "What do you think?" She's dressed in a pair of very tight, highly worn blue jeans, and a small, tight red blouse that looks like it's made out of the same kind of thin cloth that bandanas get made of. Instead of shoes, she's wearing flip-flops. "I didn't want to buy a lot or spend a lot," she goes on, "'cos they're gonna be too small for me to wear regularly."<br/>
<br/>
"They look nice." They do indeed, and your eyes start to water as you stare at those tight clothes on that tight body. <br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, nice," Joshua echoes. "Hey, what's your name?"<br/>
<br/>
"What's my name?" she asks. "You know me!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you're not Eileen Piper," Joshua chortles. "'Cos I know Eileen Piper, and you don't look nothing like her. So what's your name?"<br/>
<br/>
She stares, then giggles. "Oh wow, that's right! So what's my name? Um—"<br/>
<br/>
"Juleene," Joshua offers. "Ilie."<br/>
<br/>
"Eww! Francesca," she says. "That's my middle name. Do I look like a Francesca?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>You look good whatever your name is,</i> you want to say, but good sense stops you from saying it aloud. "So what are you doing?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"We made a bunch more masks," you say. "Used up almost all the stuff."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah?" She looks concerned. "And what are you gonna do with—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Make more, um, faces. Like, uh, Francesca." When she looks dubious, you add, "You can't be the only one who gets to have fun."<br/>
<br/>
She sighs. "I know. But I'm just thinking— We wanna be really careful here. I mean, we don't wanna get caught."<br/>
<br/>
"We didn't get caught by Julie," Joshua says. "We'll do it like with her. Get some guys out here, get 'em nice and toasted, and then—"<br/>
<br/>
"You gonna get stoned with 'em?" Eileen asks. She looks at you. "You wanna stick around, take charge of things? 'Cos I know Joshua, he'll get—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll be fine!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," you say, "I don't think I should stay out here if you guys are gonna be smoking any—" You pluck at your shirt. "I don't wanna go home smelling like it."<br/>
<br/>
"So go home and get some fresh clothes you can change into."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't wanna take a chance. Tell you what." You point to the pile of unpolished masks. "I'll take two of those and get 'em polished up at home—I'm pretty sure we got one of those buffer things at my place—and then tomorrow after school we can get together and see what we've got, what we can do with them. We can have, like, two apiece."<br/>
<br/>
"Think you can use them on some of your friends?" Joshua asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe." You pick up two of the masks. "I'm not gonna rush anything, though. Like, uh, Francesca says—" Eileen grins at the use of her alias's name. "I wanna be careful."<br/>
<br/>
You wish your two new friends the best of luck, collect the book, and go to leave.<br/>
<br/>
But you're just about to get into your truck when you hear your name shouted, and Eileen—Francesca—Whoever—comes running out. "Hey," she says when she breathlessly catches up to you. "We just had an idea. Can you stick around until Joshua finishes up? He's almost done."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, what's up?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we were just thinking—" She gulps a little. "That maybe you could go ahead and, um, put your face in it?" Her eyebrows peak. "That way we could start making a mask that uses, um, yours as one of the—"<br/>
<br/>
She's having a very hard time coming out with it: She wants to make a mask that combines your features with someone else's. But you'd probably have a hard time voicing the same idea. "So we could have it around to use tonight," she concludes.<br/>
<br/>
The idea makes sense, though it gives you a very weird turn. <i>I'm going to put my face inside a mask,</i> you think, and the prospect of doing that <i>now</i> makes it suddenly very real and more than a little frightening.<br/>
<br/>
But what can you do? You were going to do that anyway, eventually, right? And Eileen's already done it. So how could you refuse? But you feel yourself turning cold and bloodless all over, even as you accede, and follow her back into the house.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It wasn't a painful experience, but it wasn't a very pleasant one, either. Eileen put you in a beanbag chair downstairs, then came back a little later with the newly polished mask. You set it on your face. It turned very warm and very heavy, and you thought you felt it pressing down into the front of your skull, like it was an anvil and your face was a bowl of oatmeal. Then you woke a little later with "Francesca" chafing your wrists. You were groggy and stiff, but otherwise hale.<br/>
<br/>
You went home after that, found a car buffer in the garage, and set to work on the masks. Your dad came out at one point to ask what you were doing, and you told him you were helping a friend with an art project. He grunted and left you alone. About two hours later you were done with the masks. You took them upstairs and propped up on the bed with them, to figure out what comes next.<br/>
<br/>
You are in the middle of thought when a text comes in from a source you'd almost forgot about: Scott Frazier, wanting to know if you got that "project" figured out. You frown at the text.<br/>
<br/>
On the one hand, it's nice to learn that he didn't forget about you completely. On the other hand, you resent that he seemed so uninterested. But on some third hand: His face might look good in a mask.<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1143341112141321
author_id: seuzz
title: Tell Scott about the project.
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>This is the placeholder for a poll. For details, see: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/polls/item_id/2280491-BoM-Poll-VII" target="_top" title="Pick a path to continue the story.">BoM Poll (VII)</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/polls/item_id/2280491-BoM-Poll-VII" target="_blank" title="Pick a path to continue the story."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a>.<br/>
<br/>
To vote for this option in the poll, send a tip through the tip form below.<br/>
<br/>
Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form.<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1143341112141323
author_id: seuzz
title: Masks in the Night
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>Yes been playing w book n things,</i> you text Scott. <i>Nothing special kind of boring.</i><br/>
<br/>
Hopefully, that will shut him up. You're not interested in working with him any more, now that you've got Joshua and Eileen to work with, and it would just get complicated if he got involved again. In fact, you don't even want to see him.<br/>
<br/>
But that still leaves you with two newly polished masks to play with, each one needing at least two faces put into it. One of those faces can be yours. As for the other three ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wake with a start when your phone goes off, and find yourself slimy with nighttime sweat. You blink yourself awake as you grab for your phone to turn off the alarm and look at the time: 2:45 AM.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Am I really going to go through with this?</i><br/>
<br/>
You try to tell yourself that you don't have a choice—you don't have a dark and smoky den like Joshua does, where you can lure people down, stone them into a torpid haze, and put a mask on them. But you also know that you can roll over and go back to sleep. But you gritted your teeth and set your alarm before going to bed, so you might as well go through with it.<br/>
<br/>
Gingerly, you throw the sheets back and get out of bed, then reach down to fish your shirt off the floor. While you're down there, you pull the masks out from under the bed, and using the light from your phone you squint at them in the dark. One of them already has your face in it—you put it there after brushing your teeth and going to bed—and that one you slide back under your bed. There's no reason to take a chance on getting too close a resemblance by putting both your face and Robert's into it. So you take the one that is still empty.<br/>
<br/>
On bare feet you sidle over to your door, slowly twist the knob, and pull it open.<br/>
<br/>
A nightlight plugged into a socket low down bathes the floor with a soft, yellow-orange glow. But the ceiling is in shadows.<br/>
<br/>
You edge along to the junction where meets the hallways joining your door, your brother's, your parents', and the top of the stairs. You put your ear to Robert's door, but all you can hear is  the thump of your own heart.<br/>
<br/>
With infinite care you twist the knob and push the door open. The edge slides softly over the carpet, and you wince at the rustle, for you have no idea if Robert is a light sleeper or not. The only light comes from the window, but it illuminates nothing but the milky folds of the curtains as you creep slowly into the room. Robert's bed is on your left, against the wall, and stepping as carefully as you can you have to edge your way around it. You hardly ever go in to his room if you can help it, but you are certain his floor is boobytrapped with discarded clothes, books, and other whatnot—Robert is still into sports, so there might even be baseballs down there to trip over, for all you know. But your feet meet nothing worse than the soft folds of dropped clothes as, hunched almost double with caution, you come around to the side.<br/>
<br/>
Your eyes have grown used to the dark by now, so you can just make Robert's head out in the bed. He is lying on his side, facing you, and his breath is coming in soft but insistent puffs. You would be more sure of things if he was lying on his back, so that you could set the mask directly onto his face, but you're just going to have to take a chance by laying it on the side of his head. With the mask balanced between your sweaty hands, you gently lay it on him while gritting your teeth.<br/>
<br/>
It sinks into him silently, like setting a stone atop a pool of water, and his breathing ceases.<br/>
<br/>
Your heart goes into your throat, and you put your ear to his face. It takes a moment before you are able to reassure yourself that he is in fact still breathing, just much more slowly and softly than before. Almost you sink to your knees in relief, but keep to your tottering feet.<br/>
<br/>
Ages pass, and there is no sound in the room, save for one distant bark from a dog. Your mind is soon aflame with fear and boredom, for there is nothing to do but wait. Fearful fantasies play out: What if your dad or mom comes in to check on Robert, and finds you here like this? It is hardly a comfort to insist to yourself that that isn't likely to happen. You try to pass the time by peering about the room, but there's hardly anything in the darkness to attract your interest. You are soon reduced to counting the seconds as they pass.<br/>
<br/>
Finally, though, you make out that the mask has returned to the real world from wherever it went. It doesn't sit on the side of Robert's head, though, but directly on his face, its edge pinched between his cheek and the pillow. It's a terrible thing, and your own face twists up with fear, as you delicately pull it loose, and your heart almost bursts from your chest as Robert sucks in a deep breath, and mutters something, as the mask comes free. You don't wait though, and, tiptoeing through the room like a stork picking its way across a minefield, you hurry back over to his doorway. You pause for one moment there to listen before, reassured by the regular breathing from his bed, you go out and pull the door shut.<br/>
<br/>
You cast one glance at your parents' doorway—it would be a horrible thing if your mom or your dad was standing in it, watching you—before tiptoeing back into your room and shutting the door. You fall onto your hands and knees to throw the mask back under the bed, then dive in under the sheets.<br/>
<br/>
It is a long time before your nerves are settled enough that you fall back asleep.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So you've got two faces into the masks when you wake the next morning: yours in one, and Robert's in the other. You need to find two more at school.<br/>
<br/>
You've got a deadline too, of a sort. When you get out of the shower, there's a text from Joshua: He and Eileen managed to add four more faces to the masks they kept, and they want to get together with you after school. You want to bring them at least one mask that has two faces.<br/>
<br/>
But you have another text waiting for you as well, and you answer that one first. It's from Scott, and you somehow missed it last night. Instead of dropping out, as you'd hoped, he is asking what you've been doing with the book. Specifically, he wants to know if it is really magic.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Maybe sposed tobe magic,</i> you reply, <i>but it just makes a mess. Forget abt it I think I'm going to lol.</i><br/>
<br/>
Only after you hit "Send" do you realize you accidentally sent that message to Joshua. You quickly follow it with <i>Oops sent that txt to u accident was sposed go smon else,</i> then add, <i>Txt u aftr school abt meeting.</i> Then you send Scott the text you intended to send him.<br/>
<br/>
Well, that just leads to a more confusion from Joshua, wondering who you were talking to about "magic" and stuff, and you have to confess that it was Scott Frazier, who was the first person you showed the book to, but now you're trying to shake him off. Joshua replies with a grinning emoji.<br/>
<br/>
Anyhow, that puts your nerves on edge as you pack up for school, and you find your mind going blank as you try to figure out how to get another face into one of the masks that you take with you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
And it turns out to be a complete failure. You can't get anyone to go off alone with you at lunch, where you might ambush them out of sight, and when you skip a class and then go hunting during your study hall, everyone you meet is also hanging out with other people. Your best chance seems to come after school, as you walk with Caleb out into the parking lot. For a few minutes it seems like you might be able to maneuver him into your truck, or you into his car, where you might be able to show him the mask and get it onto him somehow, but then Keith has to come out to join you, and you all wind up separating without you getting a chance with either of them.<br/>
<br/>
You haven't heard from Joshua or Eileen all this time, so you send him a text asking if you're all still supposed to meet. You have to wait in your truck, in the school parking lot, for ten minutes before the reply comes.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Lol,</i> he says, <i>got nu guys showing stuff to meeting three house.</i> Then, <i>There house,</i> followed by an address.<br/>
<br/>
This bothers you: Joshua has told someone about this stuff? You call him direct to confirm. He laughs nervously when you ask what's going on.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I kind of screwed up last night," he says. "One of the guys caught me with the masks and I had to tell him about them. It's okay, it's all cool. He thinks it's great and he wants to play too. Oh hey," he continues while you're still trying to come up with some cutting comment to chop him down with, "can you bring the book over? Joe wants to see how we make these things."<br/>
<br/>
You'd have to go home to get the book, which would be an excuse to not bring it over. Then maybe you could talk to Joshua and figure out a way of getting this new guy off your back, the way you got Scott off it. Although, given what Joshua has said, that seems unlikely.<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11433411122
author_id: seuzz
title: Save it for Scott and Brendan
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>This is the placeholder for a poll. For details, see: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/polls/item_id/2279658-BoM-Poll-III" target="_top" title="Pick a path to continue the story.">BoM Poll (III)</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/polls/item_id/2279658-BoM-Poll-III" target="_blank" title="Pick a path to continue the story."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a>.<br/>
<br/>
To vote for this option in the poll, send a tip through the tip form below.<br/>
<br/>
Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form.<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 114334112
author_id: seuzz
title: Stick it out with Scott and Brendan.
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>This is the placeholder for a poll. For details, see: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/polls/item_id/2279158-BoM-Poll-I" target="_top" title="Pick a path for the story to continue">BoM Poll (I)</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/polls/item_id/2279158-BoM-Poll-I" target="_blank" title="Pick a path for the story to continue"><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a> <br/>
<br/>
To vote for this option in the poll, send a tip through the tip form below.<br/>
<br/>
Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form. Placeholder text to generate a tip form.<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1143342
author_id: seuzz
title: The Hobbyist
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It's like the gym is undergoing gravitational collapse.<br/>
<br/>
(That's a concept you learned about while working with Scott on that research project for Astronomy: put enough loose matter in one place, and it all falls in on itself and kaboom you've got a star or a planet where once there was only a lot of empty space and floaty stuff. <br/>
<br/>
Yes, weird metaphors come to you when you're feeling stressed.)<br/>
<br/>
So one minute you're crouching on a bleacher with Scott, the next there's half a dozen people crowding around. <br/>
<br/>
"Fuck, man," Ryan Shuler barks as he falls onto the bleachers. "Some'n needs to kill Gordon and Steve b'fore they kill us."<br/>
<br/>
Shawn grabs his package and growls, "Yo, Steve, I got yer fucking hustle right here, asshole" while Brendan mutters, "It's gonna get worse before it gets better." <br/>
<br/>
"Fuck," Ryan groans again. He sprawls back, spreading his arms across the bleachers. "Hey babe," he calls to the golden-haired girl who is approaching. "Come sit on my face, make a shitty day all better for me. Better for you too."<br/>
<br/>
The girl smiles tightly as she squeezes between you and Scott, giving you a faceful of blonde hair as she does so. She says something to Scott about "hanging out," but the rest of her words are lost as Shawn croons, "Jamie, Jamie, Jamie." <br/>
<br/>
Across the court, Gordon Black and Steve Patterson exit the changing rooms and hook a right onto the narrow staircase that will take them up into the loft where the school's top jocks keep a kind of private clubhouse. You look away, before either of them can glance over and see you with their teammates.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Why am I still here?</i> you wonder as Ryan cusses Matt Nichols out, Matt cusses him back, and Shawn knees Brendan Tummler in the hip. They're going to notice you in a moment, the way a pack of wolves will eventually notice the rabbit hunkered down in the grass in the middle of the pack, and then you'll be sorry you ever had the crazy idea of talking to Scott.<br/>
<br/>
But you're not ready to give up, not yet, not entirely. So compromise with your desperate need to escape by leaning around that girl to touch Scott on the shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," you say, and catch a faceful of the girl's hair again when she whips around at your words. "I'm gonna have to take off," you tell Scott, "but, uh—" Your skin prickles as you feel Scott's friends locking onto you. "I'll text you later about the thing, if that's okay."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, sure," he says, and goes back to murmuring to the girl. You get up on creaking knees and shuffle to the exit. Jeremy comes out of the changing rooms, and you give him a little smile and nod, which he returns before taking his cell phone out of his jacket pocket.<br/>
<br/>
You hang your head with a feeling of defeat all the way back to your locker.<br/>
<br/>
Why did you think that was going to work? What did you even think was going to happen? Did you really think that you'd become friends with Scott, and through Scott you'd become friends with a lot of assholes who are on the basketball team? Why would you want that?<br/>
<br/>
<i>I didn't want that,</i> you remind yourself. <i>I just wanted to get to know them good enough that wouldn't throw wet paper towels in my face if I ran into them in a restroom. I just wanted to start feeling </i>safe<i> around them.</i><br/>
<br/>
But that was never going to happen, was it? So (you tell yourself as you change out books in your locker) it's just as well that this dumb-ass scheme got shut down early instead of later.<br/>
<br/>
You hide out in the library until you're sure that Scott and everyone else has gone.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's a Friday night, but Caleb is mad because you didn't help him steal his project out of the time capsule, and Keith is busy with some family function, so you're upstairs working on your math when your phone chimes with a text: <i>h will whats up?</i> You blink at it, for it's from Scott Frazier. <i>doing math,</i> you reply. <i>bluh</i><br/>
<br/>
A long minute passes with no reply, probably because he's trying to figure out what "bluh" means. So you poke him with, <i>whats up w u?<br/>
<br/>
nothing.</i> Then, <i>what mathu have?</i><br/>
<br/>
WTF? <i>calculus,</i> you tap back. <i>whats urs?<br/>
<br/>
no math im done w that shit. no party where u at? party?</i><br/>
<br/>
It's embarrassing to have to admit, but you've already admitted that you're working on your math homework, so you reply, <i>no all my friends busy.<br/>
<br/>
sucky here too,</i> he says. You almost fall out of your chair.<br/>
<br/>
<i>u taking any art classes?</i> he asks.<br/>
<br/>
<i>no not good at art<br/>
<br/>
im take art class and wood metal woking what kind stuff in artscraft book u wantd show me?</i><br/>
<br/>
You gulp, and your fingers tremble. <i>not sure. something like making masks.<br/>
<br/>
ceramic?<br/>
<br/>
dont know. maybe.<br/>
<br/>
how make?<br/>
<br/>
could show u.</i> With your tongue between your teeth you add, <i>want to see?</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>sure cool. looking for project.</i><br/>
<br/>
You tell yourself it's not going to lead to anything, but you agree to meet him out at his house tomorrow afternoon.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The day is sunny and warm, and lawnmowers are out buzzing like mechanical locusts when you park at the address Scott gave you. It's an older part of town, where the houses are small and dowdy. But the trees are tall and old and they drape the lawns and streets with shade, and most of the houses, even those that slump with an exhausted look at the end of their walks, are bright with flowerbeds.<br/>
<br/>
The door is opened in answer to your knock by a small, paunchy old man with grizzled hair and a crooked grin. "Yew're friend of Scott's?" he asks in a backwoods twang. "Come on in." You thank him and step in through small entryway into a tiny parlor dominated by an overstuffed easy chair, a sofa, and a big-screen TV. There's a scent of cigar smoke in the air.<br/>
<br/>
"Scott's in back," the old man says, and he paws at you until you give him his hand; it's leathery, like a gorilla's, and his grip is soft. "Got himself a studio back there." He touches your shoulder and navigates around the sofa to a back door. "Just go on back there and show him I let you in." He grins again.<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks, Mr., uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"Dewhurst. I'm Scott's grandpa."<br/>
<br/>
<i>And where's his parents?</i> you don't ask, but instead step out onto a small back patio and down into a small back yard.<br/>
<br/>
A lawnmower rattles loudly next door, so that you don't even bother to yell Scott's name. Instead, you trudge over to an enormous wooden shed, about the size and shape of a one-car garage, that takes up almost a quarter of the yard.<br/>
<br/>
It's open in the front—it doesn't even seem to have a door—and light streams in too through some grimy windows. Scott's standing in the middle of the shed, working on some kind of metal sculpture.<br/>
<br/>
Well, you suppose it's a sculpture. Maybe it's a giant action figure. Or maybe it's a gasoline-powered windmill. He's screwing something onto it, whatever it is.<br/>
<br/>
But before you can figure out what you're looking at, he looks over and sees you. "Hey," he says, then turns his concentration back onto the thingus. "Can you hand me the spanner over there?"<br/>
<br/>
"The what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Crescent wrench. On the table by your—"<br/>
<br/>
You glance to where he's pointing: a table, hardly bigger than a stool, spread over which are a bunch of tools, like the instruments in an operating room. You hand him the crescent wrench; he mutters as he inserts it into a gap in the machinery and twists it. One of the thing's arms drops off it with a clatter.<br/>
<br/>
Scott steadies the contraption, then with a muttered <i>Shit</i> he lowers it onto its side. "You like Transformers, man?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"The movies?"<br/>
<br/>
"Any of it."<br/>
<br/>
"It's okay, I guess. Kinda fun."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm trying to come up with a new thing like that. Only—" He gnaws on his lower lip. "Well, never mind. You eat lunch yet?"<br/>
<br/>
"Um—"<br/>
<br/>
"My grandpa was gonna send me out to get something, but I asked if I could wait for you, pick something up with you." He slaps you in the stomach. "You up for seafood?"<br/>
<br/>
"I ... guess?"<br/>
<br/>
"My grandpa likes The Marlin. You drive, an' I'll give you five bucks toward whatever you want."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You are not actually a big fan of batter-fried fish and shrimp, but you haven't eaten and you'll take food. Scott compliments you on your truck, and on the drive out and back to The Smilin' Marlin asks you about your Friday plans and weekend plans. "There's a soccer meet this afternoon," he tells you, "girls' teams, Eastman versus us. I was gonna go out." He doesn't invite you, but there's the odor of invitation in his words.<br/>
<br/>
His grandpa takes the meal in front of the TV with a metal TV tray, while you and Scott split a box of fish and fries on the back patio. You ask him about the thing he's making in the studio, but he dismisses the question with a shrug. "It's an overgrown Erector set," he says. "Sometimes I think it'll turn out really cool, and other times I think it's just a lot of junk. No one'll want to play with it."<br/>
<br/>
"It's a toy?"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe a model for one. I don't know. Maybe I'm just pissing around."<br/>
<br/>
He tosses the last of the fries into his mouth. "So what's this thing you wanted to show me?"</span></div></div>


path: 1143343
author_id: seuzz
title: The Benchwarmer
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It's like the gym is undergoing gravitational collapse.<br/>
<br/>
(That's a concept you learned about while working with Scott on that research project for Astronomy: put enough loose matter in one place, and it all falls in on itself and kaboom you've got a star or a planet where once there was only a lot of empty space and floaty stuff. <br/>
<br/>
Yes, weird metaphors occur to you when you're feeling stressed.)<br/>
<br/>
So one minute you're crouching on a bleacher with Scott, the next there's half a dozen people crowding around. <br/>
<br/>
"Fuck, man," Ryan Shuler barks as he falls onto the bleachers. "Some'n needs to kill Gordon and Steve b'fore they kill us."<br/>
<br/>
Shawn grabs his package and growls, "Yo, Steve, I got yer fucking hustle right here, asshole" while Brendan mutters, "It's gonna get worse before it gets better." <br/>
<br/>
"Fuck," Ryan groans again. He sprawls back, spreading his arms across the bleachers. "Hey babe," he calls to the golden-haired girl who is approaching. "Come sit on my face, make a shitty day all better for me. Better for you too."<br/>
<br/>
The girl smiles tightly as she squeezes between you and Scott, giving you a faceful of blonde hair as she does so. She says something to Scott about "hanging out," but the rest of her words are lost as Shawn croons, "Jamie, Jamie, Jamie." <br/>
<br/>
Across the court, Gordon Black and Steve Patterson exit the changing rooms and hook a right onto the narrow staircase that will take them up into the loft where the school's top jocks keep a kind of private clubhouse. You look away, before either of them can glance over and see you with their teammates.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Why am I still here?</i> you wonder as Ryan cusses Matt Nichols out, Matt cusses him back, and Shawn knees Brendan Tummler in the hip. They're going to notice you in a moment, the way a pack of wolves will eventually notice the rabbit hunkered down in the grass in the middle of the pack, and then you'll be sorry you ever had the crazy idea of talking to Scott.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll catch up with you later," you murmur at Scott, yet you mumble it so quietly you're sure no one has heard you. <br/>
<br/>
But as you get up on creaking knees, Shawn cocks his head at you. "Where ya goin'?" <br/>
<br/>
"Ng'um," you stammer. "I gotta catch up with a guy." You dodge Shawn's smirk to glance back at Scott, who's looking puzzled. "I'll talk to you later." He doesn't reply, and you scoot toward the exit.<br/>
<br/>
Someone shouts behind you, and you flinch, but <i>thank God!</i> Jeremy chooses that exact moment to come loping out of the changing room. You hop across the gym to greet him with a relieved "Hey!"<br/>
<br/>
He looks startled, but the "Hey" he returns you is friendly if a little subdued. "So what are you up to now?" you ask. Your breath is coming in short gasps, and you try willing yourself to <i>calm the fuck down.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Nothing. Just gonna hang out with—" Squelching footsteps sound from the changing room, and you cringe as Seth Javits swaggers out and claps your old friend on the shoulder. "What did you wanna do now?" Jeremy asks him.<br/>
<br/>
"Thought we were gonna go hang out with Cindy," Seth says. He lets a cold eye fall on you, but otherwise doesn't react to your presence. "She could call some of her girlfriends out. Eva?" The side of his mouth slides up in a leer. "Or maybe you could try mixing it up with Jessica."<br/>
<br/>
Jeremy doesn't look happy with the suggestion, and gives you a sidelong look. <br/>
<br/>
"I was just gonna hang out in the library a little, get my homework done," you stammer. <br/>
<br/>
Seth snickers.<br/>
<br/>
"Listen, I'll see you around," you tell Jeremy. "You, uh— Things looked great on the court today. You're going to State this year?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck yeah," Seth snorts on Jeremy's behalf.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, things looked great. I'll, uh, catch you around." You stifle the urge to sprint for the door, and are conscious all the long way over that people are looking at your back.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You stop at your locker before heading over to the library. But it's that leather-bound grimoire that you've got open before you—you didn't feel like studying, and were thinking anew about what to do with it—when a hand claps your shoulder. You jump.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, didn't mean to scare you." Jeremy says. You glance behind him, and are relieved to see that he's alone. "How long's this place stay open?" he asks as he slumps his ginormous frame into a chair.<br/>
<br/>
"Until five, I think."<br/>
<br/>
"Then it's about ready to close up, isn't it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Um. Did Seth go off without you or something?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, all the guys took off. Seth took off." There's a strain in Jeremy's voice. "Thought I'd come see if you were still around."<br/>
<br/>
"You didn't want to go hang out with Cindy? And, uh—?" Eva and Jessica Garner are cheerleaders, as is Seth's girlfriend, Cindy Vredenburg. You'd spend every possible moment with them, if you had the chance.<br/>
<br/>
Jeremy squirms. "No. It would just wind up being me and Seth and Cinders. It always turns out that way." He lets loose a heavy sigh.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, that really must suck. Having <i>Cindy</i> around."<br/>
<br/>
Jeremy glares at you. "It's pretty fucking awkward, Will, is what it is."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck, I don't wanna talk about it." His eyes fall to the table, and he pinches the corner of the grimoire. "What's this?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, just a book I found in the used bookstore."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah? What is it?"<br/>
<br/>
Your heart does a corkscrew turn in your chest.<br/>
<br/>
That crazy-ass plan you had, to partner with Scott and through him to get in good with his friends on the basketball squad— It was a crazy plan to use on Scott, but it would be a much better plan to use with Jeremy, for you already have a dormant friendship there that you could reactivate.<br/>
<br/>
Seth would be the only complication—he's good friends with Jeremy. The other guys on the squad don't know you, so they don't have a special prejudice against you and your friends. Seth does.<br/>
<br/>
Still, it just makes too much sense. You flip the book around and push it at Jeremy.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know what it is," you tell him. "I'm trying to figure it out. It's in Latin, but online translators can help with that. Um, but the really weird part is— Well, just try flipping through it."<br/>
<br/>
Jeremy cocks his head, and his eyes droop with faint boredom, but he pulls at the pages. His lip lowers into a frown as it resists, and his fingers tighten on the edge of the book. He pulls it to him, and with renewed concentration tries to pull some of the inner pages apart.<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck's going on here?" he says at last.<br/>
<br/>
"That's one of the screwy things," you reply. "It's like the pages are glued together."<br/>
<br/>
"That's fucking useful."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but— Here." You pull the book back over, and flip to the front. "First of all, check out those faces at the bottom of the page." You point.<br/>
<br/>
Jeremy glowers at them a moment. Then his brow furrows.<br/>
<br/>
"Huh," he says. "They're like an optical illusion? Is that what—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. And when I got the book, that's as far as I could get. The next page wouldn't turn loose, like it was glued shut. But then I got home, and—" You flip the page. "It was loose. It just turned loose on me. And then—" You point to your bloody thumbprint, then to a paragraph of text. "It told me stick some of my blood onto that spot on the page. So I did that, and—"<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus! Will!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I was curious! Then after I did that, this <i>other</i> page turned loose. So it's pretty weird, like I say."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck, Will!" His nose wrinkles with skepticism.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, I told you, I'm still trying to figure it out. But the thing is all acting like it's a book of magic, like— Look, don't laugh, okay? I mean, I don't even know if I take it seriously. That's why I'm trying to figure it out. But it's acting like something out of Harry Potter."<br/>
<br/>
Jeremy stares, then barks out a single laugh: "Ha!"<br/>
<br/>
"Look, man, all I know is—" You flip to the last open page, and run your finger down it. "This is like a magic spell. It's written like one. There's a list of ingredients, and directions for how to put them together, and that thing there—" You point to the sigil. "You have to use that to execute the spell. You're supposed to put a bowlful of some stuff in the middle of it."<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, man!"<br/>
<br/>
You glance up, and see Mrs. DeWare approaching. You shut the book and start pulling your gear toward you.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, all I know is— Yeah, we're getting ready to go," you tell the librarian. "All I know is, it's like a project to play around with, and I wanna see what it does. You wanna help out?"<br/>
<br/>
Jeremy shrugs, then levers himself to his feet. "M'neh. If I get bored, man, I'll let you know."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You figure that will be the end of it. But later that night you get a text from Jeremy: <i>bored wanna get together.</i></span></div></div>


path: 11433431
author_id: seuzz
title: It's Alive!
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"This better not burn the house down, Prescott," Jeremy growls as he pours the last of the ingredients into the bowl. His brow is dark and his expression hooded.<br/>
<br/>
You make a face behind his back as you reach for the lighter. <i>The fuck am I putting up with Jeremy's shit for?</i> you wonder.<br/>
<br/>
It's not the first time today you've asked yourself the question. Jeremy's been a pill from the very start.<br/>
<br/>
He was in a surly mood when you met up with him at his house last night, but at least he lost himself inside the video games the two of you played until it was time for your curfew. You should have just cut things off with him then. But on the way out to your car he said something about "getting together on Saturday," and like a desperate idiot you seized on that as a chance to show him that crazy book. <br/>
<br/>
So you took it with you when you met him this that this morning for a lunch of hamburgers and fries at Burger King, and he was interested enough that he went with you to buy the stuff for the first spell, and took you back to his place to try it out, using the garage as a work space. But he's been getting moodier and moodier, and every comment he makes has a sarcastic snap in the back of it. <br/>
<br/>
"You wanna do the honors or do you want me to?" you ask him as you hold out the lighter. He only shrugs. <i>Jesus, even his shrugs are sarcastic,</i> you think. <br/>
<br/>
All the stuff you bought has been mixed together inside a large glass salad bowl, making a kind of grayish-white mud, that you've balanced on the sigil on the open page of the book. You flick the lighter and thrust it at the pile. Nothing happens, so you try it again. Again, nothing happens.<br/>
<br/>
"Christ," Jeremy mutters. "You're not even trying. Here, let me—"<br/>
<br/>
You grimace as he yanks the lighter away. With a sullen sneer he jams the flame into the mess, so deep he half-buries his knuckles into the goop.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Foosh!</i> A great column of smoke pours out of the bowl, and a terrible stink rolls into the garage. Luckily, the doors are up, but you and Jeremy both stagger back, choking.<br/>
<br/>
The growl of a motor in the driveway distracts you from your friend's lusty curses, and you whip around. It would be the perfect cap to the day if Jeremy's parents chose this exact moment to return home.<br/>
<br/>
But it's worse. It's Seth Javits.<br/>
<br/>
Jeremy is still coughing as Javits leaps from the cab of his truck—which is of a similar make and model to your own; you cringe to think what he must think of a loser like you having a truck like his—and swaggers in. "Oh, Jesus, what's that stink?" he barks as he tears the sunglasses from his face. Then: "Prescott?" he exclaims when he claps eyes on you.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, you're just in time, man," Jeremy gasps. "Help me get rid of this shit."<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck's going on?"<br/>
<br/>
"Science project." Jeremy glowers at you. "Not mine."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck. Whatever. You got supper plans yet?" Javits seems to be ignoring you with great deliberation. "Well, come go get something with me anyway. What the fuck <i>were</i> you doing?" he asks, craning his neck to peer into the garage.<br/>
<br/>
"Just a thing," Jeremy says. His face is twisted into a defensive squint. "Clean this shit up, Prescott," he barks at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, fine," you snap back. "You guys can take off, I'll finish up here and close up."<br/>
<br/>
"Just take it with you," Jeremy says. "I don't want you taking it in the house or dumping it in my yard. I gotta take a piss, man," he tells Seth, and lopes inside.<br/>
<br/>
You feel Seth's eyes on you turn to the "experiment." The back of your neck gets very hot as you pack up the bags of powders and crystals that it took you most of the afternoon to procure from various supply houses.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Fucking Jeremy,</i> you mutter to yourself. You should have known better than to try getting mixed up with him again. He always had kind of a glum streak in him, even back in middle school when you were friends, and all yesterday and today he was acting depressed and resentful at making your acquaintance again. Now that one of his current friends—one of his <i>real</i> friends, one of the asshole basketball players he threw you and <i>your</i> friends over to hang out with—has shown up, he can't wait to hurl you away.<br/>
<br/>
<i>And what'll happen on Monday?</i> you can't help wondering. Will he goad Javits or one of the others into seeking you out to hassle? Will he try hassling you himself, just to make it clear that he's not your friend anymore? Your hands start to shake.<br/>
<br/>
"So what was this stuff?" Javits asks. He leans against the work table, arms folded, and peers down his nose at you. His eyes are hard but inquisitive.<br/>
<br/>
"Just a thing I found," you mutter back. "You wouldn't be interested."<br/>
<br/>
Seth snorts. "Not what I asked, Prescott. I <i>asked,</i> what is this shit?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know!" You should know better than to snap back impatiently at a guy built for both basketball <i>and</i> football—one who has carried you into bathrooms for a little light bullying—but Jeremy's bad mood has put you in a bad mood too, and you can't help yourself. "I just found this book," you mutter as you resume cleaning up. "You, like, can make stuff with it. I was bored and Jeremy was bored, so we got together to see what it makes."<br/>
<br/>
"And it makes this shit?" Seth hovers with a wrinkled nose over the bowl. "What for?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. Guess I won't find out, either."<br/>
<br/>
"You mean you're just gonna pour it out?" Javits asks. You shrug. He peers into the bowl again. "Is it done?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. I mean—" You catch yourself. <i>Why am I trying to humor this douchebag?</i> "There were a few more steps to it. Like—"<br/>
<br/>
Spitefully, almost, you snatch up the bowl and tip it over the convex mirror. A thick stream of the goop trickles down, like pancake batter, covering the mirror. "There," you tell Seth. "That was the next step."<br/>
<br/>
The door opens, and Jeremy comes in. "Okay, I'm ready," he says. "Don't you got that stuff cleaned up yet?" he asks you.<br/>
<br/>
But you're watching Seth, who has bent over and is examining the stuff you poured out. Gingerly he touches it. It has hardened. He hesitates, then peels the stuff off the mirror. It has formed a kind of semi-spherical shell.<br/>
<br/>
"Huh," he says. "So what's this f—"<br/>
<br/>
Then he gasps and flings the thing into the air. You duck as it flies toward your face. With a ringing clatter, the shell hits the concrete floor of the garage.<br/>
<br/>
No one says anything. You and Jeremy are both staring at Seth, but Seth with bulging eyes is staring at the shell. You glance down—<br/>
<br/>
—and do a double-take at the thing on the floor.<br/>
<br/>
Is it your imagination, or has it changed shape?<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck's your deal, man?" Jeremy asks Seth.<br/>
<br/>
Seth doesn't answer, but crouches and with forefinger and thumb picks the shell up again. He turns it this way and that, and his eyes bug out some more. Almost despite yourself, you crowd in close to him.<br/>
<br/>
The thing has <i>definitely</i> changed shape.<br/>
<br/>
Where once it was smooth and regular half-sphere it is now a concave oval. It has also acquire bumps and ridges. But not until Seth gasps, "It's a face!" do you recognize the new shape.<br/>
<br/>
He's right, it is a face. There's a forehead and brow line; depressions where they eyes would be; a ridge that's a nose; and slightly pursed lips. There is even a chin and cheekbones.<br/>
<br/>
It is grayish-white all over, too, so it looks almost exactly like a tragedian's mask. It only misses holes for the eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"What happened?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing!" Seth exclaims. "I just—! It just ... <i>twisted!</i> In my hand! Like it was fucking alive!" He visibly shivers.<br/>
<br/>
"Dude," Jeremy says. His expression turns reproachful.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you!" Then Seth rounds on you. His eyes burn. "The fuck is this shit?" he barks.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know! I just found this book, and I just—!"<br/>
<br/>
Seth grabs the book up and glares into it. "The fuck? It's not even English!"<br/>
<br/>
"What happened in here?" Jeremy demands. He turns a dark glare onto you.<br/>
<br/>
"I was just telling Seth what we were doing! He was asking! And then I—! He wanted to know what were supposed to do with that stuff we made! So I poured it over the mirror, 'cos that was the next step—"<br/>
<br/>
"I told you to clean this shit up, not to—!"<br/>
<br/>
<i>"Shut the goddamn fuck up! Both of you!"</i> Seth has turned very red. "The fuck is going on with this book, Prescott?"<br/>
<br/>
You look at Jeremy. He glowers back. Then he shrugs and turns away. You turn back to Seth. "So, what, do you want it from the beginning?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So you give it to him, all the way from the start, with you going out to Arnholms to find a thing to put in Walberg's time capsule. You show him how the pages of the book don't turn, but how they did start to turn after you put a bloody thumbprint into it. Red spots are showing in his very pale cheeks by the time you are done, and there's a hard light in his eye. But he says nothing except, "Now <i>I</i> gotta take a piss."<br/>
<br/>
"Lemme have the book," Jeremy says in a low voice after Seth has gone inside. "No," he says when you hold it out to him. "Lemme buy it off you." He glances over his shoulder at the door. "You don't wanna get mixed up with anything that Seth's into."</span></div></div>


path: 114334312
author_id: seuzz
title: When Three Is Two Too Many
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Buy the book?" You echo Jeremy's words. "What are you talking about?"<br/>
<br/>
He glances over his shoulder, at the door Seth vanished behind.<br/>
<br/>
"What I said," he replies in a low voice. "I'll buy the book off you, and you, y'know, disappear."<br/>
<br/>
You're too stunned to reply.<br/>
<br/>
"It's nothing personal, Will," he goes on. "I'm not trying to get rid of you—"<br/>
<br/>
"It sounds like you are!"<br/>
<br/>
Jeremy makes a face. "Do <i>you</i> wanna hang out with Seth?"<br/>
<br/>
"Do <i>you?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Okay, it's a dumb question: Jeremy and Seth are friends. But Jeremy has put your back up.<br/>
<br/>
But before he can argue some more, the door opens and Javits comes back in. "Okay, let's take a look at what we got," he says, and he ignores you and Jeremy both as he marches back over to the work table and the book.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
There follows an hour of experimentation. You unpack all the ingredients again, and together the three of you mix up another batch of magical batter. Seth pours it over the mask, peels it off after it has set, and—<br/>
<br/>
Twice more you mix up ingredients and pour them out, so that you and Jeremy each get a chance to peel the solidified shell off the mask. Twice more, as happened to Seth both previous times, the featureless shell twisted into the shape of a mask. Jeremy holds onto it when it happens to him; like Seth, you flinch and drop yours. It felt like a snake twisting around in your hand to bite you.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, what happens next?" Seth asks in a hoarse voice.<br/>
<br/>
"The instructions say something about <i>polishing</i> the masks."<br/>
<br/>
"Something?" Seth's tone turns scornful.<br/>
<br/>
"I think!" you exclaim. "It's in Latin, man, cut me some—"<br/>
<br/>
"Stop your fucking whining. Here." He digs his cell phone out. "Show me where it says what we need to do next."<br/>
<br/>
You point to the sentence on the page where you think it describes the next step. With his tongue between his teeth, Seth types the words in, cussing to himself the whole time. Behind his back, Jeremy shoots you a look whose meaning is unmistakable: <i>I warned you.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Okay, yeah, looks like it says something about polishing," Seth announces a few minutes later. "Yo," he says to Jeremy. "You got a couple of chamois cloths or something?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Or something,</i> you mutter to yourself as Jeremy turns to a cabinet. Then you start as Seth snaps his fingers in your face. "What's the rest of the thing say?"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh?"<br/>
<br/>
"The rest of the thing, the paragraph or the fucking spell or whatever it is. What's the rest of it say?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't remember."<br/>
<br/>
Seth snorts, then bends over the book with his cell phone and resumes tapping into it. <i>The book doesn't like it when you try to copy down what it says,</i> you want to tell him when he starts cussing again. But you restrain yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Meanwhile, Jeremy has ducked into the house, leaving you to pace the garage and wonder if you can still take him up on his offer to buy the book so you can escape. But when he returns with a couple of cloths, Seth glances over his shoulder and tells the two of you to start polishing up a couple of masks. "It doesn't say how long it'll take," he warns. With a sigh and without much enthusiasm, you pick up a mask, take a cloth from Jeremy, and start wiping the surface as though you were drying a plate.<br/>
<br/>
"So what's the point of these things?" Jeremy says. You're about to tell him you don't know when he adds, "Yo! Seth! What's the book say?"<br/>
<br/>
There's no missing the hooded glance that Javits tosses sidelong at you. "Tell you later," he mutters at Jeremy.<br/>
<br/>
"Why can't you tell me now?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll tell you later," Seth repeats.<br/>
<br/>
"You mean after Will leaves? You'll tell me then? Tell us both now," he continues when Seth glares at him. "It's Will's book."<br/>
<br/>
Seth's gaze slides over to you. He sucks in a cheek, then says, "How much you want for it?"<br/>
<br/>
"To buy it off me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Will says it's not for sale," Jeremy says. "I already asked him if he wants to sell it." He lifts his chin, and Javits grimaces.<br/>
<br/>
"That right, Prescott? You don't wanna sell it?"<br/>
<br/>
You're tempted to name an extravagant price, but shake your head instead.<br/>
<br/>
Jeremy lets the moment sink in, then says, "So what's it say? What are these for, what do they do?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't know. I didn't finish translating it." He turns back to the book.<br/>
<br/>
Recklessly, with the feeling that you'll regret it and regret it soon and deeply, you say, "I don't remember what the rest of the spell says, but earlier in the book it says something about making disguises. Magic disguises, so you can disguise yourself as other people. I bet that's what these things are for." You tap your mask with a fingernail. "Makes sense, doesn't it?"<br/>
<br/>
Jeremy drops only a single word into the ensuing silence. "Seriously?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"Sounds like a lot of bullshit," Seth mutters.<br/>
<br/>
<i>But you didn't mold a face into this mask I'm polishing, cocksucker,</i> you think at his back. <i>Something else did.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Five minutes of light polishing doesn't seem to do anything to your mask or to Jeremy's, and when you risk putting it to your face nothing happens. Seth picks up a mask to work on and gives it a vicious rub-down, in a single spot, pinching it between thumb and fingers. After a few minutes of this he has worn a faint bluish streak into it. He redoubles his efforts, but after ten minutes—during which you and Jeremy work harder as well—he only rubbed as a spot about the size of a quarter from a grayish-white into a cerulean blue.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck this," he growls. "This is gonna take forever. Here. Prescott." He shoves a second mask at you. "Take this home with you. Work on it."<br/>
<br/>
"I already got one!"<br/>
<br/>
"You got two, now! Richards and me'll work on ours."<br/>
<br/>
"Why do I have to work on two of them and you guys—?"<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos it's your book!" He picks up another mask and starts working at it while glowering at you.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Fuck this shit,</i> you think, and with a muttered "Later" you stalk off to your truck.<br/>
<br/>
Jeremy follows, and leans in the driver's side window after you're in the cab. "Should'a sold it to me," he tells you in a quiet voice.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, man, I wanted it just to be us," you murmur back. He shrugs. "But thanks for sticking up for me," you mutter. You twist the key in the ignition, and the motor roars to life.<br/>
<br/>
"Listen." Jeremy puts his hand on your shoulder. "Did you know what this, uh, this book could do? When you said you wanted to show it to me?"<br/>
<br/>
Now it's your turn to shrug. "I knew what it said. But, you know, I didn't <i>believe</i> it."<br/>
<br/>
"Nhn," Jeremy says. "Well, thanks. I mean," he corrects himself,  "thanks for <i>thinking</i> of me." He steps back. You flash him a tight smile, put the truck in reverse, and jack-rabbit backward into the street.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's nearing suppertime as you leave Jeremy's house, and you barely make it home in time for the meal. In the middle of it your dad turns a frown onto you. "What happened to that book you were showing me? The trick book, with the hidden lock?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh!" You totally forgot to tell him that you'd taken it back. "Um, I took it up to school, showed it to some friends. Is that okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's your book. Did they figure anything out about it? Who'd you show it to? Caleb?"<br/>
<br/>
"Carson Ioeger, some other guys. Jeremy Richards," you add for no reason you can understand, except a habit of blurting out the truth when your dad fixes you with a stare.<br/>
<br/>
"How is Jeremy?" you mother asks. "I never see him around anymore. You used to have him over all the time."<br/>
<br/>
"He's fine," you mutter. "And tall. Can I be excused? I'm not real hungry." You take your plate into the kitchen and skedaddle up to your bedroom before the conversation becomes even more agonizing.<br/>
<br/>
You throw yourself onto your bed and snatch up your cell phone, more out of habit than any desire to call or text anyone. But you need to talk about the weird day with someone, so you call Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, what's your emergency?" he honks when he answers.<br/>
<br/>
"Who says I have an emergency?"<br/>
<br/>
"You ever hear of texting someone instead of barging in with a phone call?"<br/>
<br/>
"What, am I interrupting something?"<br/>
<br/>
"An archaeological dig."<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck?"<br/>
<br/>
"I haven't started yet, so don't worry about it."<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck are you talking about?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm on my way out to the school. Well, I will be, when it's dark. Around midnight maybe. Wanna come with?"<br/>
<br/>
"Caleb, listen to me very carefully, and try to understand what I'm saying. What the fuck are you talking about?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm gonna dig up the time capsule. Swap out my contribution, like I told you. Like I told you," he adds with extra venom, "and you refused to help."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, that. Wait, weren't you gonna try to get it out of Walberg's desk?"<br/>
<br/>
"I figure digging it up'll be safer. Well? This is your last chance to avoid pissing me off."<br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes.<br/>
<br/>
Then another thought hits you.</span></div></div>


path: 1143343122
author_id: seuzz
title: Mugged by Magic
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Dude," you tell Caleb, "if I'm not gonna help you lift your dingus from out of Walberg's desk, what makes you think I'm gonna help you dig it up?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, fuck me for thinking you might wanna act like a friend, Will," Caleb honks back. <br/>
<br/>
"That's got nothing to do with it!" you holler, and you're about to explain a few more things to your best friend when you realize that he's hung up on you. You hurl your cell phone onto your desk and throw yourself back onto your bed. <i>Stupid Caleb!</i><br/>
<br/>
It's some time before you remember the reason you called him— to tell him about your weird afternoon with Jeremy and Seth—but now you're too steamed up to care. <br/>
<br/>
Besides, if you told him about it, he'd want to see the mask-making operation in action, and that would piss Seth off.<br/>
<br/>
You toss and turn after going to bed, and it's past midnight before you fall asleep ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
... which makes waking up early the next morning for church that much more of a chore. Your dad speaks sharply to you a couple of times, once in the car and once at church, and not even time spent afterward with your sexy cousin Umeko makes you feel much better.<br/>
<br/>
You had to turn your phone off, and it's nearly two-thirty before you find the text from Jeremy: <i>try using car buffer on masks.</i> You text him back to ask what the fuck he means, and he calls you back directly.<br/>
<br/>
"You know what a car buffer is," he says. "One of those things, like a motor that's got a mop head on it? You use it to buff a car."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, sure," you bluff.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, try using that on the masks. It'll polish them up quick. Takes about forty-five minutes."<br/>
<br/>
"That's <i>quick?</i>" you exclaim.<br/>
<br/>
"Quicker than using a chamois cloth. Seth and me figured that out last night, got our two masks done."<br/>
<br/>
"So can I bring mine over to your house and use your, uh, buffer?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you have one? Listen, Will—" Jeremy's tone turns guarded. "It'd be a really good idea to have yours polished up before you come out here again."<br/>
<br/>
"Why?" you blurt out before the obvious answer occurs to you: <i>Seth.</i><br/>
<br/>
"It just would be, okay? Can you come out this afternoon when you're done?"<br/>
<br/>
"If I've got a buffer."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay." His tone is glum. "Text me if you need to use mine. But you probably want to use yours. If you've got one."<br/>
<br/>
It sounds almost like a hint that you should go buy yourself one if you don't.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Fortunately, your dad does have one out in the garage, and he shows you how to work it and watches with a puzzled expression as you set to work on one of the masks. (It's an art project that you're helping a friend out with, you tell him.) It's dull work, but you get through it—it takes nearly two hours to get both masks done—by plugging some ear buds into your phone and watching videos as you absent-mindedly hold a mask to the whirling rag.<br/>
<br/>
It's five before you escape to Jeremy's with the excuse that that's where you have to deliver the "art project" and that you'll be eating with him. <br/>
<br/>
Jeremy doesn't look very happy when he lets you in. "You get those things done?" he asks, and glances into the plastic bag that you thrust at him. "Cool. Um—" He starts when his mother looks around the corner into the foyer. "Hey, um, Mom, you remember Will."<br/>
<br/>
"Hi Will," Mrs. Richards says. She smiles broadly. You return her greeting with a nervous one of your own. "Haven't seen you forever. How've you been?"<br/>
<br/>
"Great."<br/>
<br/>
"What classes are you taking?"<br/>
<br/>
An agonizing eternity passes as you make small talk with Jeremy's mom, catching her up on your life—academic and social—while Jeremy's grip on your elbow tightens and tightens. He finally has to interrupt by telling her that you and he have to get to work on your school project. "It's great seeing you again," she cheerfully calls after you as Jeremy pulls you down the hallway.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, it's like she misses me or something," you grumble at Jeremy.<br/>
<br/>
"Or something," he agrees.<br/>
<br/>
"My mom misses <i>you.</i> Last night she was all—"<br/>
<br/>
Habits you haven't followed in years guide you around the corner to Jeremy's bedroom. You're still talking about your mom as you step through the doorway.<br/>
<br/>
Where Seth Javits looms up in front of you and shoves something blue into your face.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Your head is throbbing when you're next conscious of yourself, and the brown-gray fog that envelops you dissipates as you pry your eyes open. You raise your head and squint into a blurry room. "Are you okay?" someone asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Wha'?"<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, Will. How many fingers am I holding up?"<br/>
<br/>
You blink at the hand that's been thrust into your face, then follow the attached arm up past the shoulder to the face of Jeremy Richards. Wet worry shows in his eyes. "Fuck, man," you groan. "What happened?"<br/>
<br/>
He glances back over his shoulder with a scowl, then asks you again how many fingers he's holding up.<br/>
<br/>
"Four of 'em," you snarl, and slap away his hand. "An' I'll show you a middle one of my own if you don't—" You sit up, which for some reason makes you feel much better. Your limbs are stiff, but your head instantly clears. "What happened?"<br/>
<br/>
You're in Jeremy's bedroom, sprawled on his bed. Most of the posters that you remember—of various <i>Star Wars</i> and Marvel movies—have been cleared away, to be replaced by posters of basketball players, but other than that it's still much the way you remember it: messy desk, untidy dresser, and a bookshelf that has more cups and plates balanced on its shelves than actual books. Javits is hunched in a chair at the desk, reading a book that's balanced in his lap and consulting his cell phone.<br/>
<br/>
"Seth was trying something out," Jeremy says.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, what? His right hook?" There's no residual pain, but otherwise you feel like you've been punched in the head.<br/>
<br/>
Jeremy kicks Seth's chair. Without looking around, Seth says, "I told you, I'd make it up to him."<br/>
<br/>
"He was trying out one of the masks we made," Jeremy says. Then: "I didn't know he was gonna do it!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well it worked," Seth says. "Here."<br/>
<br/>
He snatches a mask from off the desk and without looking around holds it out to you. You flinch. Then with a feeling of loathing you take it from him.<br/>
<br/>
It's a deep and gleaming blue all over, and seems to glow with an inner light, just like the masks that you polished up. "So?" you ask as you turn it over in your hands.<br/>
<br/>
"It was the next step in the, uh, spell," Jeremy tells you. His face is pale. "You have to put it on someone. So it can—" He licks his lips. "Copy them."<br/>
<br/>
You feel the hair rising on the back of your neck, and you get out only one word: "You—?" before the wind dies in your lungs.<br/>
<br/>
"It had to be done, Prescott," Seth barks. "Someone had to volunteer to test it out, and you were that volunteer."<br/>
<br/>
Your jaw slackens. Again you can only get one word out: "You—?"<br/>
<br/>
"It wasn't my idea," Jeremy insists. "I thought we were gonna do rock paper scissors."<br/>
<br/>
"It was better this way," Seth says. He spares you a glance. "Better from your point of view too. You couldn't have handled being freaked out."<br/>
<br/>
Only your shock keeps you from being freaked out now. So you've nothing to say as Jeremy explains.<br/>
<br/>
"It knocked you out," he says. "Knocked you cold on your ass. And it, um—" He sucks in his lips, and darts his eyes about. "The mask, it kind of went into you. Like— I don't know." He hangs his head. "It was on your face and then it disappeared."<br/>
<br/>
"You were unconscious for about ten minutes," Seth says. Still he studies his phone while talking. "We laid you on the bed and waited to see what would happen. Which was nothing if you don't count Richards spazzing hard." Jeremy scowls at him. "Then the mask came back onto your face. We picked it up off you and Richards shook you awake. Now here you are and you're up to speed."<br/>
<br/>
Your joints turn to jelly, and you fall back to stare at the ceiling. <i>They used me like a fucking guinea pig,</i> you think, but in you're in too much shock to get mad about it.<br/>
<br/>
"We're not gonna do it again," Jeremy says hotly. "From now on it's real volunteer work, none of this 'volunteering people'."<br/>
<br/>
"Whatever," Seth says. "And I'll make it up to you."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" You finally feel strong enough to speak. "How?"<br/>
<br/>
Seth leans back to stare up at the ceiling.<br/>
<br/>
"We got the page to turn," he says. "You know how you said the pages don't turn unless you do something? Well, copying you into that mask got the page to turn. I've been translating the other side, and it says these things can copy people."<br/>
<br/>
"We already figured that out," Jeremy growls.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, this confirms it. But we gotta seal it up first." Seth taps the book. "I figure this next spell tells you how to do that. We'll get the stuff to do it tomorrow. We'll seal it up, and then one of us can put it on and pretend to be you."<br/>
<br/>
Now <i>all</i> hairs on your body are standing on end.<br/>
<br/>
Jeremy makes the retort for you: "How the fuck is that 'making it up to him,' you fucking douche?"<br/>
<br/>
Seth smirks. "We can go to school as him. How'd you like to have a day off, Prescott? Me or Jeremy—one of us, you pick—will go to school as you on Tuesday, and you can have the day off."</span></div></div>


path: 115
author_id: seuzz
title: A Day That Starts Like Any Other
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>This is too weird. You don't want anything to do with a creepy old book that asks to drink your blood. Carefully you close it up.<br/>
<br/>
Then you carry it over to your desk, which is covered over with school texts, notebooks, bundles of paper, and dirty dishes. You lift one tottering stack by a bottom corner and slide your newest acquisition underneath. Then you straighten the stack to hide the cover and spine.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Out of sight, out of mind,</i> you tell yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Of course, just because you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there. <br/>
<br/>
But by bedtime, as far as you're concerned, it's just become another layer sinking beneath the sediment of your desktop. And the next morning, as you're frantically shoving school books into your pack, you've completely forgotten about it.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The morning air is thick with the stink of asphalt and high school funk as you trudge across the student parking lot toward the campus of Westside High. At least a cold front came through during the night, breaking the recent heat wave, and as you sniff at the cool air you allow yourself to feel cautiously optimistic about the day ahead. It is after all a Friday. <br/>
<br/>
"Hey! Will!"<br/>
<br/>
You turn at the shout. Caleb Johansson, your best friend since the third grade, jogs up and pulls you from the path of an onrushing car. "Watch it, man," he says. "You're no good to me dead."<br/>
<br/>
You glance at the driver as she passes. It's Chelsea Cooper, the school's psychotic head cheerleader. Though in this case, the near-miss was probably because she had her eyes locked onto her cell phone, not because she was trying to run you down. Still, you flip off her rear bumper as it passes. "You need me for something?" you ask Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a look. "Shoot me in the face if I ever do. Except, now that you mention it—" He grips your shoulder with a bony hand. "You talk to your dad yet? About that job at his company?"<br/>
<br/>
"What job?" you blurt back. Then: "Oh, shit."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb groans. "Jesus, Will! All you gotta do is talk to him! Is it that hard?"<br/>
<br/>
"You try talking to him sometime," you grumble.<br/>
<br/>
"I'd like to! At his work! Where I'd be working for him!"<br/>
<br/>
You grunt. You've never paid much attention to your dad's company, which is some kind of aerospace contractor. But Caleb is deep into science and engineering; he's the kind of kid who had motorized Lego sets when he was only nine. <br/>
<br/>
"I'll ask him this weekend," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"You can't ask him tonight?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm hoping I forget about it again. I don't even get why you want the job so bad. It'll just be scut work."<br/>
<br/>
"It's a foot in the door. A job at Salopek is, like, a major in."<br/>
<br/>
He sounds so eager you can hardly stand it. What's worse, it's a job your dad has been pressuring <i>you</i> to take, and he'll probably blow his stack when you lobby him to give it to your math-and-shit-loving <i>friend</i> instead. That's the main reason you've been postponing (to the point of forgetting) to talk to him about it.<br/>
<br/>
"So you'll do it?" Caleb says. "You'll talk to him tonight, call me up with the good word?"<br/>
<br/>
"You really need my help for this?"<br/>
<br/>
"Dude, I'm counting on you. This is, like, asking you to talk to a girl for me, that kind of serious."<br/>
<br/>
You make a finger-gun and shoot him in the face.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You probably wouldn't have been so rude—and gotten your finger bent back so hard he nearly sprained it—if he hadn't compared the favor to "talking to a girl" for him.<br/>
<br/>
Because if you've fallen down at talking to your dad for him, Caleb has fallen down at talking to Eva and Jessica Garner for you.<br/>
<br/>
No, you're not looking to go out with one of them, let alone both of them. (Though they are twins, and dating twin blonde cheerleaders at the same time would be pretty sweet.) But if you rank so low on the school pyramid that the head cheerleader won't bother trying to run you over, you've no hope of scoring a date with any of her squad mates.<br/>
<br/>
But Eva and Jessica are friends with Lisa Yarborough. And as her friends, they might be able to tell you something about why Lisa dumped your sorry ass at the start of the month. That's right: They won't help you find a girlfriend, but maybe they can explain how you lost one.<br/>
<br/>
You brood as you trudge into your first-period class and slump into your desk. Caleb is late joining you, so there's nothing to stop you from staring across the room, out of the corner of your eye, at your ex-girlfriend.<br/>
<br/>
Oh, but that was the worst part of it, wasn't it? She dumped you by telling you that she had <i>never been your girlfriend in the first place.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">~ ~ ~</div><br/>
Maybe the wonder of it was that she even gave you a girlfriend-like attention to begin with. Because even if Lisa Yarborough isn't a cheerleader, you couldn't help being a little in awe of the fact that <i>she</i> would go around with <i>you.</i><br/>
<br/>
Oh, you're not <i>that</i> funny looking, you think. Sure, maybe you're a little too gangly for your height, and maybe your nose is a little too big and prone to zits, and maybe your stiff, corn-yellow hair looks a little too much like hay sticking out from under your sloppy ball cap. But you must have something going for you. Because even though Lisa spent her whole junior year turning down dates with guys on the football and basketball teams, she started hanging out with you at the start of the summer. <br/>
<br/>
And boy, was that fun, even if you didn't do much except sit close to each other and talk. Lisa has violet eyes and thick, shoulder-length, raven-colored hair; bosoms that are large without flopping all over the place; and rocking hips that can turn your guts upside down better than any rollercoaster could.  <br/>
<br/>
You saw a lot of her over the summer, at the park or just hanging around someplace with her friends. She'd put her arm around your waist or her head against your shoulder, and you'd do the same. And if she never got a bright, shiny stare when she looked at you, her eyes still danced with pleasure. <br/>
<br/>
So what the hell was her deal that Monday, two weeks ago, when—<br/>
<br/>
You were just coming out English when you saw Lisa standing a little ways off, talking to Kelsey Blankenship. Kelsey is one of your least favorite people—she's a stuck-up, country club snot, on her way to the Ivy League, and <i>fuck</i> if she doesn't love to tell people all about it—but you hopped over to talk to Lisa anyway. <i>Maybe today,</i> you were thinking, <i>I can talk her into skipping lunch in the cafeteria, and hang out with Caleb and Keith and me behind the school instead.</i><br/>
<br/>
She didn't see you coming, but Kelsey did, and you tried to ignore the way her lip curled when she looked at you. You put your arm around Lisa's shoulder, and grinned as she jumped a little and swung around in surprise.<br/>
<br/>
"Will, please," she said as she wriggled out from inside your loose embrace. "It's not like we're going out or anything."<br/>
<br/>
Okay, actually it wasn't that abrupt. There was some small talk first, as you tried talking her into ditching Kelsey and the cafeteria, and she squirmed and tried to put you off with the same excuses she'd used since school started—like how she really wanted to eat in the cafeteria, not outside in the dirt and grass, and if you wanted to join her at her table that would be okay, though you'd have to sit across from her because Eva and Jessica ... well, there was something or other that always explained why them or Kelsey or someone else would have to sit at her left or at her right, never you ...<br/>
<br/>
Anyhow, it was all going the way it usually did, but then on this particular Monday (it had to be a Monday, so you'd have the rest of the week to suffer by seeing her in the classes you shared) she ended with a snippy sigh, slid out from under your arm, and announced that the two of you had never actually been dating so could you please maintain a distance?<br/>
<br/>
<i>So what the hell did you do wrong?</i><br/>
<br/>
Now, it wasn't like you could ask her yourself. And no way were you going to ask Kelsey or Amanda Ferguson what they thought was going on with Lisa. (Kelsey's the type who'd tell you that your great mistake was in being born.) And that left Eva and Jessica, who though they were cheerleaders were at least nice to you when you were hanging out with them and Lisa.<br/>
<br/>
And when they proved evasive, you put Caleb onto the job of talking to them for you. <i>They'll tell you all the shit they won't say to my face,</i> you explained. He had grimaced, but agreed.<br/>
<br/>
But he still hasn't talked to them.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Lunchtime comes, and you and Caleb are sitting out front on the grass with Carson Ioeger and James Lamont. But they're too distracted to talk to you or Caleb though, being immersed in planning an epic prank against the basketball squad. You can't resist jeering at their chances of success.<br/>
<br/>
"I wouldn't piss us off if I was you, Prescott," Carson snaps.<br/>
<br/>
"Why? Would you try pranking <i>me?</i>" You jut your chin out at him.<br/>
<br/>
"Do worse than that. We won't help you prank Mansfield."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Geoff Mansfield?</i> Another one of Kelsey's snotty country club friends? Not that the asshat doesn't deserve a sweet pranking, but why would you want to?<br/>
<br/>
"Because I saw him hanging out with Lisa after school yesterday," Carson says when you ask. "It looked pretty hot between them. Like they needed a bucket of ice water poured over them."</span></div></div>


