# chapters

path: 11221111111222112211112212
author_id: seuzz
title: A Night with Joe Durras
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You felt a lot braver when Joe and Frank were arguing against your going out to Blackwell's. Faced with the actual decision of doing so, you feel yourself visibly wilt. "I dunno, maybe you guys are right. The last thing you need is me fucking things up." Joe looks kindly at you, but Frank looks grave even as he congratulates you on your wisdom. You have the impression you have disappointed him, and his manner is rather stiff as he starts to untie you.<br/>
<br/>
"So what should I do when I get out there tomorrow?" Joe asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Hang on, he didn't say <i>you'd</i> be the one going," Frank interrupts, looking up from the knots.<br/>
<br/>
"Alright, Prescott, which one of us gets the honors?" Joe turns to you.<br/>
<br/>
"That's above my pay grade," you protest as you rub your wrists. "You guys sort it out."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm the one in charge, so it sounds like a decision for me," Frank says. "I'll go."<br/>
<br/>
Joe starts to protest, but Frank overrules him with a raised hand. "Everyone wants to be me," Joe grumbles. "I don't know whether to be flattered or really, really creeped out."<br/>
<br/>
"So what should I be on guard against tomorrow?" Frank asks you.<br/>
<br/>
You shrug helplessly. "He's full of surprises," you say. "Don't touch anything if you can help it."<br/>
<br/>
Frank looks at Joe. "Well, the direct approach is probably best. I'll take him out as soon as I'm over the threshold."<br/>
<br/>
Joe looks unhappy. "You want us along, waiting in the car?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I should show up alone. But lurk in the neighborhood and keep your eye on the phone. I'll give you a call once the house is secure. Now, as for everyone else--" He looks over at "Will Prescott," who has been sitting quietly in a corner all this time, saying nothing. "We'll turn the real Justin Roth loose downtown. That'll tie up one loose end, so to speak."<br/>
<br/>
"What if Blackwell calls him?" you ask. "He thinks Justin is his slave."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll keep his cell phone here," Joe says. "As long as it's not a video call," he adds, dropping into a perfect imitation of Justin's baritone drawl, "he'll never know he's talking to an impostor."<br/>
<br/>
"So who goes home as Prescott?" you ask. "Me?" The thought of playing yourself seems weirdly incongruous after so much persona-swapping in recent days.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I will," Frank says. "I want to get to know you." <br/>
<br/>
"The fuck are you talking about?" you protest. "You won't know yourself, any more than Justin over there knows himself."<br/>
<br/>
"He's got you, Frank," Joe smiles. "Not that I'd mind taking a vacation from your company, but--"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll still do it," Frank says. "As long as Prescott stays here with you, Joe."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, a sleepover!" Joe exclaims, and turns shining eyes on you. "We can paint each other's toenails!"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't understand why I can't go home as myself," you protest. It seems very strange to be arguing for your old life back.<br/>
<br/>
"Put it this way," Frank says. "If I can't get to know you, Joe can. And if I go out as you, you have to stay here."<br/>
<br/>
You think you might feel safer spending the night at Blackwell's.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Actually, he proves a very thoughtful and considerate host after the two of you are alone. "You can take my bed," he says as he spreads quilts over the sofa. "I'll take the couch."<br/>
<br/>
"What about Frank's bed?" you ask. "Or do you guys sleep together?"<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a look. "No, we're not actually brothers, but don't get the idea we're <i>married</i> or some shit like that. Frank sleeps in the back yard, on the bare ground. Thinks it makes him hardcore or something. But you know all this. We haven't any secrets from you any more."<br/>
<br/>
"You mean because I <i>was</i> you for awhile this afternoon." He shrugs, but you shake your head. "It doesn't last very long after the mask comes off, and in your case there was a lot there, and I wasn't paying a lot of attention."<br/>
<br/>
"Ah. Well, what would you like to know? By the way, you can take Cindy off if it'll make you feel less, um, vulnerable. Don't let my priapic act fool you, I'm a gentleman of the old school, but gleams come naturally to my eye."<br/>
<br/>
"It's okay, I feel better like this." You draw your legs up close under your chin and hug yourself. "It sucks not having a normal body." Maybe Joe thinks you deserve your fate, but he's too courteous to even hint at it. "So, as long as you're sharing, how did you get in this line of work?"<br/>
<br/>
"Our dad found us when we were kids. Babies, practically. He's not really our father, you know, any more than we're brothers."<br/>
<br/>
"What happened to your parents? Are you orphans?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. I guess you could say he kidnapped us. But it was for the best."<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean? That sounds awful."<br/>
<br/>
"No, not getting kidnapped would have been awful. Okay, I don't know that for a fact. Maybe we'd have had a happy childhood, grown up to be fine young men. More likely we'd have gotten into trouble. Lots and lots of it."<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean?" He doesn't answer, and only gives you a peculiar look. "Okay, so after this dad fellow found you, what happened?"<br/>
<br/>
"He trained us, educated us, gave us jobs in his business, took us around the world a couple of times. We've gotten to know some really great people. One of them owns a little fish and chip shop in Southampton. One of them is now the Pope." His eyes gleam, but it's not lust. "I wish we'd gotten to know you a lot sooner. Dad really wants to meet you."<br/>
<br/>
"Why? I don't think I'm a ... a great person. I mean--" You stammer your way to silence.<br/>
<br/>
"Frank's not a great person either, but I'm really glad I got to know him."<br/>
<br/>
You hold each others' gaze, and you have the strong impression he's trying to impart something to you without actually saying it. "Why did your dad kidnap you?" you ask in a voice barely above a whisper. "I mean, you two. Was there something ... special about you?"<br/>
<br/>
"There's something special about everyone," he says. "Oh, I know. Some people say that if everyone is special then no one is, but that's a <i>non sequitur</i>."<br/>
<br/>
"What's that?"<br/>
<br/>
"A logical term meaning 'bullshit'. Think of a guy who can shoot laser beams from his eyes. Now think of a guy who can run really, really fast. Which one has special powers?"<br/>
<br/>
"They both do, I guess," you say. "They're just different."<br/>
<br/>
"Exactly. Superman and Flash both have superpowers. Now what about Batman?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, <i>he</i> doesn't."<br/>
<br/>
"Doesn't he?" Joe laughs. "A guy who can take down the Joker, the Riddler, Lex Luthor, the reanimated corpse of Jefferson Davis, Darkseid, most of the US military, and Superman himself, simultaneously, while hopped up on painkillers because every bone in his body has been broken-- This guy <i>doesn't</i> have superpowers?"<br/>
<br/>
"I know that's the joke, but-- He's just very good. That's his schtick."<br/>
<br/>
"That's his <i>superpower</i>," he corrects you. "That's what makes him special. His being very, very good at certain things. Now, what about a woman who can care for leprous children, drug addicts, starvelings, and mad men without losing her mind or her faith in God?"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe she's just crazy."<br/>
<br/>
He laughs. "Possibly. Maybe that's her method. But it makes her special. She couldn't take down the Joker, but I wonder if Bruce Wayne could do what she does. That's why it's bullshit to say that no one is special if everyone is. Because it just turns 'special' into a synonym for having a really narrow kind of superpower."<br/>
<br/>
"But you guys <i>do</i> have superpowers. Or something."<br/>
<br/>
He turns very grave. "We have something, but we'll talk about it later." He yawns. "My arm's starting to hurt, and that means it's time for bed."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Joe's conversation the next morning is light and inconsequential. "I never thought I'd say that I miss Frank's company," he says over breakfast. He thinks a moment. "And I think I <i>still</i> won't say it."<br/>
<br/>
"Part of me wishes he weren't lost under that thing," you grumble. "Maybe he'd be nicer if he saw what my life has been like."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, is that why you got so much into the <i>Libra?</i>" he laughs. "The grass being greener and all that. The adage would be truer if we said that the snow is always <i>yellower</i> on our side of the fence.<br/>
<br/>
"But you wanna know how the other half live, huh? We never finished our talk last night. How about you go to school for me today? I could use a long weekend."</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112221122111122121
author_id: seuzz
title: A Day as Joe Durras
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Black," you murmur. "Is that the kid in Cussler who's trying to rock the Bieber look?"<br/>
<br/>
Amy Rhodes giggles. "I like him <i>despite</i> that."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't dissemble. You like Bieber too. <i>Oh baby, baby,</i>" you croon in a raspy tenor.<br/>
<br/>
Groans rise from around the cafeteria table. "How do you do that?" Jenny Taylor asks. "You sound just like him, and stop it."<br/>
<br/>
"I wanna know since when you know words like 'dissemble'," Kyle Lakewood demands. <br/>
<br/>
"Frank's been tutoring me," you reply, and make a mental note to stick to a dumber vocabulary. It'll be hard: Joe's thoughts slide and sparkle like heady wine. <br/>
<br/>
"Where is your brother, anyway," Scott Bridges asks. "Sick?"<br/>
<br/>
"We got in a fight. I killed him and buried him in the garden. He was mouthing off about my grades."<br/>
<br/>
"You're a study in contrasts, that's for sure." Kyle shakes his head. "You know you're only passing that algebra class because I'm fixing your tests before giving them to Jones, don't you?" He looks around the table. "x squared plus 8x plus sixteen equals eighty-one. What is x?" He jerks his head at you. "This guy writes 'What fucking business is it of yours?'"<br/>
<br/>
You blink. "You changed it to--" You catch yourself. "The right answer?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I just erased 'fucking.' Jones knows you're an idiot, but he doesn't know you're imprudent." <i>Impudent,</i> you mutter under your breath. <i>Insolent, incorrigible, insouciant--</i> "What's that?" Kyle demands sharply. You flip him off.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't misunderestimate Joe," a friendly voice says behind you, and hands clap you on the shoulders. You look up to see Geoff Dunholm, debate team captain, smiling down at you. "He just overcompensates because he's got a brainiac brother."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I undercontemplate by beating his ass every night until he goes to sleep," you retort. You privately wince at the too-apt 'undercontemplate', but Dunholm seems not to have picked up on it.<br/>
<br/>
"You can certainly drill your way past him on the court," Scott says. "Even left-handed. He seems to be going backwards. He seems even worse than when he joined the team."<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. Frank underperforms at the athletics almost as extremely as Joe underperforms in his classwork. "Tell me more about this guy you've got a crush on,"  you ask Amy. "Does he know you're sweet on him?"<br/>
<br/>
She gets a sickly grin. "I don't think he's interested in me. I've tried, you know, signaling him--"<br/>
<br/>
"He must wear his bangs too long," you mutter. Amy is not the type to underplay.<br/>
<br/>
Geoff slides onto a seat next to you, and you lean back to take in the table. It's certainly a contrast with Westside, where the top jocks would never let a teacher's pet like Dunholm join them. But even though the "alpha" table is wherever Lakewood is sitting, he usually takes a different table each day. Today it's the turn of Amy and her friends to bask in the soccer captain's blue-eyed charisma. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But the entire day has been an eye-opener, from the moment you donned Joe's mask. Shawn Gregory had picked you up early for pre-class practice, but you'd spent the ride baffling him with empty chatter; and you'd spent most of practice on the bench because of the broken arm. That and the ridiculously easy remedial classes had given you lots of time to sort through Joe's mind. You'd needed time, for it has a hare-brained habit of bounding off in alarming directions unbidden, though never without profit. The horoscope you'd almost randomly drawn up for Adam Karter, for instance, had left you feeling very sober and privately determined to avoid his company.<br/>
<br/>
You find you can best concentrate by doodling, following what your hand draws and then studying its consequences. That is how Ursala Jensen, senior-class mystic, draws you into a brief conversation on astrology during a fifth-period library expedition when you should be working on social studies. "That's Mercury," she says, stabbing the paper from over your shoulder and picking out the symbol amidst the complicated swirls. "I didn't know you were into astrology," she glints as she sits next to you.<br/>
<br/>
"Eh, it's a pretty symbol I saw somewhere," you grunt, trying to sweep the paper away.<br/>
<br/>
"Do you think the stars rule our lives," she asks. "I do."<br/>
<br/>
"Stars don't give a fuck about us," you snap. "Well, most of us," you quietly admit, as truthfulness is a virtue that Joe turns into a vice at inopportune moments.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, some of us do have a special connection to them," she says. "I have a special connection to Uranus, the Magician."<br/>
<br/>
"Magic my ass," you mutter, unable to leave her unfortunate pronunciation alone. "And there's nothing special about the connection," you continue helplessly. "Some of us are just born trapped in a web we had nothing to do with."<br/>
<br/>
She nods vacuously. "If you're drawn to Mercury, you must have a special connection to him."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Viritrilbia, swift herald of Arbol, casting the light of his learning it into quicksilver words. Lord of language, its maker and unmaker.</i> "Did I say that out loud," you ask with a start.<br/>
<br/>
She just stares at you. "I think you look more like Apollo," she says breathlessly.<br/>
<br/>
A good enough segue. She squeals as you tweak her nipple, and eventually Cussler has to stomp over to break up the kissing party. Not that you'd really been paying much attention to her. You were too busy thinking about Joe's alarming horoscope and the eclipse it foretold. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Your phone rings just after the final bell sounds. "Having fun?" Joe cheerfully chirps. "Better be. I always do."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, pretty fuckin' sweet, man," you reply, though your sense of unease is actually magnified by the sound of his voice. "How was your day off? Get caught up on SpongeBob?" <i>Frank</i>, you mouth to Gregory, who's listening nearby. <br/>
<br/>
"Beh-heh-heh-heh," Joe laughs in a perfect imitation of the cheerful lagoonian. "Wrong brother. That's more Frank's speed."<br/>
<br/>
"Just what I was telling Gregory," you reply, which elicits more laughs.<br/>
<br/>
"Listen, seriously," he says. "Want some real fun? Skip practice and hit Blackwell's with Frank."<br/>
<br/>
"You want me going out to Fuckface's with you?" you ask in surprise.<br/>
<br/>
"Actually, I want you going out to Fuckface's <i>as</i> me," he says. "After you hook up with Frank, don't tell him who you really are."<br/>
<br/>
"No fucking way," you exclaim. "Why would you want me to do that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Answer the question yourself, asshole."<br/>
<br/>
You turn away from Gregory's quizzical expression to lean against the wall; crowds of students brush past. Frank mistrusts you, far more than he mistrusts most. But if you go to Blackwell's as Joe, help him, show him you're completely trustworthy even in situations where he doesn't know he has to trust you ... Joe would <i>love</i> to meet him back at the house afterward, sitting on the couch, grinning at the deception and what it proves ... That you ought to be taken in by the <i>Stellae,</i> to undertake training and discipline ...<br/>
<br/>
"If I fuck up and he figures it out, he'll kill me."<br/>
<br/>
"No shit," he chortles. "He'll knock you stone-cold dead, and that ain't an exaggeration. But how's he gonna figure it out?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, for starters," you say, leaping through the crowd and out a side door so no one can hear you. "These masks don't copy <i>anima</i>, so I can't pull off any of your tricks. What if he asks me to start interrogating Blackwell?"<br/>
<br/>
"If you can't talk your way out of a corner, you haven't got my head screwed on your shoulders right."<br/>
<br/>
You clutch your forehead. Something does not compute, and you actually stagger a little because it feels like small explosions are going off in your mind. This is exactly the kind of scheme Joe would propose ... But the vibrating cords in your mind carry a different message. Rather than sit out a strike, you feel sure, Joe would rather pre-empt Frank's raid with one of his own.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, either way, Frank's gonna have to learn how to trust you," Joe says in an insolent tone. "I'm downtown someplace, and it's a biggish downtown, so you're not going to find me. Either you go as me or I ain't goin'." The line goes dead.<br/>
<br/>
The pit in your stomach only grows deeper. Joe is proposing a terrific gamble--but, having his mind within your own, you doubt he's miscalculated either the risks or the reward. Balanced against that is the dreadful feeling that there is something else going on, something that you're missing. You'd feel better, probably, if you called Frank. Now.</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111122211221111221211
author_id: seuzz
title: The Disappearance of Joe Durras
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You quickly dial your old cell phone. "Yo, Prescott," you say, hoping he can recognize the voice of his master over the phone. "I need you to come meet me over at Eastman. Look out front for Joe Durras." He says nothing. You frown. <br/>
<br/>
And then it hits you: You're so used to thinking of "Will Prescott" as your own alter ego that you'd forgotten your double is under Blackwell's control. It doesn't have to obey you, even if it knows who you are. With a sinking feeling, you wonder if it has been feeding Blackwell information behind your back.<br/>
<br/>
"Dude, come on, we've been hanging out together," you tell it in an inviting tone. "Don't tell me you wanna stay over at Westside all afternoon."<br/>
<br/>
Whatever is going on, <i>that</i> changes its mind, and it agrees to come find you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Fifteen minutes later your truck pulls up in front of the high school. You direct Prescott into a parking spot and then lead him inside and into a bathroom, where you lock yourselves into a stall. You pull Joe's face off your own, then pull Prescott's face off Frank and shake him into consciousness. He gives you a queer look as you press Joe's mask into his hands. "Just put it on," you tell him. "I'll wait for you outside."<br/>
<br/>
He stays in the stall for a good long time, even after you've heard him revive: Obviously, he's catching up on the day's events. They seem not to sit well with him, for it's a pale-faced Joe Durras, his muscled frame straining against one of your own t-shirts, who joins you. "All caught up?" you ask. <br/>
<br/>
But he just stares past you into a mirror, his face tight. Finally, he relaxes and holds out his bad arm. "Help me get the cast on," he says quietly. "I'm gonna need to be Joe for a little while."<br/>
<br/>
"Something doesn't add up, am I right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fucker," he snarls, and you jump; then you realize he's talking about his brother. "Pissant's always been jealous because I'm the stronger one, the senior one. Always trying to show me up, always trying to hold me down, put me down as the dumb one who needs guiding. Fuck! It's so totally him!"<br/>
<br/>
"I really don't think he's--" you start in alarm.<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe you were inside him, but that doesn't mean you know him," he snaps. "He doesn't know himself. Oh, he's book smart and brain smart, whip-smart, tack-sharp. But he's never seen himself from the outside." He draws a ragged breath. "He went out to Blackwell's early. I'd stake anything on it."<br/>
<br/>
"That's what I was thinking," you admit as you finish tying the soft cast down. "But then why ask us go out there without telling us? And why ask me to pretend to be him?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. And <i>I</i> was supposed to go out there wearing this mask of his. What were you supposed to say when I asked for it?" You have no answer. "Yeah, that idea of his makes no sense." He shakes his head. "Joe woulda seen the problem."<br/>
<br/>
"You're thinking it wasn't really Joe who called me," you numbly say. "His horoscope--"<br/>
<br/>
"Horoscopes are only probability functions," he snaps. "On a celestial scale individuals are just a Schroedinger phenomenon." He blinks. "Never really understood 'em until just now," he mutters. "Anyway, nothing is certain. Not yet." <br/>
<br/>
He abruptly exits the restroom. You follow.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's a quiet drive out to Blackwell's. "No car," you note after you've arrived. "Either Blackwell's not here, or he's hidden it."<br/>
<br/>
The Joe-clad Frank glances at the cell phone. "Joe called from a blocked number," he growls. "If this is all on the up and up, I'm going to kill him when this is over. Okay, here's the deal. The whole point was to get in without raising a ruckus, and I can't do that without the owner <i>inviting</i> me in. There are protective spells wound all around that place."<br/>
<br/>
"So you can't get in?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I can get in. There just won't be much of a house left to get <i>into.</i> And if Joe <i>is</i> in there ..."<br/>
<br/>
"You want me going in?"<br/>
<br/>
He thinks for a moment. "No," he says. "I'm just going to have to take the place apart brick by brick. If this is all innocent, and Joe is in there, he'll read the signals and come out." He takes a deep breath. "Come on," he says, opening the truck door. "Stay behind me, and keep alert."<br/>
<br/>
The afternoon sun shines brightly behind you as you approach the house, so that the villa gleams with an almost otherworldly vividness as you approach, feet crunching on the gravel walk. Halfway to the door, Frank stops and pushes you behind him. He looks over the front of the house, at its door and lower windows and upper windows. He takes a few strides in either direction off the path, peering around its corners. Seemingly satisfied, he plants his feet firmly again on the path and presses his palms together. His shoulders hunch, and the muscles in his back begin to strain.<br/>
<br/>
A hush settles over the scene, and your head begins to ache. You work your jaw and feel your ears pop. Frank murmurs in a low tone, but his words fade; you pop your ears again, and his voice returns. You take a step back: it feels as though something is pushing at you.<br/>
<br/>
A sharp crack rings through the muffled air, and you look up to see an upper-story window crack and slip its frame in several large pieces. Another crack, and another bedroom window shatters; curtains billow outward, catching on the ruined frame. You hear more windows crack, and shingles start to slide off the roof. Frank bows his head, and something groans distantly. There is a rumbling crash.<br/>
<br/>
Frank relaxes. "Alright, that's the best I can do without really turning loose," he says. "Joe!" he shouts. "If you can hear me you better come out! You don't want me coming in!"<br/>
<br/>
A wind briefly springs up and skitters around the yard, then is still. There are no sounds. Frank waits, and waits. There is no sign from the house.<br/>
<br/>
Frank sweeps his hand in front of him, and white powder explodes from above the first floor, raining down as a fine ash. A shadow darts along the outer wall and settles over the front door, then vanishes. "You probably can't see it," Frank mutters over his shoulder, "but that <i>thing</i> Blackwell has guarding the house is sitting up there, watching us." He thrusts his open palm at the house, and there's a horrible clattering and scraping, as of hundreds of claws scrambling over woodwork. Frank presses you back with his broken arm and begins walking backwards in an arc, staring at an unseen thing on the ground. He raises his open palm over his head and continues circling. The ground rustles and little clouds of dust spring into the air. <br/>
<br/>
Frank closes his fist. The ground snaps, like the surface of timpani when struck with a hammer, nearly knocking you off your feet. The ground indents in a great circle, as though a vast, invisible millstone has dropped onto it. <br/>
<br/>
"Joe!" Frank calls again. "Second notice, buddy! If I have to give you a third one, your ass is grass!"<br/>
<br/>
Again, silence.<br/>
<br/>
Frank curses and turns again toward the front door. Now he holds out both his hands; his knuckles work as he slowly draws them apart. The house screams as wood and stone grind and part. The door explodes off its hinges, flying outward to land at Frank's feet. With a great roar most of the roof disappears. Clouds of dust fly outward. <br/>
<br/>
"Well, that's that," Frank sighs. "Let's check it out. Mind the nails and broken glass. That's the worst we'll find. I hope." He trudges up to the ruined villa.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It takes nearly an hour to pick through the wreckage. Most of the second floor has pancaked into the ground floor. The library with its high roof ought to have survived best, but a terrible smell, like a charnel house, pours from it, and Frank blocks you from exploring it. You look through what you can find of the bedrooms, but there's nothing but scattered, broken furniture. There is no sign of Joe.<br/>
<br/>
There are no calls or messages from him, either. Blackwell never shows up, though you linger near the house past nightfall. Finally, you return home. Joe isn't there, either.<br/>
<br/>
"Frank," you tell him as he quietly fries some eggs in the dark kitchen. "I'm so sorry. I fucked up."<br/>
<br/>
"No, you didn't," he says. "Joe did. You did the best anyone could have under the circumstances." He smiles crookedly. "Joe was right. You've got good instincts."<br/>
<br/>
"What are we going to do? He has Joe and the <i>Libra.</i> He can use Lucy to get more people."<br/>
<br/>
"What's this 'we' business?" he smiles. "Are you one of the <i>Stellae</i> all of a sudden?" His tone is challenging, but there is a querying note within it.<br/>
<br/>
You raise your chin. "I'd like to be. I liked Joe, and now I think I hate Blackwell more than anything."<br/>
<br/>
"He's not worth it," Frank smiles. "But you'd have to talk to our dad before I could let you help." He puts his hand on your shoulder. "You can sit this fight out. Afterwards, we can talk."<br/>
<br/>
It doesn't sound like an order. Only an offer.</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111122211221111221212
author_id: seuzz
title: The Battle at Blackwell's
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You stare at the phone, uncomprehending. Something must have come up; something that would explain this very queer idea of his. But you trust Joe, because he trusts you.<br/>
<br/>
You call your alter ego at Westside. "Dude, come pick me up over at Eastman," you tell him. "You know, Joe Durras." You wonder if he'll know it is his master calling and obey; but whether or not he recognizes it is you speaking with Joe's voice, he agrees. Maybe he just wants to get away from school quickly.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
From Eastman you have him drive you directly over to Blackwell's, and you wait until you've arrived before pulling the mask from him. You grin at Frank lazily as he comes around with a blink. "Welcome to the end game," you say. "Ready to finally put this caper to bed?"<br/>
<br/>
He looks around. "We're not wasting time, are we?" he grumbles. "Okay, where's that mask of you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Back at the house. It'd look queer if two Joe Durrases showed up, wouldn't it?"<br/>
<br/>
"You weren't supposed to show up at all," he snaps.  <br/>
<br/>
"My face gets us in. I still think that's the best play."<br/>
<br/>
He glowers. "You never miss a trick, do you? If this winds up being your funeral--"<br/>
<br/>
"If it winds up being my funeral it'll be your fault," you retort. "Anyway, just wait here. When he answers the door, I'll ask him to let you in."<br/>
<br/>
"What if he says no?"<br/>
<br/>
"Frank," you say in a pitying tone. "Remember who you're talking to. That's the other reason it should be me ringing the doorbell. If something queer is going on, I can talk around it. You'd have to punch it."<br/>
<br/>
"There <i>is</i> something really fucking queer going on," he says unhappily. "But alright."<br/>
<br/>
You hop from the truck and saunter in easily through the front gate. But your steps slow as you approach the front door. The simplest thing would be to knock on the front door, but you decide to try the library entrance instead. Blackwell, if he is home, is likely there, and something tells you it would be better to make a side entrance. You pause and frown at the unexpected thought. It must be Joe's mind working inside your own; some subconscious prompting that would tell him it's a bad idea for a member of the <i>Stellae</i> to try going in through the main gate.<br/>
<br/>
You make a wide berth around the house to the side patio and up to the French windows. You peer in. The library is empty, and you rattle the latch. The door swings open. You take a step back, but nothing happens. Gingerly, you step inside.<br/>
<br/>
The air is still and the clocks tick in their unseemly lack of unison. A number of books lie stacked up on the tables, and the door to the hidden room is open. You peer down into it and call Blackwell's name, but there is no answer. A movement catches your eye: the vampire-cyclops monkey. Seeing it with Joe's eyes, you recognize it for what it is, and suppress a shudder.<br/>
<br/>
"Joe!" a muffled voice calls from outside. You step quickly into the foyer and open the front door. Frank stands just off the porch. He nods at you. "Can I come in?"<br/>
<br/>
"As far as I'm concerned," you say. "We seem to have the place to ourselves."<br/>
<br/>
He smiles in a way you don't like and approaches; without knowing why you step away from him, and are quickly in full retreat back to the library. He follows, deliberately. "What's wrong?" he asks, the queer smile still playing on his face.<br/>
<br/>
"This place gives me the creeps," you say. "You know that."<br/>
<br/>
"And yet you look right at home in it," he says. "Where's Blackwell?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not here. And what's with that crack about--"<br/>
<br/>
Almost too late you see him raise his fist, and leap out of the way. The desk you are standing next to collapses, its legs exploding outward from under it. You wheel, and something with the power of a battering ram catches you full in the chest, throwing you back hard and pinning you against a bookshelf. "Where's Blackwell," Frank roars.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," you gasp. "What's the matter, you motherfucking--"<br/>
<br/>
All goes dark as a thing like a black mailed fist closes around your face; iron nails sink into your flesh. "I know how to take that mask off you, Prescott," Frank says, his voice trembling with fury, "but I think instead I'll just rip your God-damned head from your shoulders." You try to scream, and your teeth ache as though you are biting on metal.<br/>
<br/>
Then you fall, hands and knees to the floor, choking and coughing. You look up to see Frank pressed back against one of the arches, his lips peeled back and his eyes--their whites gleaming--roving desperately about the room. He swings a fist at the air and then staggers. Red gashes like claw marks tear across his cheek. A chattering as of hundreds of bats rises through the room.<br/>
<br/>
It's the gwarcheidwad. Your vision clears and you see the shadow of its arms splaying across the ceiling. Things like diamonds glitter briefly in the air. Frank swings again; the shadow scatters, and Frank's feet are yanked from beneath him.<br/>
<br/>
Your heart falls into your stomach. You've none of Joe's powers, which anyway are not well-suited for battling a creature such as this. But you have to try. You scramble over to the niche that holds the beast's phylactery. It seems to twist in your hands as you lay hold of it.<br/>
<br/>
The room goes dark and the air turns greasy. Red and black clouds swirl and fold before you. It's a maw, a cavernous maw filled to infinity with glittering teeth. They roll and twist and with a terrible chittering sound close about you. Something very hard hits your head, and you know no more ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wake with a shudder and a scream. Something wet and cold clings to your face. You tear at it, and are suddenly blinking in dim light. A very pale Frank smiles grimly down at you; white scars stand out on his cheek. You stare at each other a moment, and then he slaps you--harder than anyone has ever smacked you before. "That's for being a fool," he says. He hits you again, even harder. "That's for being a damned fool. And this--" He grips your hand and pulls you to your feet, and gives you a tight, manly hug. "This is for being a real mensch when it counted."<br/>
<br/>
He releases you, and you blink. You're in Blackwell's library, and it's a mess, with overturned bookcases and smashed furniture. You drop the cold washcloth you've been gripping and look fearfully at Frank. "What happened?"<br/>
<br/>
"You distracted the guardian long enough that I could deal with it," he says. "I'd've taken it out eventually, but your really boneheaded play--only a fucking moron would grab it like that--gave me an immediate opening. You knew what you were doing, didn't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but I had to do something." You swallow, and your knees nearly give way. The nearness of your escape--really, you should be someplace very bad by now--hits you. You fall against a wall and vomit.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that's the reason we're talking now," he says. "If you hadn't tried sacrificing yourself like that, well--" He sniffs and gives you a meaningful look.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, I really am on your team, you know," you gasp, wiping your chin. "It was Joe's idea that I pretend to be you, to come out here like this. I mean, I'm not trying to put the blame on him, but--" You tell him about Joe's phone call to you the school.<br/>
<br/>
He listens calmly, and then floors you with what he says next. "He called me after you came in here," he says. "He told me you snuck out of the house with his mask when his back was turned. Told me you must be here plotting with Blackwell, and that I needed to get in here and take you out."<br/>
<br/>
You gape. "The fuck? He told you--? He knew what you'd do to me. He said so himself when he called."<br/>
<br/>
"And I nearly did," Frank says. "You're alive now only because that <i>thing</i> flew at me. Those protective spells were still in place." He pauses. "And you wouldn't have grabbed its phylactery if you <i>weren't</i> really on our side."<br/>
<br/>
Your mind reels. "You're saying Joe <i>wanted</i> you to kill me?" <br/>
<br/>
"No," he says. "Blackwell did. That wasn't Joe who called you this afternoon, or called me a little while ago. You've been out cold for about an hour, which gave me a lot of time to think.<br/>
<br/>
"Joe came out here earlier, intending to grab Blackwell and save me the trouble. That's why he sent you to school. But Blackwell caught him. For some reason he decided he couldn't deal with both of us. This was his attempt to get rid of you. Or me, or both of us. A neat play, but then he had Joe's brain to help him."<br/>
<br/>
You sink into a broken chair. "What are we going to do?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," he says. Then he grips the side of your face tenderly, and you look up in surprise at him. "I need my brother," he says softly. "I need his advice. I need you to be Joe for me. At least for a little while."<br/>
<br/>
You swallow. <br/>
<br/>
It's a terrible position you are both in: Joe Durras a hostage or worse; Blackwell armed with his knowledge and smarts; the magician probably hiding out someplace with the <i>Libra</i> and other nasty things. Best play is probably to return to Dad and get his guidance.<br/>
<br/>
And yet ... Maybe it is the sun half-gleaming over the horizon through the shattered windows, and the light of the small, swift planet just above its golden limb, that gives you hope. You have Blackwell's house and his mostly undamaged collection of books. Perhaps you have the resources here to strike at him still.</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112221122111122122
author_id: seuzz
title: Busting Blackwell's
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You demur. "Well, if I wind up flunking my classes," he joshes, "I'm telling our dad it's your fault." He flops onto the couch, clearly with no intention of going anywhere.<br/>
<br/>
"Why can't you go yourself," you retort. "Or don't you care about your education?"<br/>
<br/>
He gets a puckish look. "I learned it all by the time I was twelve," he says. "Trig, calculus, history, chemistry, seven languages, including one I invented, and in which I have written a bawdy but morally elevating novel. Cultural anthropology, Thomist metaphysics, alchemical logic, astrological mechanics. Harmony and counterpoint, both musical and celestial-- Well, you would know all this, if you had half a memory, having been inside my head, and now it just sounds like I'm boasting."<br/>
<br/>
"Is Frank the same way?"<br/>
<br/>
His laugh is a bark. "Frank doesn't know the War of 1812 from the 1812 Overture, and the sum of seven figures is to him an impenetrable mystery. I exaggerate, of course, but he doesn't have to <i>pretend</i> like he's learning anything at Eastman. Hence, his reputation as a scholar, and prognostications that he will be our valedictorian." He turns on side and rests his foot on the wall. "Me? I goof off and try not to get better than a C on any bullshit homework I don't forget to do."<br/>
<br/>
You pass the morning playing various board games. You don't know what is worse, that he beats you handily every time and at every game, or that he does so even though he seems to be <i>trying</i> to lose.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Well, I hope <i>you</i> had fun today," Will Prescott whines as he stands in the middle of Joe's bedroom.<br/>
<br/>
"Just shut up and let me get this thing off you." It must have been a bad day at school, because he's been so gloomy you actually can't wait to get Frank back. You rip the mask off, and an unconscious Frank Durras topples backwards onto the bed.<br/>
<br/>
"Better change out of Cindy," Joe tells you after you're back in the living room. "You can't go busting into the bad guy's lair looking like that. I don't care how many times Keira Knightley does it in the movies."<br/>
<br/>
<i>They don't bust in looking like me, either,</i> you wanly reflect as you disrobe. Joe's already dressed out in flannel shorts and a tanktop, and the contrast between his powerful, rounded muscles and your own natural, stick-like ones will be embarrassing. "Who are you calling?" you ask him.<br/>
<br/>
"A cab for Frank." He pauses to eye you after you've got the bra off. You cock an eyebrow, and he shakes himself. "Yeah. You and me'll use your truck to follow him out to Blackwell's." He speaks into the phone.<br/>
<br/>
"Call me a cab, Joe," a voice calls behind you, and a second Joe Durras strides into the room. He tosses the Prescott mask at you and drops your old clothes at your feet.<br/>
<br/>
"You're a cabjoe, whatever that is," the real Joe retorts. "Taxi's on its way. We'll follow in the truck." <br/>
<br/>
"I like the way we think," the second Joe says. "Park at that side street about a mile away from Blackwell's. You know, the one with the house on the corner with the mailbox painted like a Dalmatian." Joe nods. "I'll call when I've got him secure."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't waste time questioning him," Joe says. "Leave that to me."<br/>
<br/>
"I got my own interrogation methods," the other Joe says.<br/>
<br/>
"They'll bring the house down if you use them. Just let me get him to start talking. We won't be able to shut him up."<br/>
<br/>
Frank replies in a language you don't understand, and the two jabber away at each other, ignoring you, until the cab arrives. As he goes out the door, Frank turns. "By the way, it's a Cajun casserole, made with corn and spices," he shouts back. "Lots and lots of corn."<br/>
<br/>
"What is?" Joe asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Cabjoe." He grins and jumps into the taxi.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Joe insisted on driving, and he drums the fingers of his good arm nervously on the wheel as you sit at the waiting spot. It's been nearly twenty minutes since the cab carrying Frank flashed past. (Like a maniac, Joe had driven fast through short cuts and had beaten the cabbie by a good two minutes.) Every few minutes he checks his phone to make sure it is still turned on.<br/>
<br/>
"You don't suppose--" you finally, nervously, say; and swallow.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know what I suppose," he says grimly. The lowering sun glints off his golden hair and puts a mad gleam in his eye. "Frank wouldn't let himself get caught. He's probably just being a fucking hero and trying to do it all himself." The phone finally chirps. "Yeah?" he shouts into it. "Took you fucking long enough. Was he taking a bath?" He listens and his face tightens. "Shoulda called, Frank. That's what backup is for. Yeah? Fuck you, I'm telling Dad." He hurls the phone at the floorboard, grinds the engine on, and sends the truck lurching into first gear.<br/>
<br/>
"What happened?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"He said there were two Blackwells out there. Had to take care of both of them, and then he did a sweep of the house. Asshole!" He snorts. "Said he didn't think to call because he was using my brain at the time." The truck hits a pothole and leaps into the air. "He <i>wasn't</i> using my brain is the problem."<br/>
<br/>
It's only a minute later that you spin out to a stop in front of the villa. Joe looks at it feverishly. "You're scared, aren't you," you ask in a small voice.<br/>
<br/>
He jerks a little at your words, and forces a tight smile. "I need your help, but I don't want you being a hero," he says. "Just a distraction."<br/>
<br/>
"I'd be a better distraction if I were still dressed as Cindy," you joke. You can tell he's scared because he doesn't even crack a smile. <br/>
<br/>
Instead he directs you to go around the house to the library entrance. "I'll take the front door. When you hear me shout, go in screaming like a banshee. You might see a flash of light. If you do, ignore it and just keep screaming. Think you can do that?"<br/>
<br/>
"I might not be able to stop," you admit. That does get a grin from him, and he gives you a reassuring slap on the cheek.<br/>
<br/>
The villa's walls seem to lean over you as you sidle around the corner, and you have the mad sensation that the windows are eyes glaring down at you. The rough bricks of the patio outside the library trip you and send you lurching into a rusted cast-iron lawn chair. You catch your breath and try to steady yourself, then creep up next to the French window, away from the blinds. You wonder if you'll be able to hear Joe's voice over the hammering in your ears.<br/>
<br/>
His shout is dim when it comes, but it's unmistakably him. Putting on your manliest "action hero" grimace, you swing around and kick in the French door. Too bad you miss the frame, and your leg goes through the glass. Frantically you try to disentangle yourself while fumbling at the latch. While so engaged the door wrenches open, shredding your calf and sending searing pains up your leg. Joe, his eyes bright with excitement, stares into your face, and he slaps you on the forehead. Something hot and sharp drives itself into your mind, erasing everything except an awareness of hot, magma-like pain.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Welcome back, Will," a familiar voice says, and the drilling pain vanishes. You fall to your knees and press a hand tenderly to your forehead. You expect to find a gaping wound, but it feels smooth and unbroken. But there is still a ring of fire, and your vision reels as you raise your head. A strong hand lifts you up, and you look into Joe Durras's smiling face. He guides you to a chair and sets you down.<br/>
<br/>
You look around: You are in Blackwell's library, and it is flooded with the golden light of the late afternoon. The clocks tick and the books moulder ... and in the middle of the room Blackwell lays face down on the floor with his hands and legs bound behind him. Frank stands next to him with a foot planted squarely on his back.<br/>
<br/>
Joe peers at you closely. "No permanent harm done, probably," he says. "We had to squeeze Blackwell hard before he'd tell us how to get you out of it. How many fingers am I holding up?"<br/>
<br/>
"One," you croak. "And if I was feeling stronger I'd break off that middle finger you're flashing and shove it up your ass. What happened?"<br/>
<br/>
Joe laughs. "You walked into a booby trap. Not to make you feel expendable, but I'm glad I took the front door, or it would have hit me. I bet you're more resilient."<br/>
<br/>
"I thought--" You frown, and shake your head to clear it. "I dunno. Must've been a hallucination. What now?"<br/>
<br/>
"The girls are dead," Frank says grimly. "That's something else we squeezed out of him."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck. So what are you going to do with him?"<br/>
<br/>
Joe cocks an amused eyebrow. "I told you earlier that I trusted your instincts. What do you think we should do with him? Frank wants to squash him, now. Me, I say he deserves a trial first. Even mass murderers get due process."</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111122211221111222
author_id: seuzz
title: Larceny and Other Larks
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>Who is Joe?</i> "Just a guy I know," you reply, thinking so fast you barely have time to come up with successive sentences. "I was thinking about getting him a job out here." Lucy's eyebrows shoot up. "Like, yard work," you hurriedly add. "We were talking about after school jobs, and I mentioned I had one with you, and he asked about it, and, you know, one thing led to another, and I wound up saying there might be a job here for him cleaning up the yard and stuff. He's funny to talk to, you wind up just blurting things out around him."<br/>
<br/>
Which, now that you think about it, is actually kind of true. You certainly didn't mean to go into so much detail about how the house was laid out.<br/>
<br/>
But it's clear that Lucy isn't amused, and you raise your hands as she opens her mouth. <br/>
<br/>
"Look, I knew it was a bad idea to come out here," you say, "but I didn't think anyone would be here, so, I thought, no harm no foul if I brought him out here. We'd just turn around and leave. It seemed like the best way to get out of that conversation."<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes spark with anger. "You need to learn to say 'No,' Will."<br/>
<br/>
"Fine. I'll just go tell him there's no job here for him, and we'll be out," you stammer.<br/>
<br/>
"Do that. And next time, call ahead. If you don't know how to head off unwanted visitors, I do."<br/>
<br/>
You nod and hurry into the living room. Joe looks over at you with a puckish expression. "Thought you were getting drinks," he says. "Or is Cindy's sister being a doll?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, we're really not welcome at the moment," you reply, ignoring his impudent surmise. "We're gonna have to split."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure thing," he says. "Just lemme use the head. You can wait for me in the library. Eyes wide while you're in there." <br/>
<br/>
Lucy is standing near the library entrance with her arms folded. "He's using the bathroom," you tell her, and sidle past her freezing stare. Inside the library you wander around, glancing with pretended indifference at the books that are laying out; but it's hard to spy with both Lucy and the vampire-cyclops monkey staring at you, and the clocks play utter havoc with your concentration. Long minutes pass, and finally you can't take it any longer. You rush out and down to the closed bathroom door, which you rap on sharply. "Come on, dude, hurry it up."<br/>
<br/>
"Sweet spirit of Beelzebub, I'm taking a shit," Joe's muffled voice comes back. "And it's a hard and sticky one, and there's more of it than a human bowel should--"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, wrap it up and take it home with you. I'm dying out here."<br/>
<br/>
"Uuunnngghhhkkk," he moans back. "You ever eaten at Ben's BBQ? They call it the 'stick to your ribs' platter, but it's stuck lower down in my case."<br/>
<br/>
Back with Lucy you can only shrug your shoulders helplessly. "Get Shabbleman taken care of?" you ask in desperation.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes. And I'll have something interesting to show you tomorrow," she adds in a low murmur. "I've been doing some research, and I have some ideas about your ... condition."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
She looks over her shoulder down the hallway, then pulls you into the library. "I need to collect Cindy tonight and take another look at that mask," she says. "The original of the fellow you're currently wearing. Is he under her face?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I've got him pretending to be me. Prescott, I mean."<br/>
<br/>
"So who is under her mask?"<br/>
<br/>
You stare. "Uh ..."<i>No one, of course. You haven't enough golems or victims to go around.</i> "I've kind of lost track," you extemporize.<br/>
<br/>
She makes a choking noise. "I'll say this for Mr. Shabbleman," she growls, "he wasn't nearly the screw up you are."<br/>
<br/>
"No, he just got caught by the screw up I am," you retort. You are so frightened you feel stung into anger. "Look, let me go pick her up after I leave here. I'll bring her back and that will save you a trip anyway."<br/>
<br/>
You're saved from further embarrassment by the sound of the front door opening and slamming. Joe appears in the entryway, blinking in consternation. "Dude, I've been waiting at the car forever. Are you done yet?"<br/>
<br/>
Lucy's head swings between you and him. You gape. "Yeah, I didn't know-- Okay, I guess we're out of here." You hop past Lucy, grateful for the unexpected rescue, and scamper out of the house with Joe trailing in your wake.<br/>
<br/>
His laugh is like the hiss of a kettle as you jump into the car. "What the fuck?" you exclaim. "I thought you were taking a shit!"<br/>
<br/>
"Nah, I was snooping around, went upstairs and found that work room you were telling me about."<br/>
<br/>
"But I talked to you through the door!"<br/>
<br/>
"I threw my voice. Ain'tcha ever heard of ventriloquism?" He drums his palms on the roof of the car and laughs. "Then I hopped out the window, shimmied down the wall, made a quick stop here, and found you."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, thank God. That was a cock up all the way around. And I'll never get you back in now."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't have to." He reaches into the back seat and pulls out a package wrapped in a towel. He uncovers it and holds it next to his face. <br/>
<br/>
It's the <i>Libra.</i> "Score!" he gloats.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Frank is waiting back at the house he shares with Joe, but to your surprise he's not alone: your own alter ego is with him. "What's he here for?" you bluntly ask.<br/>
<br/>
"We start putting things aright now. Excellent work, Joe," he smiles at his brother, who is brandishing the book. "I'd have hated to break your other arm."<br/>
<br/>
Joe laughs, and to your astonishment starts unwinding the bandage from arm. "So you'd misunderestimate me," he smirks after he's got it off and is flexing his hand and forearm.<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean, 'start putting things aright'?" you demand.<br/>
<br/>
"We free the real Justin Roth," Frank says. "Joe will take him into town to let him out, soothe him with a few words. You'll return to your previous life as Will Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
"Blackwell expects me to be Justin! And anyway I thought--"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you still working for Blackwell?" Frank looks very amused. "Doesn't today's adventure mean you've resigned your position?"<br/>
<br/>
"I can't just quit!" you protest. "And I can't hide from him, especially as <i>him!</i>" You point to Prescott.<br/>
<br/>
"Sucks to be you, then," Frank laughs.<br/>
<br/>
Then his smile drains away. In your shock, it takes you a moment to notice, but he is staring over your shoulder. You glance back, to find Joe regarding his brother with an uncharacteristically sober expression.<br/>
<br/>
Your attention returns to Frank at the sound of his sigh. "I suppose that would be too cruel," he says. "We did offer you a partnership, didn't we?"<br/>
<br/>
"Damn straight," you exclaim. And yet fear rises through your anger to choke you. They have the book now, and after the demonstration of their power over the last few days, you know you can't possibly fight them. You will have to take whatever they offer.<br/>
<br/>
Frank crosses the room to perch on the arm of a sofa. "And what would you do if we threw you into the cold?" he asks, twining his fingers and staring into the palms of his hands.<br/>
<br/>
"Crawl back to Blackwell," you admit. "Beg his forgiveness. Work hard to bring you fuckers down."<br/>
<br/>
Frank laughs softly. "And even if you did--which you couldn't--he'd double-cross you at the end. Men like him are practical until they don't need to be practical anymore. And then they are just vicious."<br/>
<br/>
"And how does that make him different from you?"<br/>
<br/>
You expect a sneer, but he actually winces. "Men, boys, even little girls have sinned less egregiously than you, and have suffered worse fates," he says. "But I can give you something they never had--a chance at redemption." He fixes you with a hard gaze.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll give you a choice," he says. "It'll sound very simple, but the real choices will come after you've chosen. Joe has to leave town with the book, has to take it to our father. You can go with him. I don't know what Dad will say or do with you, but Joe likes you, I can tell, and he can be very persuasive when he has a mind to be. You'll never have a better advocate."<br/>
<br/>
That sounds very strange--even sinister. "And the other choice?"<br/>
<br/>
"Stay here with me. We still have to rescue Cindy, and you can help me. I'm a hard-ass, and I won't be nice to you. But you will be able to prove yourself a lot more quickly, and that will stand you in good stead when it comes time to meet our dad."<br/>
<br/>
You resent the feeling of being trapped, but there's good reason for feeling this way. It's because they <i>have</i> got you trapped. You don't understand Frank's folderol about "choices," or why this father of theirs is so important, but you'll just have to worry about it later.</span></div></div>


path: 11221111111222112211112221
author_id: seuzz
title: The Metaphysics of Magic, Part 2
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Joe punches you lightly in the shoulder after you've stated your choice, then turns to Frank, and they chatter in a language you do not recognize, let alone speak. Their obvious distrust of you leaves you bridling. Maybe Joe senses this, for he winks when he's finished and takes your arm in his. "We gotta go pick up a rental car," he says. "Can you drive?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, but--" Well, maybe it's not a good idea to press for answers just yet. <br/>
<br/>
But Joe seems eager to talk, and he anticipates most everything you'd want to ask. "It's just me and Frank at the house, you know," he says when you and he are back in Justin's car. "Dad lives way off--we'll be on the road tonight and most of tomorrow, in fact--so we'd need to rent a car even if that Shabbleman fucker hadn't driven off with our truck." He shakes his head. "Dad's really gonna flip about that."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't live with your parents? That's kinda weird, isn't it?"<br/>
<br/>
"What are you, judging us?" He laughs. "Well, it's time to start coming clean I guess. Frank and me grew up together, and Dad really is a father figure. But we're not related, not biologically. We call each other family, and I guess we think of each other that way. It's kind of a family business, I guess. Though 'secret society' would be closer to the truth."<br/>
<br/>
You can't help shivering. <i>A secret society of people with magic powers?</i><br/>
<br/>
Joe laughs, but not in a mean way. "Yeah, you're wondering if it was really such a good idea, throwing in your lot with us."<br/>
<br/>
"Can you convince me I shouldn't?"<br/>
<br/>
"it's a bad idea setting me challenges like that." He turns sly. "I could talk you into believing you were an hibiscus plant named Harold if you gave me enough time. But for right now I'll just say that--"<br/>
<br/>
He drums the wheel with the flat of his unencumbered arm.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, first of all, you needed to get away from Blackwell. Even if the guy wasn't bad news, which he is, he's just using you for his own purposes. Magicians are like cats, and they don't get along well with each other. He'd get what he wanted from you and then--" He mimes capping you in the head. "But my people, we're family, and we look out for each other."<br/>
<br/>
"And what do you want with me? It seemed like you were just interested in the book--"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, we don't want the <i>Libra</i> for ourselves," Joe says. "We just don't want anyone <i>else</i> to have it. You know at the end of the first Indiana Jones movie, with the Ark and the warehouse? We got a place like that."<br/>
<br/>
You cast him a sidelong look of incredulity. "Yeah? And me? The way Frank talks, it sounds like he's got a box fitted for me too."<br/>
<br/>
"Frank's always talking like he wants to put people in a coffin. That's just his-- Well, for right now, let's just call it a mannerism. I'll tell you more about him when it's time to tell you about Dad."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Your arrival at the rental agency interrupts the conversation, and it doesn't resume for awhile. You and Joe are both underage and shouldn't be able to rent a car, but Joe falls into a happy conversation with the manager, and after ten minutes the two are best friends; and after another five Joe's signature is on several pieces of paper and an order has gone out back to bring around a car. He seems preoccupied when he returns to where you are sitting and waiting, and he paces the floor, flexing the fingers of his healthy arm and looking everyplace but you. "We were talking about your dad," you interrupt him, and you feel very brave for doing so.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I was just trying to figure out the best starting place," he says. Twiddle twiddle. He cocks his head at you. "How much did Blackwell explain to you about magic?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not a lot," you admit, and stumble through a half-assed recollection of his inaugural lecture, about how to ask the right questions and craft connections between beginning states and ending states.<br/>
<br/>
Joe snorts. "Yeah, that sounds like the kind of thing someone like him would say. He's an old duffer, knows only potions and hexes and sigils and shit like that. Everything he knows he gets out of a book."<br/>
<br/>
"You mean that's not real magic?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, it's real magic alright. That's the problem."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't understand."<br/>
<br/>
He regards you closely, then sits next to you. "The first thing to understand," he says in a low voice, "is that there's no clear distinction between science and magic. I don't mean they're two names for the same thing--though, in a sense, that's exactly what they are. But you shouldn't think of physics as the kind of thing you do with an electron microscope and magic as the kind of thing you do with a wand. They're actually different ways of apprehending and modifying the world."<br/>
<br/>
You just blink, both because you don't understand what he means, and because he's surprised you by being so open. He sighs.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, suppose I show you a collection of steak knives. 'Like my knives?' I ask. 'One of them is a murder weapon. Guess which one.' You look at them. They're all identical--factory made, none of them have any blood or notches or scratches. 'Is it this one?' you ask, and I shake my head. 'I give up, which one is it?' you ask. 'This one,' I say, and stab you through the heart." He mimes stabbing you, and you actually flinch.<br/>
<br/>
"Now, they're all knives, and they're all exactly the same, and you could stare at 'em till your eyes bleed  and never tell the difference between them. But one is also a murder weapon. It's a murder weapon not because it's made of murderanium, but because it is connected to a murder. And to a <i>murder</i>, not a manslaughter or a suicide or an accidental killing. And it's a <i>murder</i> because it's connected to something in my mind, to a particular intention. Examining the knife won't tell you what is <i>here</i>--" He points to his forehead "--so it won't tell you that it's a murder weapon. Of course," he adds, sitting back, "looking at it afterwards might tell you it's been <i>used</i> in an act that might be a murder, but that's something different."<br/>
<br/>
You scrunch up your face. It's very hard. "I don't-- How does--?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, it's a metaphor for magic," he says. "Though it's only a metaphor for another metaphor. Magical connections are like the connections between murder weapons and murder victims. Those things exist in a certain kind of relationship, a 'murder' relationship, let's call it, and that's not something you discover with a spectrometer or a Bunsen burner. A scientist looking at a dead body might never realize he's looking at a murder. But a detective, someone who knows exactly what to look for and is probably looking for it, might spot it right away--that the guy was murdered, and didn't just fall over dead--because he knows about lots of other things, like that the dead guy had a jealous wife, a mistress, and a big insurance policy, the kind of things that will lead him to say 'Hey, you know, this is probably a murder and not just an ordinary death.' Same kind of thing with magic. Things are connected in ways the scientist will be blind to, but the magician won't."<br/>
<br/>
"Blackwell said that magicians <i>make</i> connections, not find them."<br/>
<br/>
Joe turns grave. "Yes they can, and if they're good enough they can make very powerful ones. But it's kind of like the way you can make a connection between a knife and victim by using it to <i>murder</i> him. Connections <i>made</i> by magic are very dangerous, both to make and use. But you can also find other, ready-made connections out there and use them in what you'd call magic spells."<br/>
<br/>
You chew on a thumbnail. "It sounds like the difference between making a tool and finding something that you can use as a tool."<br/>
<br/>
His eyes brighten. "That's a good way of thinking of it, yeah." <br/>
<br/>
His eyes turn dark and satirical, though, at your follow-up comment: "Tools are usually better than stuff you find laying around."<br/>
<br/>
"Which is better in a fight, a hammer or a mountain?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>That's a stupid question.</i> "A hammer. How would I use a mountain?"<br/>
<br/>
"What if you knew how to pick it up and drop it on a guy?" he chortles.<br/>
<br/>
You feel your own eyes widen. "Is that possible?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's a metaphor for a metaphor," he reminds you. "But there are natural spells out there that stand to Blackwell's potions the way a mountain stands to a hammer."<br/>
<br/>
"Mm. Well, I guess I'd rather not be on the receiving end of either. I still don't see why you guys are so interested in <i>me</i>, though."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we've only just started talking, right? Anyway, we'll have to continue our conversation later." He glances out the window and nods. "There's our car." He rises, and leads you out into the parking lot.<br/>
<br/>
"Take Justin's car and meet me back at our place," he says as you walk. "We'll take care of the real Justin and also figure out what to do about you." He bends over to peer into the rental car and grunt with mild satisfaction. <br/>
<br/>
"What about me?" you prompt.<br/>
<br/>
He looks up with raised eyebrows. "You willing to disappear for a few days? I mean, if you leave town and we let Justin go, and we're going to, so don't argue, then Will Prescott is going to--"<br/>
<br/>
"Ah. I don't have a choice, do I?"<br/>
<br/>
He chews the inside of his cheek. "Frank can take over for you," he points out. "He could just put on your mask. He's not going to, though, unless you <i>ask</i> him to."</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112221122111122211
author_id: seuzz
title: "... and returned on the previous night"
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"That wouldn't do any good. Frank would just disappear, like Justin did."<br/>
<br/>
"We know that," Joe says. "But it would keep you in town, so to speak, until we got back. You want your folks pissed at you for disappearing for a week?"<br/>
<br/>
"But what about Blackwell?"<br/>
<br/>
"We'll put the mission on hold."<br/>
<br/>
You give a low whistle. <i>Amazing.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Back at the house you give Frank your fervent--and embarrassed--thanks; he smiles indulgently. "Just one thing," you ask. "I know we're letting Justin go, but can I wear his mask until I get back?" They give you puzzled glances. "I'm kind of ... disfigured ... and if I can't wear my own face I'd like to wear another."<br/>
<br/>
"You won't freak us out," says Joe. You look at him sharply for signs of satire, but he seems entirely sincere.<br/>
<br/>
"It's okay, Joe," Frank says. "It'll make it easier in fact. You guys can take off in that case, and I'll handle Roth."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay," Joe says. "And I'll make the trip as fast as I can."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't break any speed limits."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll go so slow the cops'll think I'm going backwards." <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
In the car, Joe spends a few minutes pressing lots of buttons on the console before starting it up. "This thing has a GPS," he says, "but it's a bad idea to engage it on a trip like we'll be taking." Lots of displays go off; he even disables the clock.  <br/>
<br/>
Your eyes widen. "Where exactly are we going?"<br/>
<br/>
"Little town on the back end of nowhere," he says, starting the car and pulling into the street. "I love North America. It's like a continent full of pocket dimensions." Another disturbing statement. "You like to drive?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. Sometimes I just get in my truck and drive around. But I hate it when it takes forever to get somewhere."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," he drawls. "We can do something about that, though." It's green lights all the way to the highway onramp, which he accelerates into it, pushing the speedometer past sixty. He grins. "Just let's get five miles outta town. Then ... Hoo-aah!"<br/>
<br/>
You find yourself gripping the hand rest.<br/>
<br/>
The lights of the city fall away, and soon all is dark. You can only make out the edge of Joe's silhouette, which gleams faintly in the backwash from the headlamps. He fumbles over and grabs your hand. "Hang on," he says. And the car leaps ahead.<br/>
<br/>
The dashboard has a digital speedometer, and the numbers flash upward: seventy-five, eighty, eighty-five ... Then they vanish, leaving the cabin entirely dark. The headlamps dim and go out, and even the hum of the engine fades. Your stomach and heart seem to press through your back into the seat cushions, then release into weightlessness. Silence and darkness enfold; the car seems suspended in nothingness.<br/>
<br/>
Your jaw drops as you peer out the window. The stars are no longer points: they streak and smear, scratching bright, harsh trails in the inky void. The landscape flutters darkly by, like curtains flapping in a soundless wind. You look over at Joe, and gasp to see his eyes glowing. He grins, and light seems to seep from between his teeth. Slowly he turns to face you. It's a terrible, frightening sight, as though he is burning away from the inside. But still he clutches your hand; and that grip is not frightening, but reassuring.<br/>
<br/>
The stars stretch in long arcs and shred the sky with their light. A glow appears to your right, and a great pillar of fire thrusts into the sky, its light obliterating the night. You shut your eyes against it and the landscape, through which you are plunging as though through dense clouds of black cobwebs ...<br/>
<br/>
And then Joe releases your hand, and with a teeth-shattering jolt everything snaps back to normal. You are on a country lane weaving between tall mountains with the sun shining cheerfully overhead, touching their snowcapped peaks with gentle rays. Fearfully you look over at the speedometer: forty-five. "Be there in ten minutes," Joe says calmly. Your nerves puddle in your feet.<br/>
<br/>
You soon reach a small town, through which he slowly drives, pointing out various points of trivial interest--"I shot off my first model rocket over there"; "Frank once broke his leg trying to skateboard off that wall"--before turning down a street into a residential district. He parks in front of a small tract house with a well-trimmed lawn and a chain-link fence. "Try not to shit yourself when you meet Dad," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Before we go in," you say, having recovered yourself, "can you tell me what that was last night?"<br/>
<br/>
"Awesome, wasn't it?" he laughs. "One of my favorite tricks. We blew through a couple of speed traps, but the relativity cops can't catch me when I put the pedal all the way down. The bitch of it is, though--" He punches the clock back on: 4:47 PM. "Even though it is technically yesterday, and right now you and me are <i>also</i> back in Saratoga Falls, where I have just laid hands on the <i>Libra,</i> we can't really take advantage of the fact. All it does is give us an extra day to talk to Dad."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Your knees are like rubber as you exit the car and approach the fence. A mastiff bounds up, barking joyfully, and leaps onto Joe as soon as he's through the gate. The front door is opened by a large woman in stretch pants, who smiles at him. "My stars, look who it is," she exclaims.<br/>
<br/>
Joe sweeps her into his arms and into a quick foxtrot. "That's a down payment on the dance I still owe you," he says. "I was afraid you'd be gone by now, and rushed over so I wouldn't miss you."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm just on my way out," she says, tucking her hair back. She smiles and nods at you. "Your dad will be glad of the company."<br/>
<br/>
"How is he," Joe asks, becoming much more sober.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, he's in a mood. Cable is out again and the company hasn't sent anyone over. But you can cheer him up."<br/>
<br/>
Joe sighs. "Dad's always more pliant when he hasn't missed his stories. I'll see if I can fill the deficit." He summons you inside with a jerk of his head.<br/>
<br/>
The house is as unprepossessing on the inside as the outside. A small entry way gives over to an disused living room; through a small arch you can see a kitchen and dining nook. Joe leads you through another archway into a parlor. It's small, too, and decorated with bad wallpaper, ugly green carpet, and cheap bric-a-brac. A sofa and reclining chair face an enormous television set. And on the sofa sits an old man with patchy white whiskers, a bald head, and a skinny body ill-disguised by the shorts and thin, loose t-shirt. But he looks up brightly at Joe.<br/>
<br/>
"Dad," your friend says, and strides over to drop onto one knee and bow his head. You swallow, and wonder if you are supposed to do likewise. But Joe makes no sign, and the old man doesn't even acknowledge your presence. He merely smiles and drops a hand onto Joe's head.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't they have barbers out there?" he asks, tousling his son's hair. "Well, flaunt it while you got it." He puts his hand under Joe's chin to lift his face and beam into it. <br/>
<br/>
You stumble forward, and the old man looks up at you. "Frank?" he frowns. "You're looking thin, boy."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh--" you start.<br/>
<br/>
Joe wheels to sit Indian-style with his back against his father's legs. "He misses Laverne's cooking," he says, winking at you. "Frank, I warned you Dad would notice you're wasting away to nothing." You shift from one foot to the other, and the other two burst out laughing.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't stand on ceremony, son," the old man says. "Come sit down next to me. You are most welcome." You sit down stiffly in the recliner, and Joe leans over to chuck your shin reassuringly with his fist. "What news have you for me?" the old man asks.<br/>
<br/>
Joe tilts his head back to look up at his dad. "We got more than news. We got a present for you. It should show up in--" He ostentatiously glances down at his bare wrist, and taps it. "Hmmm. My watch fell off. Well, a couple of hours."<br/>
<br/>
"You've been breaking the laws of physics again," the old man gently reproves him. "Just remember, you are only quick until you are dead. What did I say?" he innocently asks of Joe's subsequent groan. <br/>
<br/>
"Well, until the package catches up, you'll have to make do with the guest I brung you," Joe says. <br/>
<br/>
The old man looks up at you, and his smile, though friendly, is also grave. He taps Joe on the shoulder, and the latter springs to his feet. The old man rises, and you rise too. "You have been walking paths that are dark to me," he says to you.<br/>
<br/>
"Roads of Sulva," Joe murmurs.<br/>
<br/>
"Ah, that would explain much. But now we have met. Tell me," he says, and he holds out his hands, palms up. "Will you be a rogue moon no longer? Will you join the great dance?"<br/>
<br/>
Suddenly, the absurdity of the scene hits you full force. You're standing in a shitty little house facing an old man in his shorts and undershirt while a practical joker grins at you. It all seems very silly, and you wonder if your self-respect could survive taking them up on this offer.</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112221122111122212
author_id: seuzz
title: Of Horoscopes
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"It wouldn't do any good if Frank put on my mask," you point out. "I told you, anyone who puts it on just disappears, like Justin did."<br/>
<br/>
"Of course," Joe says. "That's what Frank and me were talking about just before we left, and that's who come I know Frank would still be willing to put the mask on if you asked him to. There's no telling how long you'll be gone, and probably your life really won't be fun when you get back if you've <i>disappeared</i> during that week. Frank is willing to put the mission on hold in order to spare you as much grief as possible."<br/>
<br/>
You are staggered by the generosity--and implicit trust--contained in the offer, which makes it very easy to demur. "It's more important to take out Blackwell," you say. "I'll pay the consequences."<br/>
<br/>
Joe smiles warmly at that.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Frank smiles too when you see him and thank him for the offer even after declining it. You then lead your doppelganger into the bathroom, where you swap clothes with it, before pulling his mask off your face and replacing it with the mask of yourself that you pull off of him. You are out of the bathroom before Justin wakes. <br/>
<br/>
"He's been out for a week," you tell the brothers when you reappear. "He's gonna freak out."<br/>
<br/>
Joe Just brushes past you to disappear into the bathroom. "He'll give him some calming words," Frank tells you. "He's into the drugs anyway, you know, and we'll just pretend he's been having a really fun time this past week, and it's caught up with him." He takes Justin's mask from you. "You sure you don't want me taking your part until you get back?" You nod your head firmly. "Okay. Then I'll use this to get into Blackwell's after we've sent the real guy home."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Joe is with Justin for only a few minutes, then with a silent salute to his brother leads you back out to the rental car. At his suggestion you stop at a nearby Chinese restaurant--"I wanna fuel up"--before leaving town. After ordering, Joe studies his placemat, which is decorated with a Chinese zodiac, with obvious amusement, then turns it over. <br/>
<br/>
"What's your birthday?" he asks, and you tell him. "Your dad's birthday? Mom's? You got a brother, right? What's his birthday?" He asks you a handful of other questions, some of which make minimal sense ("If you had a lucky number, what do you think it would be?") and some of which just seem nonsensical ("Bananas or umbrellas?") As he talks, he draws a large, loose circle on the back of the placemat and starts filling it in with arcs, lines, tangents, and other whatnot. He checks his cell phone a few times; jots complicated equations in the mat's margins; stares into the corner of the room.<br/>
<br/>
Finally, you can no longer contain your curiosity. "What is that? A horoscope?"<br/>
<br/>
He retrieves his attention from very far away. "Hmm? Oh, kind of. A <i>real</i> horoscope, I guess you might say, though the word is really misleading in this context. It's more like an abstract, multi-dimensional representation of ... well, of <i>you.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
The hair on your neck prickles.<br/>
<br/>
"Remember we were talking earlier about magical connections? Well, guys who make horoscopes aren't wrong about everything. Some of the most important magical relationships run to and from and through the planets. They bind a lot of things into ... Well, into things like webs."<br/>
<br/>
By this point he doesn't have to caution you that "web" is just a metaphor for another metaphor.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't get the impression," he continues, "that the planets are the only things that have webs or that they're even the most important ones. Everything stands at the center of some web or other. That web of connections, in a sense, is just another way of visualizing the thing itself. Everything also stands on the fringes of an uncountable number of other, overlapping webs. This kind of calculation--" he runs his fingers around the edge of the complicated design "--is a way of identifying where you stand on a lot of those other webs, and that gives an interpreter an idea of the location and character of the web <i>you</i> stand nearest the center of. If you figure out that web, then you can figure out a lot about the person."<br/>
<br/>
You peer at the design but resist asking the obvious questions. "So the planets do influence us?"<br/>
<br/>
He groans. "That's a <i>complicated</i> question. In a trivial sense, <i>yes,</i> because <i>everything</i> influences us, to a small degree or other. In a less trivial sense, <i>it depends</i>, because some people stand nearer the center of one planetary web than the others. In the deepest sense, <i>no,</i> they don't influence us, not in the sense of efficient causation. But they are explanatory because they factor into certain probability curves. But I see that I've lost you."<br/>
<br/>
He says that, because he's noticed that you're staring at him with a slackened jaw and glassy eye.<br/>
<br/>
"Here's another analogy, like the murder weapon one," he says. "Suppose you get drunk and drive your car into a fire hydrant, which gets you all wet. Did your drunkenness cause you to become wet? No, the water from the hydrant did that. Did your drunkenness cause the accident? No, the movements of your hands and feet did. Did your drunkenness cause the movement of your hands? No, <i>you</i> did. But your drunkenness <i>did</i> alter the probabilities that your reflexes would be such-and-such, which altered the probability that you could avoid an accident, which altered the probability that ... and so on and so on. Your drunkenness is not a causal element in the accident, but it is an explanatory factor in describing why the <i>probability envelope</i> associated with that accident had the shape it did." He's grown very excited with this extemporaneous lecture, but his eyes and smile droop as he stares into your face. "And again I've lost you."<br/>
<br/>
"How do you know all this?" you ask waspishly. "Aren't you supposed to be, like, my age?"<br/>
<br/>
He runs his tongue over the front of his teeth and grins. "Well, let's take me as an example." His flips your placemat over and his hand flies over it. This design is much more complicated, and he ignores his plate after it arrives, even as you wolf your own food down. <br/>
<br/>
"Okay," he says when he's done, "this is only a fraction of what I could fill in, and I won't take you through it step by step. But I can start with lots of factors that I know about and can use them to calculate probabilities for other factors, which in turn modify the earlier factors in a complicated set of feedback calculations. I can also factor in lots of other facts, like where I've been and what I've done and what talents I've manifested--like my ability to perform these fucking calculations, for one thing--which further modify the overall probability function that describes me.<br/>
<br/>
"The big deductions, it turns out, are here and here." He points to two small symbols. "That's Sol and Mercury, and given their position in the equations they contribute a <i>staggering</i> lot of data that feed into all the rest." <br/>
<br/>
He leans back. "Basically, someone who knew how to read this thing would understand how I could know all this shit and more, and why I'm really good at languages. They'd understand it the same way they could understand by looking at my blood-alcohol content why I was weaving all over the road and drove my car into a ditch. It's because I've got, for lack of a better word, connections to the planets that influence knowledge and expression."<br/>
<br/>
You mull this. "So, anyone who had those connections would have your talents?"<br/>
<br/>
"Um, if it were the <i>exact</i> same connections, then yes. But it's not just--for lack of a better word--my geometric relationship with them, but the structure of that relationship, and that is something that is <i>very</i> rare."<br/>
<br/>
He seems to wait for you to ask something, but you're far too confused to even come up with a question, and he seizes the chance to start gobbling down his own dinner. When you speak again, it's to return to a simpler--and to you, a more important--subject. "Look, I just want to know why you and your dad are so interested in me."<br/>
<br/>
He swallows his food and rubs his mouth with the napkin and begins speaking in a very low voice. <br/>
<br/>
"Because our little secret society, the <i>Stellae Errantes</i> it's called, is made up of people who have those rare attributes I mentioned. 'Secret society' gives the wrong impression, but there is no good word for it. It's like a secret society, but it's also like an army and it's also like a prison. Like a prison in the sense that we all watch each other, make sure we don't get into trouble. <i>Errantes</i> means 'wandering,' and like every fucker who's ever been born, we have a tendency to wobble from the straight and narrow. But we support each other, so maybe it's also like an AA support group. <br/>
<br/>
"But we need a purpose beyond that, and one of our purposes is handling guys like Blackwell, which is what makes it like an army. I mean, there's no real harm in guys like Blackwell, if vanity, arrogance, selfishness, and a sociopathic disinclination to think of others don't constitute harm. But when they lay their hands on something like the <i>Libra,</i> that's when <i>we</i> step in."<br/>
<br/>
"To do what?"<br/>
<br/>
Joe's laugh is a bark. "To stop the bad guys! Look, I know me and Frank made a big play of being magical gangbangers back at our first meeting. But that's just because that's what we thought <i>you</i> were! Actually we're more like the church police. Though not affiliated with any denomination," he hastily adds.<br/>
<br/>
And while you're digesting that, he continues. "Anyway, you wanna know why our dad is interested in you? It's because he collects guys like us. And yes, I just said 'us'." His hand sweeps you and him both within the scope of his meaning. "You and me and Frank too."</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111122211221111222121
author_id: seuzz
title: The Stellae Errantes
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"How did I get mixed up in this?" you quietly ask, and you hunch over your plate with your hands under the table. <br/>
<br/>
"You were born into it." Joe indicates your chart. "If you wanna wax poetic, you can say it was written in the stars. Or are you asking how we stumbled onto you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, that," you say.<br/>
<br/>
Joe folds his hands. "Well, our current crisis started small, which is why Frank and me were handling it. The <i>Libra Personae</i> is one of those really dangerous things, like the Ark of Covenant, that swims only in subterranean channels. But when we heard that it had finally surfaced a few months ago in upstate New York, its recovery it seemed like a job that could be handled quickly and quietly. So Dad gave it to us. No one pays attention to kids." He rolls his eyes.<br/>
<br/>
Then he grimaces. "But we got there too late. Someone had snagged it and also a few artifacts associated with it. We managed to trace it here, to Saratoga Falls, and went in to Eastman as 'transfer students' while we looked around. Never mind why--suffice it to say there was evidence it had fallen into the hands of students at that school." Your eyes widen, and he smiles. "Yeah, we missed the target by a little. Anyway, our attention soon fell on Blackwell, and he also became a suspect, especially after something that happened about ten days ago."<br/>
<br/>
From his pocket he pulls an object that looks like a small golden plate. Its surface is covered with intricate designs, and tiny pearl-like beads slide easily over its surface without tumbling off. "Let's call this a compass," he says. "A special kind. Regular compasses point toward magnetic north, or to nearby magnetic sources. This one points to a special kind of <i>essentia.</i> Blackwell tell you about that stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
"A little," you admit, feeling disinclined to say much. "I didn't really understand what it was."<br/>
<br/>
"You'd call it a kind of magical stuff," he says. "It won't ooze out if you cut yourself. It's not even really a 'stuff' at all. Probably better to call it a relation between certain metaphysical constituents of people, though there are also ways of getting it to manifest itself in a substance-like way." You say nothing, though your mind is working furiously to recall everything Blackwell said about Cindy's mask and the <i>essentia</i> you had discharged into it. <br/>
<br/>
"Now, iron can be magnetized," Joe is saying, and if he notices that your attention has retreated he doesn't mention it. "<i>Essentia</i> can also be charged, you might say. More accurately, it can be alchemically sensitive, and when it is it can exist in a variety of relations with other substances, and through these substances it can become oriented to a planet." He drums his fingers meaningfully on the discarded placemats. "You cannot manufacture charged <i>essentia</i>--and please remember that 'charged' is just a metaphor--and it very rarely manifests itself in a charged state. <i>Very rarely,</i>" he says, staring at you from under his eyebrows and again drumming his fingers on the placemats.<br/>
<br/>
"This compass can point to people who are in such charged states, though you have to be very close to them for it to pick them out. Basically, in the same room. So, it is actually less of a compass and more of a close-range detector. Mostly, one uses it to confirm that someone is a person with this very rare kind of stuff."<br/>
<br/>
He taps the compass. "But we <i>have</i> been using it as a compass recently, because about two weeks ago it went absolutely haywire, pointing at something <i>miles</i> away. We managed to pin the location of the thing down to Blackwell's, but then it went wandering. Naturally, we thought it was Blackwell, promptly soiled ourselves, and huddled with Dad."<br/>
<br/>
He rubs his cheek. "Well, he's a tough old bird and instead of giving the job to someone else he sent us back here. After lots of trial and error, we finally pinned <i>you</i> down as the source. We didn't know for sure who you were, because there were masks involved, but we spied on you, got Justin's stuff from you, set up a meeting with you, and now here we are."<br/>
<br/>
He stops talking. It's a lot to take in, and you're not sure you followed half of it. "So ..." you start slowly. "This special stuff ... You're saying that <i>I</i> have it."<br/>
<br/>
"Mm-hmm," he says through pursed lips. "So do I. So does Frank. So does Dad. Every member of the <i>Stellae</i> has it, it's the stuff that makes us dangerous."<br/>
<br/>
"How so?" you ask, and feel a quickening interest.<br/>
<br/>
"Keep it down, Sparky," he snaps. "When I say 'dangerous' I don't mean you're a bottle of nitroglycerin, and I don't mean you'll be able to stand up and start shooting sparks out your finger. You're nothing but a dumb high school student who can't even keep his shoelaces tied. If you're dangerous, it's because things <i>happen</i> around you."<br/>
<br/>
"That's what my own dad says," you mutter.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he wasn't talking about what I'm talking about either," Joe retorts. "To be honest, you're so dumb you can't even get into trouble." You suppress a flash of anger. "You were just a menace to kids in crosswalks until the <i>Libra</i> showed up. And even then it was the <i>Libra</i> that was causing the trouble, for reasons I don't fully understand."<br/>
<br/>
"I was using it to copy people," you murmur.<br/>
<br/>
"No, that was just orneriness on your part. No, the queer thing is that your alchemical signature is too strong. No one can make this thing dance the way you can--" He taps the compass again, and frowns. "And since you didn't just move to town, that must mean it has something to do with your coming into contact with the <i>Libra.</i> It's the only coincidence that makes sense."<br/>
<br/>
Two weeks ago ... That was about the time you showed up inside Blackwell's golem. But still you say nothing.<br/>
<br/>
"And don't feel too offended when I say you're too dumb to get into trouble," Joe continues, as though reading your thoughts. "It's not really your fault--or lack of fault in this case. Everyone who's in the <i>Stellae,</i> or who ought to be, including you, is tied closely to two planets. These each have a different kind of influence, and you will be almost helplessly in their grip. With me its Sol and Mercury. With Frank it's Mars and Saturn. With you it's the Moon and ... either Uranus or Neptune. My calculations weren't complete enough for me to say for sure.<br/>
<br/>
"Now, what does this mean for you and your lack of ability to cause trouble without getting into any? You are primarily oriented toward the Moon. That's a wandering planet, shifting, waxing and waning, going into eclipse and then blazing brightly. It's a planet of tides. Those oriented toward the Moon aren't going to be in one place long enough to get into real trouble, and often they'll slip out of it without noticing they've flooded any coastlines."<br/>
<br/>
You scratch your forehead. "And the other two planets?"<br/>
<br/>
He shrugs. "Suggestive without being dispositive. Uranus is the crab-wise planet, the star of lateral movements, of revolutions and reformations. It disassembles things and reassembles them in new configurations, then takes them apart again. It doesn't rule anything, it just fucks things up. Neptune is water, a planet of ambiguity and layered cross-currents, of metamorphosis and transformation, of deception and disguise." He hesitates. "The book is a creature of these latter two planets, I <i>think</i>."<br/>
<br/>
You can tell there is something he's not telling you. You are both quiet for awhile.<br/>
<br/>
Finally, Joe leans back and stretches. "Well, that's enough for now. I've told you everything I can probably safely tell you before you meet Dad. He's Sol and Jupiter, by the way, which makes the rest of us real shrinky-dinks by comparison, as you can imagine by now. We coulda saved a lot of this talk for the car, because we've got a long drive in front of us, but sports and girls will be more fun to talk about then.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, and I got two more important things to tell you before we go," he says as he stands up and glances at the bill. Your spirits sink. "The first is that there is one <i>really</i> important thing I haven't told you, and I'm not going to tell you. You'll have to find it out after we meet Dad." <br/>
<br/>
Your stomach clenches. "And the other one?"<br/>
<br/>
He tosses the bill to you. "You're paying for dinner."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
His phone rings on the way out to the car. "Yeah," he says into it, and listens. "No, we ate first. I've been debriefing him." He listens again with a deepening frown, then shoves the phone back in his pocket. <br/>
<br/>
"That was Frank," he says. "He didn't waste any time after we left, and your old boss is now yesterday's news. But he wants us to bring him the <i>Libra.</i>" He stops and stares off at nothingness. "Odd, and not just because he said nothing about you."<br/>
<br/>
"What's up?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's probably something to do with those girls." He looks at you keenly. "You know, I'd really like you to go on ahead and meet Dad. Your truck should still be at our house, and I can drop you there to pick it up, and follow you out in a day or so. You'll be okay, even by yourself." He muses to himself. "But it's your planets I'm thinking about," he mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"What about them?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uranus and Neptune are trans-Saturnian planets. That means you have to have a meeting-- Okay, I won't mince words, you have to have a <i>confrontation</i> with Frank at some point. I'm wondering if it's not better to have it sooner rather than later." He says nothing more, and you realize he is leaving the decision to you.</span></div></div>


path: 11221111111222112211112221211
author_id: seuzz
title: Dad
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I really don't want to go on alone," you say, swallowing. "But if you think it's best ... Well, I trust you."<br/>
<br/>
"Everyone trusts me," Joe says in a wistful voice. "Makes it so hard to take advantage of them. You know, I coulda been one of the great con artists if Dad hadn't found me." He chuckles softly to himself. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Your truck is still at their place, but Frank is at Blackwell's, so there's just a brief handoff before Joe drops you off. It would feel odd, sliding into your truck after it's long absence from your life. But you're back inside a mask of yourself, with all the memories it accumulated over the last week of playing your role, so it also feels like you've not been away from it.<br/>
<br/>
You're about to head onto the highway when you remember you have your cell phone with you, and your parents could use that to find you and order you back home. You can't bear to just throw it out the window, so you make a quick detour by Caleb's, where you drop it into his mailbox with a note asking him to hang onto it for you. <i>Probably he'll just throw it away,</i> you bitterly reflect. Since hexing yourself, Caleb has grown frostier and frostier, and the last you time you saw him he was more or less completely hostile to you.<br/>
<br/>
Joe gave you an address and a phone number before he left, and you plug the former into your truck's GPS system. <i>Guided by the stars,</i> you think to yourself as you point the truck toward the nearest interstate on-ramp.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You go all night and most of the next day, keeping a driven but not overly hard pace that takes you across several states. Eventually hills and mountains appear. You have to switch to state highways that take you deeply into high country, where the peaks are already touched with snow. The towns become smaller and smaller. Finally, you are reduced to driving on a two-lane rural highway that winds around a very tall peak before depositing you in your destination: a little town named Olympia. <br/>
<br/>
It seems to be a former mining and logging town, much reduced in circumstances even from a heyday that doesn't look to have been glorious. Most of the store fronts on Main Street are empty, but there is a McDonalds, where you stop to sate your hunger and steel yourself for the meeting that is to come. The address proves to be in a halfway decent part of the town, and you pull up in front of a small, white tract house with a neat lawn behind a chain-link fence. There's a mastiff in the yard, and it watches you closely as you approach. It barks low and gruffly, but trots over with a friendly air when you open the gate. Gingerly, you rub its head and jowls, and it licks at you with a big, slobbery tongue.<br/>
<br/>
The door, when you rap, is answered by a fattish, middle-aged woman in tight polyester pants. "My name is Will Prescott," you tell her. "I'm a friend of Frank and Joe Durras."<br/>
<br/>
"Frank and Joe aren't here," she says, and looks you up and down with a frown.<br/>
<br/>
"I know. I'm actually here to see their dad. They told me to come out and talk to him about ... some things."<br/>
<br/>
"Charles!" she calls into the house. "Friend of Joe and Frank's! Says he wants to see you."<br/>
<br/>
You can't clearly make out the reply from within, but she turns back to you. "You from Saratoga Falls?" You nod; she shouts back "Yeah, that's him!", and to another muffled reply lets you pass. "He's in the parlor," she says. "Get you a Fanta?"<br/>
<br/>
You mumble your thanks and, taking your courage in both hands, step around a corner into the room she'd indicated. You wish you could have vomited out the cloud of butterflies in your stomach.<br/>
<br/>
The room is very small, with garish floral wallpaper all up one side and small shelves stacked with old-fashioned mechanical toys—the kind made out of tin that you wind up and let go. There is only one window, sitting over a small couch that faces an enormous, ancient, battered console TV. It's so old, in fact, you're startled to see that it has channel-changing <i>knobs</i> on the front. The carpet is avocado green. And almost completely lost within its air of decades-old shabbiness is its sole occupant.<br/>
<br/>
He's a very small, old man with a bald head and white whiskers trimmed so close that it doesn't look like a beard, only a five o'clock shadow that's gone to seed. He wears a wife beater, showing thin arms and a shrunken chest, and lime-green shorts. He lays on the couch with his bare feet on the arm rest. One hand is behind his head and the other droops to the floor, where it feebly clutches a soft drink can. He is completely absorbed in the football game that is soundlessly playing on the TV.<br/>
<br/>
His eyes flick briefly up at you, showing an utter lack of interest before returning to the TV. "You're Prescott, huh?" he says in a soft, weak voice. "Had a long drive? Take a seat, son." Stiffly, you settle into easy chair near his head. "Who do you like in the game?"<br/>
<br/>
You peer through the static on the screen. "The Giants?" you say.<br/>
<br/>
He grunts. "Never had a lot of sympathy for the Giants."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't really follow football." He doesn't reply: the ball is in play again. <br/>
<br/>
The woman comes in and hands you a soda can, which you don't open. "Can I leave you alone for a little while," she asks the old man, and glances at you. "I need to make you a run to the store before I go."<br/>
<br/>
"Thank you, Laverne," he says. "The boys' friend here can keep me company."<br/>
<br/>
She leaves, and you expect he'll start talking more freely, but he remains entirely wrapped up in the TV. He comments on the game, asking your opinion of the plays and offering his own. Even during the commercials he makes quiet, nondescript judgments and asks if you own or have tried the products.<br/>
<br/>
When the game is finally over he sits up with sigh. "They used to show pro bowling on weekends," he says. "I like pro bowling. It's very restful. I'll be right back." You help him to his feet and he pads softly out of the room. You're nerves are so strung out by now that you can barely even feel fear, and slouch in your seat. You wonder if he's waiting for <i>you</i> to broach some subject or other.<br/>
<br/>
Laverne returns while he's out of the room, but she only goes into the kitchen. The old man, when he reappears, sits back down on his sofa. "Is that your truck out front?" he asks. You nod. "I thought the boys might have let you borrow theirs."<br/>
<br/>
This seems like an opening, though maybe Frank and Joe won't like you seizing it. "They lost it," you tell him, and your heart starts hammering in your chest. "Someone stole it."<br/>
<br/>
"Really," he says, as though you've only alluded to the weather. "They called me this morning, but didn't mention it." <br/>
<br/>
"Did they tell you I was on my way here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Of course. Joe tried talking me into sending you back. Said they need you out there. There are some loose ends. You'll stay for dinner at least, though, even if it's only frozen lasagna."<br/>
<br/>
You're not looking forward to making a long return trip quite so soon, and say so. "Joe tells me I'm a ... well, a wanderer. Something about the Moon." It sounds very hokey, but it's another way of trying to pry the conversation loose.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh," he says. "I gleaned as much from our talk. It was very enlightening, though you probably don't realize it." He scratches at one of his pits and looks up at Laverne, who has stepped into the room. "Dinner in the oven?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes. Anything else I can do for you, sir?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow." She nods curtly and bustles out without so much as a glance at you. "Daughter of an old friend of mine," he says, stifling a yawn. "We could speak freely in front of her, but the subject matter makes her uncomfortable. She lost her mom to ..." His gaze grows sad and distant. "Well, it's none of your affair. Shall we repair to the dining room?"<br/>
<br/>
It's actually only a nook wedged between the kitchen and the short hallway leading down to the bedrooms. "It'll save us steps when dinner is ready," he says. He sits in one of the three chairs and motions you to take another. "And now, son, I imagine you're full of questions."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, sir," you say, and surprise yourself at how easily the never-used honorific tumbles from your mouth. "Joe explained a lot to me, though I didn't understand most of it. But I think I'd feel better, and more use to you, if I answered any questions you have for me."<br/>
<br/>
"That's generous of you," he says. He rests a hand flat on the table and looks past your ear, as though something very uninteresting yet still more interesting than your face is hovering in the kitchen. "I'll try not to abuse your offer. One thing I'd like to know is, do the boys know you're wearing a mask?" <br/>
<br/>
You jump a little. "I-- Well, I don't know what Joe has figured out. I never <i>told</i> them, though."<br/>
<br/>
"Why not?" <br/>
<br/>
You bow your head over the table, and feel crimson shame rising up your neck to wash over your face. <br/>
<br/>
"I see," the old man says. "Would it make you uncomfortable if you took your mask off now, and let me see what you have become?"</span></div></div>


path: 11221111111222112211112221212
author_id: seuzz
title: A Fearful Fate for Two Siblings
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Maybe I should go back with you to meet Frank," you tell Joe. "If it's something to do with Cindy, well, I go to school with her, and maybe you'll need my help with whatever it is."<br/>
<br/>
"That's a point," Joe says. "If we don't need you we can send you out later." He pulls out his wallet, extracts a piece of paper, and scribbles on it. "This is Dad's address and phone number," he says, handing it to you. "You're practically in now, so you might as well have his contact info."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're surprised that he doesn't drive back to the house he shares with Frank, but instead goes over to Blackwell's. Frank greets you at the door. "Run an errand for me, Prescott," he says brusquely. "I found out where our truck is. You can go pick it up."<br/>
<br/>
"Do I need to give him a ride," Joe asks.<br/>
<br/>
"No," Frank says. He turns back to you. "Take the car you guys rented. Leave it there, bring the truck out here. We'll pick up the rental later."<br/>
<br/>
Joe shifts uncomfortably on his feet, and this almost gives you the courage to object. But Frank shoots his brother a meaningful glance, and you realize he wants to speak with him privately and without embarrassing you by using their private language again in front of you. He tells you where you need to go, and you leave.<br/>
<br/>
It's on the other side of town, parked in front of some apartments, with the keys under one of the floor mats. Before you can return to Blackwell's, though, Frank calls and asks you to swing by their house and pick up a couple of books. So it is nearly ninety minutes before you can rejoin them in Blackwell's library.<br/>
<br/>
You find them both perched grimly on the edges of his desk. Joe hops to the floor, jerks his chin wordlessly, and leads you upstairs to one of the bedrooms. "Brace yourself," he says.<br/>
<br/>
There are two figures laying on the floor: the naked forms of Lucy and Cindy Vredenburg. They are cold, white and lifeless. You peer at them closely, and are startled to see that their pallor is not a trick of the light. It looks almost as if--<br/>
<br/>
"He turned them into golems," Joe says. "It's one of the spells in the <i>Libra.</i> We were looking through it while you were gone, looking for a cure. Fucker."<br/>
<br/>
You take a couple of deep breaths. You were pretty sure Blackwell could be cold and vicious, but to turn these innocent girls into statues ... "What are we going to do?"<br/>
<br/>
"Aye, there's the rub," he says dryly.<br/>
<br/>
"There isn't a cure?"<br/>
<br/>
"We don't know if there is or not," he says. "Maybe the book has a cure and maybe it doesn't. But there's something wrong with it. The rest of the book is inaccessible."<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean? Did Blackwell put a lock on it or something?"<br/>
<br/>
Joe pulls at his ear. "Maybe. We can't ask him. There's nothing left of him. Not even a body. Frank is very thorough when he wants to be." <br/>
<br/>
This chills you further, as it seems even worse than what Blackwell did to Lucy and Cindy. You search Joe's expression for signs of disapproval, but he is being very businesslike.<br/>
<br/>
"There is a temporary solution, maybe," he continues. "As near as we can tell from looking over the spells, if we put their masks back on them, they will return to normal. Golems are supposed to obey a master, but there is no master for them now. Maybe they won't work. Or maybe they will just act normally like the girls would."<br/>
<br/>
Well, that would work, wouldn't it? "And that's only a temporary solution because ...?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, it's a great solution if the girls' friends and family only need some convincing impostors to fill some Lucy- and Cindy-shaped holes," Joe says in a very acidic tone. "But it's not a solution for <i>them,</i> is it? It would be best if they were actually returned to a normal state."<br/>
<br/>
"Is that something your dad can do?"<br/>
<br/>
"Dad's not a miracle worker," he snaps. "Asking him to fix this is like asking a rocket scientist to perform brain surgery. Only the book--maybe--can fix it."<br/>
<br/>
"It still sounds like something to tell your dad."<br/>
<br/>
He gets a peevish look. "Suddenly you're like our little brother. 'Let's tell Dad, let's tell Dad!'" You flush. "It's not a bad instinct, but Frank and me are in charge of this operation, and Dad won't be happy with us running back to him every time there's a kink. In fact, now that I think about it, gimme that piece of paper back. I don't want you getting any bright ideas about bothering him."<br/>
<br/>
You bite your tongue and return the paper he'd given you. You don't mention that while you were out you put the contact info into your cell phone. "So what are you going to do?"<br/>
<br/>
That draws another look. "And now it's 'what're <i>you</i> going to do,' like you've nothing to do with it. Look, Prescott, I told you you're basically in. You just need to know your place. Follow orders and don't ask stupid questions. We need your help."<br/>
<br/>
You fold your arms and lower your head. You liked it more when he was being charming.<br/>
<br/>
"I told you the book was a thing of Uranus and Neptune. One of those is a planet you share with it, which means you've got a connection to it that me and Frank lack. If we get it unlocked, we're going to go thru it methodically, looking for that cure, and we'll get through it quicker if you're helping us."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't really know anything about it," you say. "I gave it to Blackwell, and he never shared much about it with me."<br/>
<br/>
"That's where <i>we</i> can help <i>you,</i>" he says, as though speaking to an idiot child. "I told you Blackwell was just a plodding old amateur, and the beauty of that is that I basically know everything he knew, so I can give you everything he didn't. I can give you more, in fact. We can call this the start of your training as a member of the <i>Stellae.</i> We get through the book, master it, return the girls to normal, you prove your trustworthiness, and when we take you back to Dad, everything is copasetic."<br/>
<br/>
"This is what you and Frank were talking about while I was gone?" you ask, and Joe nods. "So he's on board with this?"<br/>
<br/>
"It was his idea." He steps up close to you. "Look," he says in a low voice, "I know I'm being hard with you. But I'm being nicer than Frank would be. He's actually the one in charge. Stay out of his way and stick with me. I'm just relaying his decisions. Be nice to me and don't argue, because it puts me in a hard spot when you do."<br/>
<br/>
"Alright," you say, taking a deep breath. He claps you on the arm. <br/>
<br/>
"Okay, first thing is that we need to send the girls home," he says. "Since we're not totally sure what will happen when we put their masks on, we need to roll it out slowly. That mask you're wearing, of yourself--" He points. "You put it on a golem and it gives you control of them, right?"<br/>
<br/>
You nod.<br/>
<br/>
"Then I want you to put it onto Cindy. Your personality will dominate the golem, and that way we won't have to worry about it causing weird problems. Then we'll only have the golem he made of Lucy to worry about."<br/>
<br/>
"What will you do with her?"<br/>
<br/>
"You mean the golem? Take it someplace quiet, put a mask on it, and see what happens. You won't have to worry about that."<br/>
<br/>
"What will I be doing?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, because your mask will be on Cindy, 'Will Prescott' will be in circulation. So you should take over for Cindy or Lucy. Lucy's a college student, so she can probably disappear for a day or two without raising too many eyebrows. That would argue for your playing Cindy.<br/>
<br/>
"On the other hand, there's been some funny business back at Westside, hasn't there? Maybe you'd feel better playing Lucy, at least until we figure out whether the golems are going to cause problems.<br/>
<br/>
"Doesn't make a lot of difference to us, as long as we know where you are."</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112221122111122212121
author_id: seuzz
title: Repairing Cindy
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I'll take Cindy," you say. "She was a classmate, and I feel like I owe it to her." Joe nods and removes a bundle from a nearby cabinet. "By the way," you ask, pointing to your head. "How did you know that this is a mask and not my real face?"<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a pitying look. "Remember who you're talking to." He hands you a pile of clothes with a mask balanced on top.<br/>
<br/>
"I'd still like to change in private," you mutter.<br/>
<br/>
"Boobs or cock," he snorts, and pokes you in the chest. "Like it makes a difference to me with you."<br/>
<br/>
You grimace as you lay the bundle on to the bed and undress before pulling off the Will Prescott mask; Joe doesn't react to the sight of your golem body. You glance down briefly into the interior of Cindy's mask. It is blue: the cracked white surface has completely fallen away. This would mean that it is under no one's control, and you should have no trouble wearing it. You put it to your face, and Cindy's persona settles over yours like a comfortable old blanket. Maybe too comfortable: you feel a twinge of desire as you glance over at Joe. He is awfully handsome and well-built.<br/>
<br/>
Quickly you change into Cindy's clothes while Joe paces the room while ostentatiously not looking in your direction. When you're finished, you move to put the Prescott mask onto the transformed Cindy, but Joe stops you. "Just go downstairs and send Frank up. Wait in the library while we figure out if this mask business is going to work."<br/>
<br/>
Frank is po-faced when you appear in the library entryway with Joe's message. "I figured you guys would be a lot more relaxed once you had Blackwell out of the way," you murmur as he passes you.<br/>
<br/>
"This is serious business, Prescott," he says without turning or pausing. "Work has hardly begun."<br/>
<br/>
You sigh and pace the library while the brothers are upstairs. You've got lots to think about: the defeat of Blackwell; the need to somehow get Cindy and Lucy back to normal; the hurricane of information that Joe shared with you about the <i>Stellae</i> and everything else. You can't concentrate on any one thing without the others pressing in on you.<br/>
<br/>
You find yourself standing in front of the vampire-cyclops monkey; its eyes glitter back at you darkly. What will it do now that Blackwell is gone? The magician himself seemed to be afraid of it, to have it barely under his control. You wonder that it hasn't flown at you or Frank or Joe defensively, and wonder if (and how) they will be able to dispose of it. It seems to sense your fear and hostility, for the shadows that loom behind it in its niche deepen noticeably, and you step back fearfully.<br/>
<br/>
So you jump at the sound of footsteps in the archway: Lucy Vredenburg, looking rather pale, has appeared. "Well, Cindy, shall we go home?" she says. <br/>
<br/>
"What about Frank and Joe?"<br/>
<br/>
"Those guys upstairs? They said to get you and take you home."<br/>
<br/>
"Are you okay?" Her manner is very tentative, as though she is feeling very fragile.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. Just a little disoriented."<br/>
<br/>
You don't like this. It isn't the real Lucy, and it isn't quite a golem, either. It is a duplicate of a real girl, but not under anyone's control. Aside from not feeling sure you can trust it, you are not sure you want it behind the wheel of an SUV. "Do you mind if I drive?"<br/>
<br/>
She starts a little, then smiles in something that looks like relief. "Actually, could you? My head ... isn't quite where I want it to be."<br/>
<br/>
You'd like very much to talk to Frank and Joe before you go, but everything has you pretty seriously freaked out, so you gratefully escape the house. Lucy leads you out back, where her SUV is hidden, and you get behind the wheel. You assume the brothers will get your own doppelganger home somehow.<br/>
<br/>
"So, what were you doing out at--" You catch yourself, not being too sure what Lucy knows that Cindy knows. "Out at that house?"<br/>
<br/>
"Professor Blackwell's?" She looks out the window into the passing darkness. "He called me this evening, asked me to come over."<br/>
<br/>
"What happened while you were there?"<br/>
<br/>
"He just asked me to wait upstairs." She taps the window with a preoccupied air. "After that, it gets a little confusing."<br/>
<br/>
"And those two guys? What happened when they showed up?"<br/>
<br/>
She shifts in her seat. "They just told me to take you home. Look, I'm really tired and don't want to talk anymore." You pass the rest of the drive in silence.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Cindy's parents accept your explanation that you've been running around with Lucy, though they're not happy about your missing dinner, and you go upstairs to finish homework for the next day. Your various social accounts are brimming with messages asking where you are and what you're doing, but you ignore them.<br/>
<br/>
You put off everyone at school the next day with the same excuse you gave your parents, that you spent the afternoon and evening with your sister. Eva wants to know about you and Justin, but you tell her that's all over with. You catch sight of Roth in the hallways, trudging along with a stoic expression on his face, but since he will have no memory of any experiences or encounters with Cindy, you ignore him. Instead, you look for Seth.<br/>
<br/>
"Baby, I'm sorry about the past few days," you snuffle at him before second period starts. He grunts and doesn't look at you. "It wasn't really my idea." You grasp at his jacket; he stiffens. "It was Chelsea," you whisper in his ear. "She wanted me to make you jealous so you'd do something about Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
He hisses an obscenity through his teeth. "She wants something done, she should do it herself."<br/>
<br/>
"That's what I told her." You nuzzle his ear. "I don't want you mad at me. Let's get together this afternoon. Pretend nothing happened?"<br/>
<br/>
"Gonna be hard to pretend," he mutters, but he seems to relent a little, which pleases you. Not that you're looking forward to what "getting together" will entail, but the sooner you get Cindy's life back to some semblance of what it had been before, the better.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You expect to get a call or message from Joe at some point during school, but no word ever comes, so during fifth period you go looking for Prescott, in case he has a message for you. He's out front, leaning against the building, watching the crowds with open contempt. You feel some shadow of the horror that others must be feeling, and your skin prickles as you walk up to him. "You have any news you're supposed to give me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Like what?" He peers down his nose at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Something from Frank or Joe? Don't be a moron, and don't be an asshole."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be a cunt. I can be whatever I want."<br/>
<br/>
You bridle at his insolence. "Don't forget who you're talking to," you hiss, stepping up closely. "I'm your original, and you have to do what I say."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't have to do anything like that," he tells you bluntly. "You're not the boss of me. Although--" He looks you up and down with open lust. "Show me your boobs and <i>maybe</i> I'll beg for a look at something more."<br/>
<br/>
Your jaw drops. <i>What the hell?</i> And then you remember. When Blackwell golemized the Prescott mask, he put it under his control, not yours. And so this ... <i>thing</i> ... is now a free agent, without a master.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, I told you," you say. "I'm the original Prescott. You're living my life now--" You suck in a breath as its eyes gleam. "And I know it sucks. But come on. We're basically the same person. We <i>were</i> the same person, up until last night. So please, be nice."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, okay," he says. He eyes you speculatively. "So whose side are we supposed to be on? Those Durras jerks, or Blackwell?"<br/>
<br/>
"Blackwell's dead," you remind him.<br/>
<br/>
"Funny, he seems to be of a different opinion." He laughs as you stare at him. "There are certain things I'm not supposed to tell you. You understand how that works." He rolls his tongue in his cheek. "But yeah, I guess you and me, at least, are supposed to be on the same team. So as long as I don't <i>technically</i> break the rules, I'm okay with working with you."<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean, Blackwell's not dead?" You feel your heart beating very hard.<br/>
<br/>
His eyes go very wide and start to roll alarmingly. He gasps. "Okay, can't say anything about <i>that,</i>" he mutters. "But I can tell you I got a phone call from him this morning. It was definitely his voice. He even mentioned that it was his voice, so that I'd recognize it."<br/>
<br/>
You desperately want to know what is going on, and the best way would be to get into Prescott's mask. But he's surely not going to cooperate, and Cindy's body isn't strong enough to take him. But whatever is going on, it sounds like something that Frank and Joe need to hear about. Pronto.</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111122211221111222121211
author_id: seuzz
title: Frank the Show-Off
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"All right, do what you have to do," you tell your doppelganger. He just grins. "Did Blackwell mention me when he called?"<br/>
<br/>
"No comment."<br/>
<br/>
You sigh. Probably there are forms of "Twenty Questions" that could worm information out of him, but the bell rings and you have to get to class. <br/>
<br/>
Seth is by your locker after class, and he is in a much friendlier mood; he traces the edge of your shoulder bone with his fingertip while you retrieve your books, and you thrill and coo to his touch. "I have to see some guys after school," you tell him. "So I can't watch you at practice, but then ..." You trace your finger along the curve of his pecs and down the seam of his abs. "I've thinking about you all day."<br/>
<br/>
"Where do you want to meet?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll have to give you a call. I'll have to get Eva or somebody to give me a ride, and she'll keep me on schedule."<br/>
<br/>
He grips you by the elbows and kisses you deeply.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Like, way to piss Chelsea off," Eva says on the drive out to the Durrases' house. "She's gonna make your life hell tomorrow at practice."<br/>
<br/>
"What did I do?"<br/>
<br/>
"Only made out with Seth in front of the whole school. We're supposed to be withholding favors from the guys until they deal with Prescott. Dur."<br/>
<br/>
"When did that get decided? Oh, turn here."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you check your messages?"<br/>
<br/>
"I've had other things on my mind."<br/>
<br/>
"Like Seth. God, Cindy, I thought you were really into Justin, like, for real."<br/>
<br/>
"I thought so too. But he's a walking chemistry lab. I saw him in the hall, and he just blinked at me like he'd never seen me. Seriously, I think his brain is turning to tapioca."<br/>
<br/>
"Like Seth's got a brain worth bragging about," Eva retorts. "Are we almost there? I have to get home. Anyway, Justin's better looking than Seth, and you totally had him."<br/>
<br/>
"It's that house right up there. I'll try to make it quick. And can you think of something new to talk about while I'm inside? You're freaking me out."<br/>
<br/>
You hop out of the car and dash up to the front door. You hope Frank, at least, is home, because he's the one who dealt with Blackwell, and presumably has some idea of how Blackwell might have survived.<br/>
<br/>
No one answers your sharp raps at the door, so you try the knob and find that it's open. You pass through the house, calling out names, but no one answers. Then a movement through the sliding glass door leading to the back yard catches your eye.<br/>
<br/>
It's Frank. He's standing in the middle of the yard, staring at the sky with upraised arms. Something in his stance seems very familiar, and then you realize that it looks like he's hunching to make a free throw with a basketball. As you watch, he stretches a hand and makes a snatching motion. A second later a large, leaf-laden branch falls at his feet. He ignores it and continues to stare. Again, he makes a snatching motion, and again a branch falls to the ground.<br/>
<br/>
You open the door and call; he turns and smiles quizzically. "Just trimming the tree," he says when you ask what he's doing.<br/>
<br/>
You look up. Sure enough, a large tree with heavy branches bends over the yard. As you watch, Frank makes another of those snapping motions. The tree shakes, and a branch tumbles. You bend to examine it: the limb has been so neatly cut away it looks like it's been sanded smooth on the end. "Could you do this to a <i>person?</i>" you squeak.<br/>
<br/>
He smiles and shakes his head. "A very specific technique. Joe explained the planetary thing to you last night, right? Mars is my primary influence, and Mars has influence over trees and vegetation. This isn't a 'cutting' technique, it's a 'tree trimming' technique." He laughs softly. "From a very early age Dad left care of the Christmas tree to me."<br/>
<br/>
"Might have been useful on Blackwell," you say. His brow furrows. "My golem, the fake Will Prescott? He says he got a phone call from Blackwell this morning."<br/>
<br/>
Frank stares. "He's jerking your chain. I dealt with Blackwell."<br/>
<br/>
"Is there a body?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be asinine. It's bad to leave anything of a magician behind. Besides, we don't want CSI teams sniffing around, do we?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, is there some way he might've survived? Like, as a ghost or something?"<br/>
<br/>
Frank scratches his ear. "Doubtful. Highly doubtful. He was a rank amateur. If he could pull off that kind of escape act--" He seems to catch himself. "No, not possible."<br/>
<br/>
"So what about what Prescott said?"<br/>
<br/>
"He's a golem and he's a free agent now. He's jerking you around."<br/>
<br/>
"See, that's what I thought, but-- Hang on, how did--?"<br/>
<br/>
He waits a moment for you to finish the question. "How did what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing. Maybe you're right." You look around the yard, taking in all the branches that litter the ground. "Anyway, I have a ride waiting for me. When'll we get together?"<br/>
<br/>
"I thought that's what you were here for."<br/>
<br/>
"Can't. I made other plans." You run off back to the house. "Call this evening, I hope I'm free by then." You look back at Frank as you slide the glass door shut. He is watching you, hands on hips, with a very dark expression.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"I should go in there and beat the shit out of him," Seth growls. He grips the steering wheel of his truck and stares past you at Prescott's house.<br/>
<br/>
"Honey, please," you say. "If you can't do it at school you can't do it in front of his parents. Besides, I'm only going to talk to him."<br/>
<br/>
"Watch yourself."<br/>
<br/>
"You filled me a lot of your courage," you tell him, and snatch a hungry kiss from his mouth. "Along with the other stuff. Mmmmm." You leap out of the cab and turn. "Don't wait. I'll get Lucy to pick me up. Or if things go okay, maybe Prescott will give me a ride home."<br/>
<br/>
Seth swears a long streak, which you cut off by slamming the door.<br/>
<br/>
His parents--<i>your parents,</i> you remember with a bit of a shock--greet you cordially and call Will down. At your invitation, he follows you out to the back yard. You smirk to see the envious expression on your brother's face, and put an extra swivel in your hip as you lead your doppelganger outside. "So, you hear from our friend?"<br/>
<br/>
"No," he says mischievously. "But then, maybe I was supposed to tell you that I hadn't."<br/>
<br/>
"I wish you weren't being such a dick. Is there some instruction saying you can't show me your phone?"<br/>
<br/>
He thinks, then shakes his head and removes it from his pocket. "Checking the log? It came at 7:50 or thereabouts, as I was heading out to school."<br/>
<br/>
You scroll through the list of numbers until you find it, and you don't recognize the number. "So let's see who answers," you say, hoping it's not who you're afraid it will be.<br/>
<br/>
It isn't but it's practically as bad. "Yeah?" Joe Durras's cheerful voice comes on.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Joe, this is Cindy," you say, trying to hide the quaver in your voice. "Are we supposed to get together tonight?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, we're over at the late professor's house now. Frank was afraid you were trying to skip out on your first lesson."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I just have to get a ride."<br/>
<br/>
"Is that why you're calling from Prescott's phone?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, the battery in mine died. See you in fifteen minutes." <br/>
<br/>
Your heart hammers as you hang up. You really hope Frank is right, that all this is a cruel practice joke being pulled by your replacement. Because if it isn't--<br/>
<br/>
Could Blackwell have managed to get himself inside Joe somehow? Is Frank even to be trusted?</span></div></div>


path: 11221111111222112211112221212112
author_id: seuzz
title: In Which Frank Beats the Crap Out of a Golem
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I need you to give me a ride back to Blackwell's," you tell Prescott as you give his phone back. <br/>
<br/>
"Oh, am I still part of the club?" he asks with fake surprise.<br/>
<br/>
"No, you're more like an asshole detector," you retort as you lead him out the side gate and around to the front drive. "I'm going to take you inside when we get out there, and I want you to argue with the guys. Look," you say. "I know you don't have to obey any orders I give you, but please, be a pal, and don't do anything they ask you."<br/>
<br/>
"Nice request. Almost as tempting as asking me to fondle your ass. In fact--" You wheel with a shriek and slap him hard as he follows through on the thought.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Two Prescotts for the price of one, eh?" Joe grins when he opens the door to you and your companion. "Come on in."<br/>
<br/>
"No," Prescott says, ostentatiously folding his arms and planting his feet. Joe blinks.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be stupid," you say, slapping at the golem and bullying him inside. "Honestly."<br/>
<br/>
Frank looks up from Blackwell's desk with a frown as you enter. "I thought it'd just be the three of us."<br/>
<br/>
"I only count three," Joe chortles. "One, two, two, three." His finger dances from himself, to you, to Prescott, to Frank.<br/>
<br/>
"Be serious, Joe," Frank says, and his brother sighs as he perches on the edge of the desk. "We don't need that thing here." When the golem just grins back, Frank lowers his head. "Go away."<br/>
<br/>
"Make me," Prescott grins. <br/>
<br/>
"Joe, see him out," Frank orders.<br/>
<br/>
"Come on," Joe says, grabbing Prescott by the elbow. The latter flexes his knees and refuses to budge. The air is tense for a moment, and then Joe jumps him.<br/>
<br/>
They swivel through the library, thrashing against tables and bookshelves as Joe grapples at Prescott. Both grunt softly. Joe should have the better of the fight--he is much stronger--but Prescott just has to fight him off, not win the contest. Finally, Frank stands and with a terrible expression claps his hands. A tremendous boom, like a crash of thunder, echoes through the house. The combatants fall away from each other.<br/>
<br/>
Frank advances menacingly on Prescott. "You're a free agent now," he tells it softly. "But that's no reason to be an asshole. Leave now."<br/>
<br/>
The golem goes very white in the face, but continues to grin madly. "No, this is fun. Make me, tough guy."<br/>
<br/>
Frank stands very still for a moment, then raises his outstretched palm and advances on Prescott. With each step he takes, Prescott takes a step back. At the entryway he trips and falls to the floor, but even on the ground he continues to roll backwards, as though being pushed. Frank disappears after him. After a few seconds, the golem begins to scream--a shrill, inhuman thing, like a pig being squashed to death.<br/>
<br/>
Joe's face splits into a rictus, and his cheeks pale. "Frank really can be not very nice when he wants to not be," he says over the sounds. "Luckily, that thing isn't human, or ... Well, I'd have something to say about what he's doing."<br/>
<br/>
"But Cindy is inside that thing!" you say. You wince as Prescott hits a note you're pretty sure is outside his range.<br/>
<br/>
"A golem of her," he says with a shrug. "Don't worry, I don't think she can be hurt. But--" He licks his lips as the screaming continues. "I'd think long and hard before putting that Prescott mask back on. What's going on out there won't make for a pleasant memory."<br/>
<br/>
The screams abruptly cut off, and a moment later Frank appears. "Well, shall we begin?" he says as he takes his seat again.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Joe runs the subsequent lecture, and as you'd vaguely anticipated, it is long on theory and short on applications. Which is fine, you suppose, since you already know how to make a mask and many of the other items.<br/>
<br/>
"A person is a complex of multiple and overlapping parts," Joe explains. "The physical and mental characteristics--the body, the mind, beliefs, memories, personality, dispositions--are called <i>imago</i>. They are the manifestation of a person upon the corporeal plane. Like when a sphere intersects a plane and creates a circle? The circle is their body and mind."<br/>
<br/>
"And the rest of them?"<br/>
<br/>
"Relational properties. For instance, temporal predicates that link their corporeal bits across the time stream. You can copy their memories, but you can't acquire their histories. On the Day of Judgment, should it ever come, you'll be judged by what <i>you've</i> done, not on what the person you're pretending to be has done." He gets a satirical look in his eye. "So if Cindy has a habit of <i>fornicating,</i> you'll only be judged by what <i>you've</i> been doing while looking like that, not by what she got up to before she met you."<br/>
<br/>
You turn rather pink and give him a stink eye.<br/>
<br/>
"There's also <i>essentia,</i>" he continues with a chuckle. "That's the interior state that forms relations with other things, most importantly the alchemical, planetary, vegetative, and other entities that play a role in what is collectively referred to as 'magic.'"<br/>
<br/>
"<i>Essentia,</i>, that's the stuff that gives you guys--" You point to him and Frank. "The <i>Stellae</i>, I mean, their powers."<br/>
<br/>
"Powers, yes, for lack of a better word. It'd be better to think of <i>essentia</i> as a knot at the end of a rope, that we can grasp so we can tug at things."<br/>
<br/>
"Can it be copied?"<br/>
<br/>
He shakes his head. "It would be like trying to make a copy of the knot in a rope without using a rope. If you don't have a rope, how could you make a copy of the knot?"<br/>
<br/>
You look at Frank out of the corner of your eye. "So someone who ... Well, who got a mask of you guys wouldn't be able to do any of your tricks?"<br/>
<br/>
Joe shakes his head again. "You weren't entertaining certain <i>ideas,</i> were you, Prescott?" Frank asks dryly.<br/>
<br/>
"Just trying to understand," you say mildly. If this is on the level, then Frank, surely, is who he says he is. "So masks can only copy the <i>imago</i>?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," Joe says. "Of course, there's also <i>anima,</i> which is the bounding arc encompassing all of a person's internal states, and since it also intersects the corporeal plane it can also--"<br/>
<br/>
"Just stick to <i>imago,</i>" Frank interrupts. "That's what the first half dozen spells or so are about. Give him the symbology."<br/>
<br/>
Joe pulls out a stack of paper and retrieves a couple of books from the shelves. The rest of the evening is almost entirely given over to sigils, symbols, formulae, and equations. After a few hours, he lets you go home, taking the notes and the book <i>De Imago</i> with you.<br/>
<br/>
His lecture has filled in a lot of blank spots in your education. At home, after the rest of the household has gone to sleep, you take off Cindy's mask and hide in her closet in your natural, golem state (which doesn't need sleep) and pore over the book and notes until you have a thorough mastery of them. It comes with surprising ease--probably a function of the Uranian/Neptunian connection they say you have to the book, and also the almost tactile familiarity with the sigils that you acquired when you passed from Blackwell's workroom through the <i>Libra.</i> You can find no flaws in Joe's presentation, which gives you an almost unshakable confidence in Frank: no one wearing a mere mask could do what you saw him do this afternoon and tonight. You're a little less certain about Joe, though the fact that the Prescott golem resisted all of his orders and requests certainly suggests he is not under Joe's control, which means Joe isn't Blackwell in disguise.<br/>
<br/>
As the early morning light creeps through the window, you are formulating a new idea. You've had lots of time to think through your own experiences and experiments since hooking up with Blackwell, and you remember the sigil at Justin's that you accidentally brought to life. It was of the same kind that is found in the <i>Libra</i>, which suggests--though it does not prove--that you might be able to execute its spells without access to the book itself. If so, you would be able to make up a mask of your own secretly. By copying someone who is very strong--Seth, probably--you would be able to wrench the Prescott mask from the golem and discover what it knows.<br/>
<br/>
That would be the most direct approach. The alternative would be to conduct some kind of test on Joe, who seems the likeliest to be somehow mixed up in the mystery of the now-you-see-him-now-you-don't magician.</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112221122111122212121121
author_id: seuzz
title: Joe's Surprising Offer
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Every apparent path is fraught with risks, but you figure you can prepare for each until you settle finally on a certain course of action; in the meantime, something may turn up that will give you a better idea of what you should do.<br/>
<br/>
Frank and Joe said they wanted you to meet them immediately after school to continue your studies of the <i>Libra,</i> so you decide to skip school and get started on a blank mask. Lucy isn't home--you wonder what, if anything, the Durrases are having her do--so you ride the bus to school. Once there, though, you hop across the street to the strip center and hide out until classes begin. Then you call a cab and start making the rounds of various supply stores, picking up the materials that you need. Thank God Cindy has her own credit card you can put the purchases on.<br/>
<br/>
By noon you have what you need and take a taxi out to the old elementary school in Acheson, near your old house. About a year ago you managed to break into the basement, rearranged it into a kind of clubhouse, and put your own lock on the door. You're pleased to see that your lock is still there, but of course your doppelganger has the key, so you can't get in. Instead, you wander into the old cafeteria, which has been converted into a community center, and surreptitiously make your way into the main building. The old classrooms are all open and empty, but you can't use them to work in because someone might find you. Luckily, you manage to work your way back to the old school auditorium, and find a hidden spot in the wings where you are able to make a small work stand. No one disturbs you during the hour or so it takes you to mix up the ingredients and fire them over a sigil. <br/>
<br/>
No one stops you, either, as you depart with a cooling mask and mind band in your school satchel. That pleases you even less than the confirmation that the sigils you draw work just as well as those inside the book.<br/>
<br/>
While taking a cab back to Eastman your cell phone rings. You shiver slightly as Joe answers your greeting. "You got cheerleader practice or something? What time can we pick you up?"<br/>
<br/>
"Actually, I skipped school," you confess. "I thought I'd get some extra studying done. That was some hard stuff you gave me to read."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, aren't you the diligent little scholar," he chuckles. "Though probably your folks wouldn't approve of your choice of subject. Where should we pick you up?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm in a cab right now. You want me to meet you someplace?"<br/>
<br/>
"How about over here at Eastman, while you're being so cooperative? Save us some gas. Also, you can win points back at Westside, say you're scoping out the competition. Me and Frank got basketball practice, and you can watch."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's a fine display of athletics you're treated to after you arrive, and you can see that Westside's own team will have its work cut out for them when they meet their cross-town rivals. The team captain, a lanky guy with sandy hair and an elfin smile, runs the team with a light and encouraging hand, but gets great work out of them. You wonder if Frank is pulling his punches, as he contents himself mostly with passing the ball to teammates. Joe, on the other hand, is up and down the court with almost as much spring and speed as the ball itself, dribbling, blocking, passing, jumping, shooting, and trash-talking all the while. He doesn't dominate the court--the others are too good to let him shine effortlessly--but he drives harder and with more success than any other single player.<br/>
<br/>
He also seems tighter with the others, emerging from the locker room afterward in the company of three others; they are taller than him, but they seem to trail in his wake. His eyes light up when he spots you. "Would you guys believe it if I said I was dating a cheerleader at Westside," he says. He puts an arm around your waist, squeezes your butt and gives your ear a quick bite. <br/>
<br/>
You squeal and push him away. "I've <i>got</i> a boyfriend," you protest. "And he plays for our school."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, so now it'll be personal when we finally meet," Joe retorts with a laugh.<br/>
<br/>
"You like to do it dangerously, don't you, Durras?" one of the other players says. He's only a little taller than Joe, with hair so blonde it's almost white. He also sports a California-dark tan.<br/>
<br/>
"Straussler's girlfriend is half his height and is a freshman to boot, but she's got him totally pussy-whipped," Joe tells you. "I'd say she's worth it, but he might take it the wrong way and punch me."<br/>
<br/>
"I was wondering who the pretty girl watching us was," says the team captain, who is also in Joe's company. "I'm Ian Carpenter. You are?"<br/>
<br/>
"Cindy Vredenburg. You know Seth Javits? He's mine."<br/>
<br/>
"Seth is good. <i>And</i> lucky," Ian says. "I was kinda hoping you'd say you were going with Patterson. He's moving over to our school, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's the scuttlebutt."<br/>
<br/>
"Black must be freaking out," the third player says.<br/>
<br/>
That leads to a general round of gossip and stat comparing, which lasts only until Frank materializes. He listens to it all only briefly before poking Joe. "Come on, bro, we got some work to catch up on."<br/>
<br/>
"Always with the studying," Joe groans. "I'm ready for another round of one-on-one." He mimes a lazy free-throw shot, but Frank pushes him along toward the door. On the way out you turn to find the three Westside players still staring at you, and grinning all around. You give them a little wave before the door shuts behind you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
This time the study session is back at the boys' own house. Joe patiently leads you back through material that you've already mastered, and the few explanations and amplifications are easy to accept and master. He seems to pick up on your lack of close attention, though, for when Frank has departed the room to fetch some snacks, he leans in close. "Either you're totally lost or you totally know this stuff," he says in a low voice.<br/>
<br/>
"It all makes sense, but I don't want to push it," you say. "I wanna make sure I really do get it."<br/>
<br/>
"That's fine," Joe says. "A lot of this is actually for Frank's benefit. The theoretical stuff really isn't his speed." He glances over his shoulder at the kitchen. "I'm not really that keen on explaining it to him anyway."<br/>
<br/>
What an odd remark. "Why's that?"<br/>
<br/>
He continues staring over his shoulder, and when he turns back there's a strange gleam in his eye. "Maybe it's because I'm the brain and he's the brawn? I don't like making myself redundant?" He sucks on his lower lip. "Maybe we could hit some of these points in ... private lessons?" Before you can reply to this extraordinary suggestion, Frank returns. "So, the sigilistic symbol for <i>essentia</i> has to be woven into the recapitulation sigil for <i>imago,</i>" Joe continues in a louder voice.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
When it's over, Frank offers to give you a ride home, but you demur and just have them call you a cab. You take it over to Prescott's, where you manage to snag the key to the elementary school basement from your recalcitrant replacement. At home you pass the night furiously polishing the newly made mask, and are pleased to see that in your natural state you are able to polish much faster and harder, so that by sunrise it gleams a brilliant blue all over. <br/>
<br/>
Joe calls the next morning--a Saturday--to set up a meeting, and you seize on his earlier suggestion that you have a "private session." To your surprise, he agrees to meet you one-on-one at a new location, and you give him directions to the elementary school. <br/>
<br/>
"What a neat little hideout," he marvels as he stands in the middle of the basement. He runs a fingertip over a dusty table. "Could use a woman's touch, though."<br/>
<br/>
You ignore the implicit gibe. "How did you get away from Frank?"<br/>
<br/>
"Told 'im I'd be scavenging material from Blackwell's, maybe make a grocery run." He shifts uneasily, and his brow clouds. "Feels weird lying to my brother."<br/>
<br/>
"You didn't really want to get me alone to talk about masks and magic, did you?" He stiffens at your words, and doesn't look at you. "What's the real reason you wanted to get me alone?" You don't expect an honest answer, but even a dishonest one might be informative.<br/>
<br/>
His face tightens, and he shrugs. "A study session is still a good idea. But Frank and me have been partnered a long time. Sometimes I just feel the need to carve out my own identity." He hops on the balls of his feet. "But this is a bad idea. I can feel it."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't like the way he handled Blackwell, do you?" you say. Maybe bluntness will work.<br/>
<br/>
He actually jumps, and gets a frightened look. "No! No, that's-- That's just the way things had to be done." He sucks on his lips. "Come on, I told you that you needed to follow orders. So do I. <i>Stellae</i> business. Let's go."<br/>
<br/>
You've lost the chance, if ever a chance there was, and for what you're not sure. Time for Plan B? You finger the mind band in your pocket. To get it on him you'll have to play a dangerous game: You remember what happened the last time someone dressed out as Cindy tried to seduce someone, and remember that it ended very badly for Will Shabbleman.</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111122211221111222121211211
author_id: seuzz
title: Blackwell's Story
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Actually, we don't have to <i>study,</i> do we?" you say softly, and draw up close to Joe. You put your arms about him, rubbing the hard muscles beneath his sleeveless sweatshirt. "In fact, I was pretty sure you meant something else by 'private lessons' when you mentioned them."<br/>
<br/>
He groans and closes his eyes, and you can feel the organ twitching through his pants. You put your lips to his, and he tentatively returns your kiss. He resists, but not strongly, as you draw him back to an old gym mat spread on the floor and pull him to the ground. "I'll do the work," you whisper, pushing him onto his back. His nostrils twitch, and his eyes wander in their sockets. You kiss him long and probingly until he relaxes. <br/>
<br/>
Then you sit up and slap the mind band onto his forehead.<br/>
<br/>
You don't know what you want to happen. It would be bad if it really is Joe, but maybe you can explain your actions after you've retrieved the band. <br/>
<br/>
But the band doesn't disappear. Instead, it just sits on his forehead, hissing softly. His back arches, and he freezes.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Shit.</i> That means it's sitting on a mask--there is a golem, or worse, beneath his visage. With infinite loathing, you remove the band, then put your hand to his brow, murmur some arcane words, and tug. The mask comes away, revealing another face beneath.<br/>
<br/>
A terrible confirmation: It's Blackwell.<br/>
<br/>
You stare down at him, your breath coming in quick pants. You should get Frank out here fast, but the magician will wake long before reinforcements come. There nothing you can use to bind him. You can lock him in the basement, though, and if you take the mask he won't be able to disguise himself again.<br/>
<br/>
As you turn toward the stairs, though, your eye falls upon the Joe-mask in your hand, and you stop.<br/>
<br/>
Its interior has been golemized. <br/>
<br/>
You frown, for this strikes you as unusual: If it is golemized to Blackwell's control, he can wear it himself without danger. But why would he golemize it if he was just going to wear Joe's form? <br/>
<br/>
While you are dimly puzzling this over Blackwell groans, then sits up violently onto his elbows. Your foot is on the bottom step as your eyes lock with his.<br/>
<br/>
His mouth twists as he takes in you and the mask and the basement. "And what new comedy have you planned for me <i>now?</i>" he asks in a tone that combines acidity and hopelessness. He winces and unbuttons Joe's cargo pants, which his prodigious gut overflows.<br/>
<br/>
"Just wait here," you snap, "until I get back with Frank."<br/>
<br/>
He gapes, and you're at the top of the stairs before he can cry out. "Wait! Stop! You're not Durras?" He stretches a hand toward you. "Who are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Your old acolyte, professor." At your retort, he takes a sharp breath. "I don't know how you got Joe out of the way and stole his <i>imago,</i> but I bet Frank will be able to get the story out of you."<br/>
<br/>
"Prescott! Will! I beg you," he cries. "We are both of us in grave danger! If you fetch that young giant our lives will be very short. He will kill us, both of us. Or worse." He tries to sit up, but the clothes are far too tight, and he just sprawls on the mat like a great walrus.<br/>
<br/>
There seems no great danger in him in his current state, so you pause with your hand on the door.<br/>
<br/>
"I've been such a fool," he groans. "I should have seen it, I almost did, but too late."<br/>
<br/>
"Stop stalling," you snap. "I'm going to count to ten, and if you haven't said something that makes sense by then, I'm out this door and calling Frank. One, two--"<br/>
<br/>
He rolls over and begins speaking very quickly. "He's not who he seems to be. He's--" He swallows.<br/>
<br/>
"Four, five--"<br/>
<br/>
"He has an <i>anima</i> band upon him."<br/>
<br/>
"A what kind of band?"<br/>
<br/>
"<i>Anima.</i> It's the essential aspect of a person that--"<br/>
<br/>
"I know what it is, professor. Okay, you have my attention. What's the story?"<br/>
<br/>
He takes a deep breath. "I caught him when he came out to my house.  I set a trap--my suspicions were alerted by the disappearance of the <i>Libra</i>--and he walked into it. I had a blank mask, so I used it to copy him while he was unconscious. I filled it with a golem shell that put it under my control and placed it back on him. With his own words he told me everything."<br/>
<br/>
"You're stalling again. Six, seven--"<br/>
<br/>
"Then I put an <i>anima</i> band on him," he says hurriedly, "after I caught the other one, his so-called brother. But I hadn't time to get them fully out of the way, not the way I'd have preferred."<br/>
<br/>
"Nine."<br/>
<br/>
"So I put an <i>anima</i> band on the Malacandran. One of my own. I thought if I made him into my own psychological twin, that would keep him safe. He would be a partner, someone who would work with me."<br/>
<br/>
You grip the doorknob but don't turn it. "And what happened then?"<br/>
<br/>
He groans. "Our partnership went splendidly at first, after we got you into Miss Cindy and sent you on your way. But he was ... argumentative. I wasn't used to dealing with an equal. More than an equal, I see now in retrospect. But he was clever and kept his own counsel. When he saw his chance, he trapped me."<br/>
<br/>
"What are you talking about?"<br/>
<br/>
"I said, he trapped me. In that mask, of his so-called brother." He points to your hand. "I was in that mask by then, for he had the better brain. But the next afternoon-- What day is this?" You don't answer. "He called me out to my own house, to prepare for your first lesson in the secrets of the <i>Libra.</i> But once I was there he told me I'd been very foolish. I'd made a phone call, and had put you on your guard. He put me in some kind of grip, stripped me of the mask, and while I watched he set a golem shell within it, to put it under his own control." He hiccups. "He told me I was a poor excuse for a magician, that in his body he make be a far superior Aubrey Blackwell."<br/>
<br/>
"You're saying ... You're saying that he thinks he's ... <i>you?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Of course! That's what an <i>anima</i> band does, it copies the sense of identity! He is the real Braccioforte--or Frank Durras, as he's calling himself. He even knows who he really is. But he thinks of himself as--" <br/>
<br/>
The magician gasps for air. "He thinks of himself as <i>me!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
You stare, unable to say anything. Blackwell brushes his forehead with the back of his hand, and you're startled to see that he has begun to weep. "I would have done the same thing in his place," he says. "In his place, if I'd found myself in that body, in possession of that kind of power--" A shudder passes through him, and his voice breaks. "I certainly would have gotten rid of the 'fat old fool' who was trying to work with him. That is what he intended to do, after using me as a peg he could hang his brother's enslaved face upon."<br/>
<br/>
Your hand falls numbly to your side. This performance--if performance it is--is so perfect it is indistinguishable from absolute truth-telling. "But what is he trying to do? He's a member of the <i>Stellae,</i> how could he do this?"<br/>
<br/>
"Haven't you heard a word I've said?" Blackwell explodes. "He is under the influence of <i>my</i> anima. He thinks he <i>is</i> me, so he's doing what <i>I</i> would do in his place. Which--" Again he shudders, and his face turns very chalky. "Which is very loathsome in a variety of ways."<br/>
<br/>
"Then why would he double-cross you?"<br/>
<br/>
"As the frog asked the scorpion," Blackwell says bitterly. "It is his nature. Mine. I told you once, or thought I did, that magicians are jealous and do not share their secrets willingly without hope of great profit. I didn't see the terrible risk I was taking. I was--" He is trembling so hard now he seems in danger of liquefying. "I was arrogant enough to think that we would reason and act in perfect concert, like one mind in two bodies. But <i>he</i> had the advantage, all that he could want, so he took it."<br/>
<br/>
Your eye turns inward. You've not made a great study of <i>anima</i>, but what Blackwell says gibes with what you've learned. Blackwell's explanation also clears up certain mysteries. How both the Durrases could have been gotten out of the way, and why Frank could still exercise the powers of a <i>Stellae</i> while not quite being himself any longer. Why the Prescott golem claimed that Blackwell was still alive, but could resist both Joe and Frank in the library: by then Blackwell himself had been hidden beneath a golem shell and unable to exercise any influence. <br/>
<br/>
"So what does Frank plan to do?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
You're not pleased to see Blackwell acquire a characteristically furtive look. "I can't say for sure," he says. "Acquire a mastery of the <i>Libra,</i> with your help. That was my plan. What he means to do with it afterward--" His brow becomes troubled. "I'm sorry, Will, but being outside that mask means I don't remember much about the <i>Stellae</i> anymore."<br/>
<br/>
"We can put it back on you," you say with grim amusement.<br/>
<br/>
He rears back. "Don't be a fool. I would disappear, the golem would summon his brother, and you'd be made short work of."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what are we going to do, then? Joe can't just disappear without making Frank suspicious."<br/>
<br/>
"You have to find me another hiding place. My lifespan will be measured in seconds if Durras finds me outside that mask."<br/>
<br/>
You chew your lip. You have a blank mask in your satchel, and you could use it to get him a new face. But you're far from sure you can trust him. If you got the mask back on him, you could probably talk your way through the re-emergent Joe's suspicions. But you could use Blackwell's counsel.</span></div></div>


path: 11221111111222112211112221212112112
author_id: seuzz
title: Hiding Blackwell
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You pace the basement, hands pressed to the sides of your head, thinking. There are any number of people you could copy into the new mask; the problem is getting rid of the original so Blackwell can take their place. You can't put the Cindy mask on a victim: it hasn't been golemized. Nor can you put the Joe Durras mask on them: that would just revive a creature that is under the control of the transformed Frank. You stop in mid-stride and turn toward Blackwell: "We could hide you out as me?" you say. "As Cindy?"<br/>
<br/>
"I doubt I could carry out the pretense. Besides, where would <i>you</i> go?"<br/>
<br/>
"Step in for you as Joe?"<br/>
<br/>
"That would <i>revive</i> the golem. Certainly not!"<br/>
<br/>
"I've worn masks with these shells inside them. They don't effect me. Remember when you put Shabbleman's mask on me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Ah. Yes. It might work," he says dubiously. "But that mask is under Durras's control. Given who he is-- <i>What</i> he is-- It's an awful risk to take, Will."<br/>
<br/>
You resume your pacing. "So, how about Will Prescott? The fake me, I mean. That mask is already under your control."<br/>
<br/>
"Our adversary might have plans for it. Suppose he tried unmasking me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Will you stop vetoing everything I suggest?" You sigh as his mouth purses. "Okay, then we'll have to put the Prescott mask on whoever you replace. You got Joe's phone there?" He fumbles it from his very tight pockets. "Call Prescott, get him out here. As for where we put you ..." You trail off as he connects with your replacement, thinking. Seth would be a natural hiding place for Blackwell, but a different inspiration strikes you before you can fall back on the obvious. You snap your fingers at Blackwell once he's finished with the phone, and he tosses it to you. "What did you do with the real Joe?" you ask as you scroll through the call list.<br/>
<br/>
"I and my other self transformed him into a golem. As, ah, as I did with-- With--"<br/>
<br/>
"With Cindy and Lucy," you finish for him. "You're such a shit." You expect him to bridle, but his eyes fall. "Where did you put him?"<br/>
<br/>
"In the mausoleum, but I imagine he isn't there any--"<br/>
<br/>
You raise your hand to silence him. "Hi, is this Jonathan Straussler?" you ask in your most sexy, breathless voice as he picks up. "This is Cindy Vredenburg? We met yesterday afternoon, in the gym? Joe was flirting with me?"<br/>
<br/>
"That doesn't pick you out," the ballplayer on the other end of the line joshes. "But I remember you. You're not sick of his company already, are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not yet, though he's trying my patience a little," you say. "Just kidding," you shout into the basement, as though talking to someone. "Listen, um, he asked me to call to ask a favor of you? I'm with him, but he can't get his truck started again? And he was wondering if you could come out and maybe give it a jump?"<br/>
<br/>
There's a pause. Then Jonathan laughs. "That's the oldest gag in the book," he says. "If he can't get it started, that means he wants to make out with you."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I think this is serious. He's under the hood and he's just cussing a blue streak. And he asked me to call, so-- Um, do you suppose he's really not interested in me? Because you're right, he really should be--"<br/>
<br/>
"I should leave you wherever you are, let you find out if it's true love or not," Jonathan says. "But give me fifteen minutes and I'll be out. Where are you?"<br/>
<br/>
You give him directions to the elementary school and hang up with profuse thanks. "Alright, professor," you say, turning back to your old mentor. "I'm getting you a new position. You're real lucky I've got a mask ready to use on him."<br/>
<br/>
"How in the world did you--?" he starts to ask, but closes his mouth with a snap at your glare.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Prescott, naturally, is first to arrive, and cocks an amused eyebrow at the sight of you and Blackwell. "Quite a reunion. What's up?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll explain later. Just stand over there behind those bookcases and get undressed."<br/>
<br/>
"You first," he says waggishly, but at a word from the professor he trudges over to the indicated corner and grumpily pulls off his clothes. "You could return the favor," he grumbles, but you just tear the mask off his face, swallowing hard at the sight of the transformed Cindy--the girl whose face and mind you have been living in for several days now. You tug a few loose items over to more fully hide it, then go outside to wait for Straussler.<br/>
<br/>
It's not long before a stunning little convertible sports car pulls up. "Nice wheels," you exclaim as he turns the motor off.<br/>
<br/>
"They get me around," he smiles. "Where's our friend?"<br/>
<br/>
"Taking a potty break. You know you have some smudge on your forehead?" You press the mind band onto his face, and he slumps back in his seat. After it reappears, you put the blank mask onto him, and after that you put Prescott's face onto his. Your twin blinks as he looks around. "Well, at least I'm dressed again," he says. "You do know it's a little weird, this popping in and out of existence, don't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you're back for a little while, so stop complaining. Back inside." He follows you into the basement, though not without turning to admire the sports coupe first.<br/>
<br/>
While he pulls off Straussler's much-too-large clothes, you start drawing up a binding sigil and working the band into the mask. Blackwell watches you with astonishment. "You shouldn't be able to do that," he exclaims. "Only the sigils in the <i>Libra</i>--<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I got a special connection to the book, remember?" you say. "Don't ask me why I can do it, just be grateful I can." He holds his tongue until you are done.<br/>
<br/>
The name "Jonathan Sebastian Straussler" floats above the interior of the mask when you finish and hand it over to him. "Guy goes to Eastman, plays on the basketball team with Frank and Joe. That'll keep you close to them, and maybe you can learn something useful."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm getting very tired of athletes," Blackwell mutters, but lays back on the ground and puts it on. There is something definitely odious about seeing the mask disappear into his grotesquely obese form, and the sense of revulsion doesn't entirely disappear when it is replaced by Jonathan's long, lithe body. He blinks, stretches and sits up after reawakening. "Well, at least the clothes fit better," he says as he jumps lightly to his feet.<br/>
<br/>
"Nice new look, boss," says Will, who has finished putting his clothes back on. He cocks his head mischievously. "You two gonna start going together?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be gross," you snap. "Honestly, was I always such a pig?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's called 'gallows humor,' you cunt," he says. "You get to have all the fun of jumping in and out of people's bodies while I keep your place warm for you. You <i>are</i> coming back eventually, aren't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're not really making a good case for being myself, you know," you retort, fighting down the urge to kick him in the balls.<br/>
<br/>
Blackwell turns away as he strips off Joe's clothes and starts pulling on Straussler's. "What are our plans for Joe?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"I guess we let him disappear for the time being."<br/>
<br/>
"I place his belongings in a location from which we can retrieve it at our convenience," Blackwell says, but on an impulse you snatch up the mask of Joe before he can lay his hands on it. <br/>
<br/>
"Maybe I should hang onto it," you say. "I might be able to find some way to get the golem shell out of it."<br/>
<br/>
"That's a dangerous thing to hang onto."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but <i>I</i> stand a better chance of getting it fixed."<br/>
<br/>
He looks troubled, but shrugs. You part shortly afterward, him in Straussler's car, and you with Prescott. You leave the Durras truck at the school.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Frank calls a few hours later, looking for both you and Joe, and he cusses mightily when you say you haven't seen him. Without Joe's presence, there's no reason to have a lesson, and he dismisses your suggestion that you get together anyway. You don't hear from Blackwell at all.<br/>
<br/>
As the night deepens you find yourself becoming anxious. Frank is terribly dangerous, and the inexplicable disappearance of his enslaved brother may push him into unpredictable actions. You begin to wonder if you should take a chance on donning Joe's mask and taking his place: It would put you closer to Frank, where you would you be better able to hinder him or even get the <i>anima</i> band off him.</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112221122111122212121121121
author_id: seuzz
title: Joe Returns
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The house is quiet, but still you hide yourself in Cindy's walk-in closet before making the change. Once you are outside of her mask you have no heart to thump wildly in your chest, but you still feel nervous about donning Joe's mask. You hesitate for only a moment, though, before jamming it to your face. <br/>
<br/>
The new personality comes over you in a rush, like golden sunlight pouring through your mind and limbs. You gasp: You are inside Joe, but he seems to be inside you as well, as a ghostly presence, and you feel his happiness at your decision. You are going to work together to take on Frank, and rescue him from the influence that Blackwell put on him. You feel light and vibrant and energetic, and you stretch your limbs and admire the feeling of power that ripples through your supple muscles. You can hardly restrain yourself from hopping on the balls of your feet as you pull on his boxers and cargo pants and sweatshirt. They are loose and comfortable and hardly impede your movements.<br/>
<br/>
You slip Cindy's mask and a change of her clothes into her backpack, hoist it onto your shoulders, and slip silently out of her window. You will have to jog back to the old elementary to retrieve the truck, but the air is cool and refreshing, and it stimulates you into a fast run rather than a gentle jog. Joe is, naturally, a runner, and his blood slides like quicksilver through your veins as you sprint fleetly along the dark streets. You grin as you go, drinking in the sharp night air.<br/>
<br/>
It's several miles to the elementary school, but you find running conducive to good, hard thinking, and by the time you arrive at the school you've figured out a strategy that you think will allay the worst of Frank's suspicions.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"When was the last time we had the fucking truck serviced?" you yell as you slam the front door behind you. Plates rattle in the kitchen, and Frank, his eyes blazing, appears around the corner. You glare back. "I like a good run," you continue, "but tonight was ridiculous."<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck happened to you?" the possessed Frank demands.<br/>
<br/>
"The truck wouldn't start. Then it turned out it was, like, leaking gas or something, because it ran out in the middle of fuck nowhere. I had to hotfoot it down to a gas station, and then take it in to a shop to have it looked at."<br/>
<br/>
Frank glances out the window: the night is completely dark. "At this hour?" His tone is incredulous.<br/>
<br/>
"No, not at this hour, dipshit," you retort. "Earlier. But it took 'em forever, even though they kept saying it would be just 'five more minutes.' Anyway, I'm starving. What've got to eat?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why didn't you call? And why didn't you answer? I've been calling you forever."<br/>
<br/>
"Phone was in the truck most of the time. I musta missed you. And then I was so pissed off I didn't even check my calls." You push past him and yank open the door to the pantry. "Prescott get in touch with you?"<br/>
<br/>
"We talked briefly. Is the truck okay now?"<br/>
<br/>
You shrug as you pound a bag of instant noodles to dust, then rip it open and pour the contents into your mouth without benefit of water. "Got me here," you mumble. "Made a few stops, including over at Cindy's. He tell you the family's going out of town?"<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
"Guess it was last-minute thing. Anyhoo, sounds like it'll just be the two of us for the next few days." You open the refrigerator and pull out a bottle of cola. "I started to go out to the old villa, see if there were a few more books we could bring back over here, but changed my mind." You take a long swig, and let out a huge belch.<br/>
<br/>
"You shoulda called, Joe." Frank's tone is grim.<br/>
<br/>
"I should take a shit, too. You wanna hold my hand while I do that?"<br/>
<br/>
He glowers, and you briefly catch sight of the Blackwell spirit that has possessed him. "Hit the books," he orders. "Pull an all-nighter. You don't need sleep."<br/>
<br/>
Something tugs at you--an insistence that you comply. You fight it off, but accede anyway. "Your wish is my command," you reply, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. He snorts and turns back to the sink and the dishes it contains.<br/>
<br/>
You're actually pleased by Frank's order, as you desperately want to get back into the <i>Libra</i> anyway. You're also pleased that the mask still holds some residual power over its wearer--it means you will be able tell when "Joe Durras" is supposed to follow his master's orders. You saunter back into the living room, snatch up a couple of tomes, and retreat into the single bedroom. You expect Frank to come find you at some point, but after an hour the sound of the back door opening and closing tells you he has retired for the night. Even possessed, he sleeps outside, in the open, on bare ground.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You carefully read through the spell that copies <i>anima</i>, and thanks to Joe's own knowledge you are able to discern exactly how it operates. It is a band, very similar to the band that copies a person's mind and memories, but the spell encompasses a lot more than just personality--it gives the wearer the impression that he <i>is</i> person whose <i>anima</i> has been copied. The band itself goes on and comes off in much the same way that a mind band can go onto and come off a wearer; but Frank is a light sleeper, and you seriously doubt you will be able to get it off him without somehow being able to render him unconscious. <br/>
<br/>
Well, Blackwell has lots of little tricks and potions you might be able to use if worse comes to worse, but for the moment you haven't access to them. Instead, you do lots of cross-checking and cross-referencing with the other books, to see if there is some other way of disabling it, but none are readily apparent.<br/>
<br/>
You move on to the following spells, which are already open to perusal. Memories come to you as you look at them: <br/>
<br/>
The first made up a varnish that could be applied to the interior of a mask. The two Blackwells had used it on Lucy's mask, and to their dismay found that it erased her image from the mask, leaving them with Lucy's golem but no way to disguise it as the girl again. You blink: So that's why you haven't seen Lucy around in a few days. She often spends nights on end away from the house, so you hadn't thought much of her absence until now. There is no explanation for what the varnish does: the reverse of the page is blank. The next spell is equally opaque, showing wheels of sigils enclosed within wheels of other sigils. You don't need to try turning it to see that it won't yield; the cryptic inscription has left Blackwell's puppets thoroughly stymied. <br/>
<br/>
Except--<br/>
<br/>
You stare at the sigils closely, tracing out their connections and comparing them in your mind's eye to the sigils you carry within you. <i>Ah, no wonder they look familiar!</i> They are sigils for making masks and sigils for the new varnish, enclosing each other in layers. The intended meaning now seems obvious: the layers of the new varnish will bury old images, allowing new images to be laid over them. Perhaps it's just a device that allows masks to be recycled after they are no longer useful, but--<br/>
<br/>
You smile to yourself. "Good for you, Joe," you murmur happily to yourself. You recognize that the enslaved Joe had come to the edge of the solution, but held back from saying anything about it. Even under Frank's control, the mask retained enough of the original to avoid helping him when it didn't have to. <br/>
<br/>
You take out Joe's phone and idly consider calling their "dad," to tell him of the crisis and seek his guidance. But it would be a long and difficult conversation, and there would be no guarantee that the old man would even believe you: when masks are involved it is tricky to tell who is telling the truth. You will have to solve the problem on your own. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Anyone seen Straussler around?" Shawn Gregory asks as he drops into the seat next to you at lunch on Monday. He looks around the table.<br/>
<br/>
"He wasn't at practice this morning," you reply.<br/>
<br/>
"Tell me something I don't know," he snaps back.<br/>
<br/>
"The square of the length of the hypotenuse of an isosceles triangle is equal to the sum of the square of the lengths of the other two sides."<br/>
<br/>
"That's a <i>right</i> triangle, you idiot," Frank snaps. He's been in a bad mood all morning.<br/>
<br/>
"What's up? He owe you money?" Kyle Lakewood asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Not bloody likely," Shawn retorts. "It's Jonathan Moneybags I'm talking about, remember? No, it's 'cos I lent him my calculus homework yesterday afternoon."<br/>
<br/>
"Did you try calling him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, and he doesn't answer."<br/>
<br/>
You turn back to Jessica Pearce, giving her your most beguiling smile. But you still listen to Shawn bitching about Jonathan's disappearance, for his absence has concerned you, too. You put Blackwell in his place so that he could be nearby, not so he could vanish. <i>Chicken-shitted old fool must still be too scared of Frank to even show up at school.</i> Maybe you should go look for him if he doesn't show up in time for after-school practice.</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111122211221111222121211211212
author_id: seuzz
title: A Coffin Gets Another Nail
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"So what're we gonna do until Prescott gets back in town," you ask Frank after school. <br/>
<br/>
He guns the engine of the truck. "He say how long he'd be gone?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Sick grandmother or something. They're probably wondering what's happened to Lucy. Speaking of whom--" You pull a mask out of your bag. "I solved our problem with her."<br/>
<br/>
"What's that thing?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's Lucy. <i>And</i> Jessica Pearce. I got it onto her this afternoon. Pushed her into a dark corner and breathed heavily onto her glasses."<br/>
<br/>
Frank swears. "We don't have time to fuck around, Joe."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not fucking around. Although once I get this thing onto a golem, I hope my nights won't be quite so lonely."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't forget, I can turn you gay if I want."<br/>
<br/>
"You'd like that too. Add a little brotherly incest to your crimes. But seriously, just get us out to the old villa."<br/>
<br/>
An abandoned air has begun to settle over Blackwell's old house, which makes it even creepier. Frank leads you into the secret basement behind the library bookcase, where the golemized Lucy has been stashed. "Okay, watch and try not to scream like a little girl," you say as you drop the mask onto her. She glows and wavers, and a naked duplicate of Jessica appears with a confused expression on her face. "Joe?" she squeaks.<br/>
<br/>
"Lovely," Frank sneers. "Want me to capture the moment digitally?"<br/>
<br/>
"Bite me." You turn back to Jessica. "It's alright, sweetheart. Just hold still." She tries to bat your hand away, but you're too fast, and quickly draw your hand across her brow while making a complicated motion. She vanishes, and Lucy appears in her place. She looks just as confused as Jessica had been, but is far too resigned to say anything.<br/>
<br/>
Frank's eyebrows shoot up. "Interesting. How does it work?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's a three-part spell. That varnish we made is the first part. The second part, which we were far too moronic to figure out, shows how to use it. It lets you put multiple images into a single mask, so you can switch faces without switching masks. After I got Jessica into it, I used it to unlock that page we were stuck on." You pull the <i>Libra</i> from your bag. "That unlocked the third part, which is the simplest spell we've hit so far." You show him the page, which is a magically animated drawing showing how to pass one's hand over the mask so as to switch between images. "And now that we've used <i>that</i> trick-- Lucy, I need your face back." Her expression tightens, but she doesn't resist as you remove the mask; as it's the golemized Lucy underneath, the illusion is of her turning to stone as the mask comes away. You laugh. "Who says we need Prescott's help?"<br/>
<br/>
"I <i>am</i> impressed," Frank says. "I thought you'd be educating him, but it's almost like he's been educating you." He leads you back up to the library proper, where you use the mask to open the next page of the book. There is silence for almost a quarter of an hour as the two of you decipher it silently in tandem.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, this is pretty straightforward," Frank says. "Even <i>I</i> can follow it. Get a nail from the workroom, will you?"<br/>
<br/>
You curse to yourself as you mount the stairs. Last night you'd made the mistake of confirming your deductions about the varnish by applying some to the interior of Joe's mask, and using it to open the next page. (Stupidly, the boys hadn't even seen that you don't need to put a second image into a mask in order to open the second spell.) That was the only reason to acquire Jessica's image--so that you could explain how you got past that spell. Now you are into a new section of the book, and you <i>really</i> don't like the looks of the new spell--you can all to easily guess how Frank is going to use it.<br/>
<br/>
He smiles when you hop back into the library, and sets the nail your proffer onto the book's sigil. "A little of my hair," he says, snipping off a loose lock from behind his ear and dropping it onto the nail, and you have to suppress a grimace. "Now the magic words." He wets his fingertip and runs it three times around the sigil while murmuring the designated words. The hair vanishes in a brief spasm of flame, leaving only the nail, which now glows and glitters with an eerie blue color.<br/>
<br/>
"What are you going to do with it?"<br/>
<br/>
"I've got an anima band on me," he says with a smile. "And I don't want anyone getting bright ideas about trying to take it off." He puts the tip of the nail to his forehead and grits his teeth. With a sharp blow with heel of his free hand he drives the spike into his own forehead.<br/>
<br/>
You hold your breath as he blinks and staggers back. The nail has vanished, and he wobbles for a moment. Then he smiles. "I assume that's done it." He rubs at his forehead gingerly. "Now I'm the only one who can get the anima band off me."<br/>
<br/>
"And who was gonna try?"<br/>
<br/>
He smiles at you queerly. "Didn't you have ideas?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why should I have ideas? I'm just a gol--" The word catches in your throat, and you feel the color drain from your face.<br/>
<br/>
Frank makes a light, gripping gesture with his hands; iron bands seem to close around your torso, and all the air rushes from your lungs. "Yes, that's what you're <i>supposed</i> to be. A golem. But you're such a fucking show-off, Prescott. You forgot that golems can't do magic. They can't turn pages in the book, and they can't get masks off of people. But you just <i>had</i> to show how clever you are." He cocks his head, and his eyes glitter. "So you got the mask off Blackwell, got the whole story from him, either from the fool's own mouth or from Joe's mask. Where is he? Hiding out as Cindy?"<br/>
<br/>
You twist in place, but you know it's hopeless. You've none of Joe's own talents, and even with them you'd be hard pressed to best Frank in a battle of brawn. You're reduced to holding your tongue.<br/>
<br/>
Frank's eyes bore into you. "I could find out, just by putting Joe's mask on. But I think I'll twist it out of you. <i>Then</i> I'll put the mask on, find out if you're lying or not."<br/>
<br/>
Your mind flashes back to the noises your own golem made when Frank had it in his grip. "I put him inside Jonathan Straussler," you blurt out tonelessly. "Find him and you'll find Blackwell."<br/>
<br/>
Frank's face twists up in an ugly way. "So you're also a chicken-shit. Joe wouldn't give up so quickly."<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing chicken-shit about it," you retort. "Like you say, you can just check whatever I say whenever you want. So do your worst. It'd be pointless, but you're going to do it anyway. Because you're not Frank Durras anymore, you're Aubrey Blackwell, and <i>he's</i> the type to pull the legs off of spiders for his own pleasure."<br/>
<br/>
Frank's eyes blaze. "You underestimate both of us, Mr. Prescott. Myself and my alter ego." He seems sorely tempted to lash out at you, but he restrains himself. "Yes, I would like to hurt you, but you've actually done me a kindness by folding so quickly." He tears the mask from your face, and the disappearance of Joe Durras from your psyche is like losing a limb and a best friend both.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't understand you," he mutters as he examines the inside of the mask. "My golem seal is still here, but you were able to resist my orders." He licks his lips. "I should pound you to dust, but you hold secrets I want. Badly. So the only thing to do is to keep going through the book until I understand it and can take you apart."<br/>
<br/>
He twists his wrist, and you are wrenched from your feet and thrown to the floor. It's like being held by a giant claw: he pushes and drags you over to the hidden door and hurls you down the stairs closing the door.<br/>
<br/>
But he's gone for only a few minutes, and when he reappears, it's with a restored golem of a naked Joe Durras. "Straussler's not answering his phone," he says. "So I wouldn't count on him showing up to rescue you. But just in case, I'm putting Joe in here as guard until morning. I can't stand the sight of his face anyway. He'll be wanting his clothes back, by the way." With a last, malicious glance he vanishes up the stairs.<br/>
<br/>
Joe glances at you ambivalently, then holds out a mask--the one of Lucy, you guess. "It'll make it friendlier if you at least look human."<br/>
<br/>
"What does it matter? We're both fakes. Just in different ways."<br/>
<br/>
It's very dark, but you catch a gleam in Joe's eyes. "Yes, but not in the way certain people think." He snaps his fingers, and a small globe of light floats above his raised index finger, filling the room with light.<br/>
<br/>
You blink and gasp: a golem, not even a golem of Joe Durras, should be able to--<br/>
<br/>
He flicks his hand as though extinguishing a match, and the light goes out; he puts a finger to his lips and hurries to your side. "Don't ask me how," he says in a low voice. "But I seem to be myself again."<br/>
<br/>
"What--? How--?"<br/>
<br/>
"Shhh. Like I say, I don't understand, even though I think I'm up to speed on things." He puts his finger to his temple. "I don't know what you were thinking while wearing this mask, but I know what's been happening and can do the math. Right now, all I know is that I'm here and feeling like my old self again.<br/>
<br/>
"So what do think? Take him by surprise, or just play along for awhile?"</span></div></div>


path: 11221111111222112211112221212112112121
author_id: seuzz
title: The Hole
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>With a sigh you lumber to your feet and trudge over to Joe. Without a word, you grab him by the face.<br/>
<br/>
"You really want to hear what I want to say," he says in a muffled voice, and seizes your thick hands and tugs at you hard. You pause fractionally, then quickly murmur the words that will release the mask, and a moment later it comes off in your hand. In the moonlight he seems to change to stone.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Fucking Frank.</i> It must have been his idea of a joke, putting the mask onto his golemized brother. It's lonely and you want company, even if it's only Joe's ghost inside of you, so you don the mask.<br/>
<br/>
Nothing happens, and the mask falls back into your hands. You carry it over to where a patch of light glows on the concrete floor, and examine it. The interior is blank. The mask must have reset to the blank layer you put into it. You fiddle clumsily with the outer surface until Joe's spectral face appears in the surface, and put it back on. <br/>
<br/>
Joe's reappearance within you is welcome. But what trick did Frank tell it to play on you? How did it pull off that trick with the globe of light?<br/>
<br/>
You frown at the empty answer: the last memory is the one you had when Frank stripped you of it. Why are there no memories between when he put it back on the golem and when you took it off? Has Frank found a way to alter the memories inside a mask?<br/>
<br/>
You sink onto the cot and close your eyes and think deeply, but even between your memories and Joe's own knowledge you can come up with no plausible answer.<br/>
<br/>
You end up dozing fitfully until dawn.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You are woken from a light sleep by the sound of the secret door opening, and by Frank calling your name. With a glower you stagger to your feet and glare up at him. "Turns out I'm not much of a guard." Your smile is sarcastic. "Prescott escaped."<br/>
<br/>
His lips twist in exasperation. "Just get up here." He disappears back into the library. <br/>
<br/>
Each step you take as you mount the stairs fills you with greater disquiet. What has he planned for you? Probably you could have busted out, but didn't because you thought it better to see what would happen next. But now you're regretting not making an escape when you could. <br/>
<br/>
Frank turns as you step out from behind the bookcase, and raises his hand. Again, you are clenched in a great, invisible fist. Then he slaps something very hot against your forehead, and the world turns an alarming shade of white.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
When your consciousness returns, it comes with a feeling of something tugging at your face, and then the world snaps back into view. There's a tennis shoe by your face, and you raise your eyes to see Frank gazing down contemptuously at you. Both of you seem to be at the bottom of a trench of earth. He holds a mask in his hand, and you quickly realize he has stripped Joe's disguise from you again.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll thank you this much," he says. "You made it a lot easier to decide what to do with you. I had other plans, but after the shit you pulled last night-- It wasn't even smart." He tosses the mask over the lip of the trench.<br/>
<br/>
You try to reach for him--however fruitless a fight would be--but you can't move your arms. In fact, you are only able to move head a little from side to side. But you're able to move it enough to see that you are buried up to your face in earth, and that even your head is several feet below ground level. Though the trench rises to Frank's shoulders, it's with no great difficulty that he clambers up out of it. "Ashes to ashes and earth to earth," he says in a taunting tone. "I'll dig you up again when I need you." And with that he picks up a shovel and drops a great, wet pile of dirt onto your face.<br/>
<br/>
"Durras!" you shout, but your cry is muffled by the earth, which fills your mouth as you open it. More shovelfuls fall on you, and the rhythmic thump of falling dirt grows softer and dimmer, until it ceases entirely.<br/>
<br/>
Well, being a golem, at least you can't suffocate. But neither can you move--you are packed in too tightly. Slowly and with infinite effort you try to lift your arm. But if it is even shifting you can't tell. All is silent. All is dark.<br/>
<br/>
All seems hopeless.<br/>
<br/>
You reflect bitterly on the mistakes that led you to this pass. Where did you first go wrong? Was it when you decided to help the Durrases against Blackwell? Was it when you agreed to work for Blackwell? Was it when you bought the damned book in the first place?<br/>
<br/>
And what will happen now, to the transformed Joe, to Blackwell, to other people, when Frank has mastered the <i>Libra?</i> What will he do to you, when he finally finds a use for you?<br/>
<br/>
You go in circles and circles, and not one loop brings you any closer to escape.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Time passes. And more time passes. Nothing  happens.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Is it night yet? How could you tell if it were? And what difference would it make?<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You will your consciousness into "fast forwarding" through time. It doesn't seem to make a difference.<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You have only a rudimentary sense of touch in your golem body, so it's probably a snake and not merely a worm that you feel sliding through the dirt and across your face. Probably you will attract all manner of evil creatures.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
There is dirt in your ears. Of course there is. But you become absurdly, insanely conscious that you have dirt in your ears. You will go mad if you can't get it out. You will go mad if you can't forget that you have dirt in your ears. Don't think of the dirt. Don't think of the dirt. <br/>
<br/>
The crisis passes only when you remember that you don't have ears to have dirt inside. That actually makes it worse. Where is the illusion that you have ears coming from?<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Are those digging sounds? Is Frank digging you up? You strain to listen. Something seems to be tunneling nearby.<br/>
<br/>
The sound, if it was real, fades, and doesn't return.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
At least you don't have unscratchable itches. Oh, God, now you do.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Someone will come and get you out. Frank, eventually. Unless Blackwell returns and deals with him. But Blackwell wouldn't rescue you, would he? Someone will defeat Frank. But how will they find out where you are? Your best hope lies in Frank discovering something so amazing that he has to dig you out.<br/>
<br/>
No, that's what he wants you to feel. He wants to break you, so that you'll help him, if only to be free from this grave.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Is it your imagination, or is that a light off in the distance?<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
No, it was your imagination.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You start composing your autobiography. It is depressingly brief and short on exciting bits until the very end. And that's when it ends.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Again, there's the sound of digging, of shifting earth. Not another illusion, you groan to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
This time it comes with the illusion of light, a dim glow out of the corner of your eye. The earth seems to be shifting as well.<br/>
<br/>
Have you been "fast-forwarding" all this time? Is the earth wearing away through erosion? Will it suddenly vanish, like something in a time-lapse film, to reveal a changed, post-apocalyptic world? A post-technological world, tens or hundreds of thousands of years in the future?<br/>
<br/>
No, it's just another illusion.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Or so you think, until the earth before you suddenly parts, and a dimly glowing something appears and fills your very limited field of vision. It is very pale, except where it is flecked with red, and flat, except where it has some very rounded protuberances. <br/>
<br/>
It's a face. Or, rather, it's a skull, but an inhuman one, with a great, gaping hole where there should be two eyes: the skull of a cyclops. The mouth opens--<br/>
<br/>
There is no way anyone could have that many teeth--that many sharp, fang-like teeth, in an infinite series of rows vanishing back into an endless gullet.<br/>
<br/>
With a gasping, ravenous hiss, it lunges at you, snapping its jaw over your head ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You ought to be terrified, but you have no nerves or glands to vibrate. So it is with a distinct lack of surprise that you find yourself standing in darkness on what seems like a smooth, flat floor. You are free of the earth, and turn around and around and around again. Endless, unrelieved emptiness, as black as the grave you've been trapped in. But at least it is open. You take a tentative step--<br/>
<br/>
Two thing happen, simultaneously. A small, hard light appears in the distance, and at the same time the floor falls away beneath your feet, sloping at an alarming angle backward. You fall forward and are only able to cling precariously to what now feels like the sharply angled slope of a smooth hill.<br/>
<br/>
The light glows above and in front of you. Glancing back and down, you have the sense of an enormous cavern opening up. It seems to exhale, and tendrils of air, colder than you've ever felt, curl like tentacles about you, stinging everywhere they touch.</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112221122111122212121121121211
author_id: seuzz
title: Backwards From Where You Came
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You scramble up the slope. It's hard going, for though the stonework--if that is what it is--is firm, there are no handholds.<br/>
<br/>
But eventually the floor flattens out, and you stumble over the lip and onto level ground. The light is closer now, and you can make out a figure ...<br/>
<br/>
He's a hunched, balding man in the white surplice, bending over a bowl that rests on a tall tripod. He looks up as you approach, turning eyes that are a pale but intense blue upon you. His cheeks have deep folds, and there is a deep crease between his eyebrows.<br/>
<br/>
A thin shadow of a smile appears on his face. "Coming along nicely, yes," he says as he straightens up.<br/>
<br/>
As you open your mouth your questions die in the back of your throat. This world, whatever and wherever it is, seems to belong to this man, who even now is limping toward you with his hands clasped behind his back. You feel no compulsion or warning, just the firm certainty that only he has the right to speak here.<br/>
<br/>
If he has noticed your altered attitude, he gives no sign as he looks you up and down, and then walks around you in a circle. "Yes, coming along very well." He steps back into view, and eyes you with a speculative look that discomfits you. "But you will be wanting your clothes back, won't you?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Your clothes?</i><br/>
<br/>
He limps back over to the tripod, and you totter after him. The tripod and its bowl are much larger than they had appeared--or they have gotten larger--for it looms gigantically into view, and you find yourself gazing down into what seems to be an enormous pool.<br/>
<br/>
At the bottom, under what seems an immense depth of water, is a human body.<br/>
<br/>
It's your body.<br/>
<br/>
You're seized by vertigo, and feel yourself falling toward it ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wake with what seems a bracing shock, and sit up stiffly. The light is dim, but it's bright enough to show that you're inside Blackwell's library. You look down: You have a body again. <br/>
<br/>
And not just any body. With fingers stiffened by surprise, you touch your thigh. It <i>is</i> your thigh. You grasp at your toes; they <i>are</i> your toes. You examine your fingers. They <i>are</i> your fingers.<br/>
<br/>
You're sitting on a desk, and you hop down. Something slides heavily to floor beside you, and you glance down to see the <i>Libra</i> lying open, face down on the floor. You went <i>into</i> it weeks ago; now you've come <i>out</i> of it? Bringing your body back with you?<br/>
<br/>
You suck on your lips. It is early morning, but of what day? Where's Frank? What has been happening? The house is entirely silent.<br/>
<br/>
Whatever is going on, you don't want to be caught out here, like this, so you run lightly upstairs. Behind one door you find Blackwell's long-unused bedroom and dig out an enormous dressing robe. As the door to his wardrobe swings shut you catch sight of your self in the full-length mirror, and give yourself a fuller look.<br/>
<br/>
Well, you don't look the worse for wear for your ordeal. Maybe a little peaked and drawn, a little thinner, but all in all--<br/>
<br/>
No, there's definitely something wrong. Your features aren't hanging together right. You cock your head. Your hair is falling the wrong way, for a start, and you try brushing over in the proper direction, but it flops back limply. Your nose is crooked, too. You grimace, and your mouth curls in a parody of the smile you usually see when looking in a mirror.<br/>
<br/>
Then you notice the birthmark on your cheek. It's on the wrong side of your face. You touch it, and it takes you a moment to realize you've touched it with your left hand rather than your right. You close your eyes and try to orient yourself. When you touch your birthmark you should be touching your right cheek. But now you're touching your left cheek. You run your tongue around your mouth. The missing molar, extracted when you had to get braces: it has returned. Now the gap is on the other side of your mouth. You draw a sharp breath and open your eyes again. <br/>
<br/>
You understand now what is wrong: Everything about you has been flipped over. You are now a mirror image of yourself. You look down at the scar on your left thumb--but it's now on your right thumb. You reach out to close the wardrobe door, but the motion feels awkward and ungainly until you drop your right hand and use your left instead.<br/>
<br/>
Slowly, distractedly, you return to the library after having put on the dressing robe. <i>If it's not one damn thing it's another,</i> you reflect. You pick up the <i>Libra</i> and glance through it, but your eye can't settle on anything long enough to take it in.<br/>
<br/>
While so encumbered you hear the sound of a key in the lock of the front door. You leap back to your feet and look around wildly. That'll be Frank. It will have to be. You can't get back upstairs without him seeing you, and there won't be a hiding place if you duck outside through the French doors. <br/>
<br/>
You hear the door open. For lack of a better hiding place, you twist the lever that opens the hidden door and duck back onto the top of the stairs, drawing the bookcase almost shut, and listen through it.<br/>
<br/>
"--I can figure is that it's useful for creating test subjects," you hear Frank say. "No one could tell the difference?"<br/>
<br/>
"It was a perfect copy." That's Joe's voice. "Even down to not being a golem."<br/>
<br/>
"Like I said, useless. Not that I need any more golems running around." He falls silent. Then: "Fuck. I must've carried the <i>Libra</i> off to another room. I'll be right back."<br/>
<br/>
Silence again. Joe must be alone in the library.  Maybe if you moved quickly enough, you could surprise it and get back under the mask.<br/>
<br/>
No, too risky. You stay planted by the secret door, listening. You hear only light, muffled sounds--Joe moving around. After a few minutes Frank returns. "Fuck," he exclaims. "I'm not normally this careless. I thought--" You take a careful step back, in case he decides to search the secret basement. "Shit. It's getting late. I'll just have to look for it after class."<br/>
<br/>
"You could always send the other one," Joe says.<br/>
<br/>
"Doesn't matter. I need you to look at the next spell, and we can do it tonight. Besides, I wanna see this thing in action for myself." More shuffling noises, and then silence.<br/>
<br/>
You wait awhile before venturing out, though. Looking down into the basement proper, you can make out two still figures: one is the golemized form of Joe, while the other is of an ordinary golem. Is it your old golem body? Has Frank dug it up?<br/>
<br/>
You dismiss the question as irrelevant and cautiously step back out into the library, to be assaulted by the infernal ticking of those two clocks. A quick step out into the foyer shows that the front door is locked, but to be safe you retreat back upstairs and lock yourself into one of the spare bedrooms with the <i>Libra.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Page by page you flip though it, from the very front. The sigils are instantly familiar--just to look at them is to understand them, forwards and backwards--<br/>
<br/>
You stop and frown. <i>Backwards ...</i><br/>
<br/>
You're looking at the spell used to attach a mind band to the interior of a mask. Why have you not noticed this before? The sigil, just as you remember, is actually a compound of two independent lines, nested one inside the other to form a larger, complicated circle of symbols. But if you start at the end and read the inner line backwards ... And then, once you've reached the starting point, continue to read the outer line, also backwards, all the way to the beginning ...<br/>
<br/>
It's another spell, encoded like a hidden message inside the surface spell. You read it through very carefully, digesting it bit by bit before adding the next bit of information. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Why, of course. It's so simple.</i> If you were to sketch out this double-enfolded, reversed sigil as a regular circle ... Inside it place a mask with an attached band ... Activate the sigil ... The band will release again, undoing the original attachment spell.<br/>
<br/>
Your stomach seems to drop away, and you excitedly flip back to the previous spell, the one that creates mind bands. Again, patient examination discloses a hidden spell winding backwards through the original: a sigil that will destroy any mind band placed within it.<br/>
<br/>
Gulping nervously, you turn to the spell that turns human beings into golems. Your hands tremble as you trace the sigil. You don't dare believe that you're interpreting it right, but it seems to be there: an extraordinarily complex sigil that will turn a golemized person back into their original form.<br/>
<br/>
Joe is in the basement. You can revive him.<br/>
<br/>
But maybe you should look through the book more carefully. If it contains this kind of unlooked-for surprise, maybe it contains others--others that might make you wary about employing this new discovery.</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111122211221111222121211211212112
author_id: seuzz
title: A Confrontation, Finally
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You continue slowly through the <i>Libra</i> from the very first spell, lingering over each long enough to confirm that the sigil secretly encodes a second sigil that undoes or counteracts the first. A sigil that will shatter a mask into dust; a sigil that will create a solvent that will remove the seal from a mask; a sigil that will transfer control of a golem from one master to another; a sigil that will shatter the golem seal inside a mask.<br/>
<br/>
The sigils that create the elements for a multi-form mask do not contain any reverse sigils that you can identify, so it's with a sinking heart that you turn to the spell that creates a nail that binds a mask or band onto a wearer. But you needn't have feared. There it is: a spell that will destroy a nail, even one being worn by a user. With infinite care you draw it up. As you do so, you notice--so slowly and carefully are you going--that many of the elements included inside the counteracting sigil are actually just a lot of junk: null things that function like the simultaneous addition and subtraction of a term to an equation. You stop your work long enough to pore back over the original sigil in the <i>Libra</i>, and confirm your suspicion: those null elements are only there to pad out the counteracting sigil, so that it can be hidden inside the original as a kind of message. Removing those bits shouldn't make it any less effective, and so when you're done making the full sigil you write down the reduced version. It fits nicely on a scrap of paper no bigger than a half-dollar, and with a stab of intuition you bind the small circle onto a strip of tape. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You are ravenous with hunger by the time you are finished, but ignore it to search out Blackwell's old "medicine cabinet" for weaponry. You coat the inside knob of the front door with knockout grease, and trail a little more along the stairway banister; you spray the opening of the library with a "sleeping web"; you arm yourself with knockout powder. Then you carefully make your way upstairs to wait.<br/>
<br/>
The bedroom clock reads a little after four-thirty when a movement outside the window shows the Durras truck pulling up outside the villa's wall. You duck back away from the curtain, where you've been patiently keeping watch, to stand with hammering heart by the bedroom door. A few minutes later you hear low, indistinct voices. They murmur, rising and falling in what sounds like an argument. Then there's a sharp cry, and you dash out the door. You'll have to tackle Joe, get the mask off the golem, before you can deal with Frank--<br/>
<br/>
But you crash to a stop at the top of the stairs. Both brothers are still on their feet, though Joe is slumped against the library entrance. But Frank is still fully erect, staring at Joe with hands on his hips.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Shit.</i><br/>
<br/>
And you must have made a noise, for Frank turns to look up the stairs. Even at this distance you can see his eyes widen.<br/>
<br/>
You sprint back the way you came, into the bedroom, but of course it's a fruitless attempt at escape; you hear his heavy footsteps on the stairs behind you, and you back against the wall as he busts the door open. His eyes blaze, both in surprise and anger. "Hi, Frank," you squeak. "I came out on a lark. Hadn't heard from you, wondered if you had any orders for me."<br/>
<br/>
He grasps at you with a snarl, and all the air blows out of your lungs as the invisible iron fingers close around your torso. That done, he advances on you slowly, his lip curling. "How the <i>fuck</i>--?"<br/>
<br/>
You try to gasp out some kind of reply--another bluff, a curse, a wisecrack?--but you've no air inside you. He raises his other hand and puts it to your face, but his fingers slip off. He stares at you mutely for a moment, spittle on his lips, before falling a step back and relaxing his grip on you. You fall to your knees, all the wind having been knocked from you.<br/>
<br/>
"There's just no keeping you down," he says in a quiet voice. "Trap you, bury you. You keep coming back." His lips purse and then split into a rictus. "Luckily, I've got just the thing for you now."<br/>
<br/>
"You still need me to--" you start, but he's seized you again, and you claw at the carpet as he drags you from the room. The sheet with the sigil on it flutters from the pocket of the dressing gown, and only with a quick grab are you able to snag the smaller sigil and the piece of tape it's stuck to.<br/>
<br/>
He pulls you, bumping hard, down the stairs, and into the library past the ruined web and Joe, who lolls stupidly in the corner. With a savage kick he turns you onto your back and plants a foot on your chest. "Where's the <i>Libra</i>?"<br/>
<br/>
"Upstairs," you croak. "Won't do you much good."<br/>
<br/>
"Why not?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's booby-trapped," you reply, hoping he's a bad enough poker player you can bluff him. "I had the day with it."<br/>
<br/>
"What did you do?" He steps onto you, and you grit your teeth as you feel your ribs creak. <br/>
<br/>
"Ungh," you gasp as he releases you. "You know how I took that trip through it, got stuck inside a golem? I took another little trip. Came back out, knowing it backward and forward. Don't you see anything different about me?" Weakly, you point to your face.<br/>
<br/>
He peers narrowly at you. "Still as ugly as ever."<br/>
<br/>
"Come closer." You raise the hand that cradles the sigil, and beckon with your finger. "You never took a good look at me, ever, did you?"<br/>
<br/>
He bends over with a frown. <i>Just a little closer--</i><br/>
<br/>
He straightens up again. "Bullshit," he snorts. "Where's the book?"<br/>
<br/>
"Upstairs. Bedroom." You sag. "Do your worst to me. Means you'll never get the really good stuff."<br/>
<br/>
He actually starts to tremble. Then he drops onto you, pressing your shoulders with his hands. "I'll squash you into jelly," he says in a shaking voice. "And that's if you tell me what you know. Hold out on me, and I'll twist you inside out, like a sponge."<br/>
<br/>
"Give me a chance to change your mind?" you murmur, and slap your palm against his forehead.<br/>
<br/>
His eyes seem to pop, and a bright, star-like glow appears in the middle of his forehead. His arms buckle and he falls heavily onto you. You twist out from under him. There's a sizzling noise, and a long blue flame shoots from his forehead. It widens into a band of flame, and a shriek escapes his throat. Then the flame gutters, and his head sags to the side.<br/>
<br/>
Now <i>you</i> are trembling. You crouch over him and put your hand to his temple. There are no scorch marks or anything else untoward: just a thin film of sweat. He seems to be out cold--<br/>
<br/>
His eyes pop open, and quick as a striking snake he seizes you by the wrist. His expression is feverish. He seems not to see you, but then his eyes come back into focus. "Prescott," he says dully.<br/>
<br/>
You hold your breath.<br/>
<br/>
He closes his eyes and lets out a groan. "Dio!" he exclaims, and follows it with a long string of words in Italian. His eyes snap open again, and tears stream out. "It wasn't me," he says in a strained voice, and then his voice cracks. "But it was! Oh, God, it <i>was!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
It sounds like the real deal.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"I said you'd have to fight your way past Frank at some point," Joe says wryly. You're back at the house he shares with his brother, and he's perched cross-legged on couch, wearing nothing but a very tight pair of running shorts. He squeezes a little of the dampness from his hair; once released from the golem shell—which the spell sweated out of him like poison—a shower was the first thing he wanted. "I just never figured it would be like this."<br/>
<br/>
"But it wasn't Frank," you object. "Not really."<br/>
<br/>
"That's a matter for his confessor, I suppose. Fucking Papist that he is." He laughs good-naturedly. "Anyway, you'll never convince <i>him</i> he wasn't responsible."<br/>
<br/>
"Is he going to be alright?" you ask Frank has been pale and quiet since using the sigil you'd drawn up to free his brother, and after decamping for their house he has locked himself in his brother's room.<br/>
<br/>
"Once he gets finished beating the shit out of himself, he will be. But that's the Saturnian influence. No one can do the penitential thing like an adept of Lurga."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe I've got some penance I need to do, too," you stammer uncertainly. Church, as far as you're concerned, is only a place to snicker over bad hymn lyrics and undress girls with your eyes, so the idea of "penance" and "repentance" sits uneasily on you. <br/>
<br/>
Joe gives you a piercingly glance. "It sounds like you had a lot of time to yourself to think things over." You were three days inside the hole--or wherever you wound up after that. "And you still haven't explained how you got out and back to being yourself. Except, you know--" He holds up a flat palm and then turns it back to front.<br/>
<br/>
"You noticed that, huh?" You shift uncomfortably. No, you haven't talked about how you got out--and you're not sure you want to. </span></div></div>


path: 11221111111222112211112221212112112121122
author_id: seuzz
title: New Spells, and a New Complication
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Something found me after Frank buried me," you tell Joe. "The house Guardian, I think." You shudder at the memory. "And then I wound up in the <i>Libra</i> again, I think. After that--" You grimace. "Well, it's kind of confusing. I woke up in the library, like this." You chew on the inside of your cheek. "I don't like these trips."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't like them either," Joe says. "It seems like <i>Libra</i> is interested in you, for some reason. You shouldn't have been able to escape that thing Blackwell had."<br/>
<br/>
"Any idea where he is? Blackwell, I mean?"<br/>
<br/>
Joe shrugs irritably. "How would I know? Frank might, but I'm not putting that mask of me back on so I can relive the past week."<br/>
<br/>
"Won't you have to, to catch up on things? We can get rid of that golem shell inside it." You briefly describe the "reverse" spell in the book. <br/>
<br/>
"One thing at a time. First, I just wanna get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow we start putting things back together."<br/>
<br/>
You talk a little about what has to be done--restoring the Vredenburg sisters; getting rid of your own golem, which is still at your house being you; undoing whatever Frank has done recently. Seemingly in answer to his own name, Frank briefly appears. "I'm off to bed," he says gruffly, and without another word goes out the sliding glass doors into the backyard, where he will sleep for the night. You and Joe exchange a glance, and then he helps you make out the couch so you can sleep.<br/>
<br/>
It's a long night, full of harsh, vivid dreams that you cannot remember upon waking.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"I'll bring your alter ego out to the house this afternoon," Frank says over breakfast the next morning. "We'll get rid of all the masks in one fell swoop."<br/>
<br/>
"Prescott's still gonna need his mask," Joe points out. "If I noticed he's been flipped left to right, his parents will too. He'll have to wear it if he's gonna appear unchanged."<br/>
<br/>
"He can't wear it," Frank frowns. "It's still under my control. You don't want to disappear inside a dumb golem, do you, Prescott?"<br/>
<br/>
"But we can get the golem shell out of it," Joe says. "Tell Frank what you told me last night."<br/>
<br/>
You recount what you'd found in the <i>Libra</i>, that every spell and not just the one that turns people into golems, can apparently be undone. For the first time in more than twelve hours, Frank smiles. "Excellent. We can destroy all the masks, you say? That'd be better than burying them someplace." <br/>
<br/>
"Something you'd know about," you murmur in an inaudible tone. "We're going to fix Lucy and Cindy too, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes," Frank says. "That's the other reason to get rid of your double. I put it on Lucy. In the meantime, you can spend the day looking through the <i>Libra,</i> trying to figure out how fix all the shit I've been pulling." He shifts awkwardly in his seat.<br/>
<br/>
Joe gives you some of his clothes to wear--you've been in his pajamas since last night--and after they're gone you settle down on the couch with the <i>Libra.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It makes for horrifying reading, even without knowing the details of what Frank got up to with the book. Oh, some of the new spells are innocuous enough, though a close reading of the reverse sigils discloses some disquieting side effects. Immediately after the spell that creates the Binding Nail is a spell that strips the contents from masks, mind bands, and anima bands, leaving fresh and untainted items that can be recycled to make new copies. The problem--and you'll have to talk to Frank about how exactly he executed the spell--is that the instructions are not fully given, and a key bit has to inferred from a close reading of the sigil. Otherwise--<br/>
<br/>
Well, let's just say that if Frank didn't do it right, Blackwell's house will now be a lot creepier, especially at night.<br/>
<br/>
After that comes a spell that copies the contents of a mask, mind band, or anima band into a blank, creating a duplicate magical item without the presence of the original person who has been copied. Again, unless the spell is executed with more precision than the explicit instructions indicate, there will be untoward side effects.<br/>
<br/>
But it's the next two spells that leave you quivering. No wonder Frank has a bad conscience!<br/>
<br/>
The first strips a living person of their mind, leaving nothing but a fleshy shell that would be indistinguishable from a catatonic. What possible use such a thing could be--it won't even be animate, so you can't use it even as a zombie--completely escapes you. It's as though the compiler of the book had simply inserted it as a test to separate those with ethical scruples from those without.<br/>
<br/>
And then comes something even worse: a spell that transforms human victims into golems. At first, this strikes you as a simple and inexplicable redundancy: Isn't there already a spell--one you and Joe know too well--that already does this? You have to read it several times in dumb bafflement until the full evil of the thing sinks in.<br/>
<br/>
It comes with no cure. When this fact hits you flip back to examine the earlier spells, and discover none of the spells after the Binding Nail spell come with a reversal. The "hidden text" in each merely makes explicit the insidious side effects that come from using the spells. This means that transformation of a person into a golem, using the advanced technique, will be a one-way trip. Closer perusal discloses a further danger: the new golem will be born "free" and not under the control of any master. Only if a golemized mask is placed upon it will come under a master's control. This makes it seem even more pointless.<br/>
<br/>
Compared to what has come before, the spell that comes after seems innocuous: It shrinks a golem down to something the size of a small doll. There are no further hints about what such an item might be used for, though the phrase "voodoo doll" crosses your mind.<br/>
<br/>
And then comes the weirdest spell of all, one that creates a doppelganger of another person by copying and forging his mind and body directly into a golem. There will be no masks that can be removed or stolen; worse (or better, depending on your attitude toward these things) the duplicate will <i>not</i> be under anyone's control. It will be a copy of the original, with a free will of its own.<br/>
<br/>
You frown over this last spell a bit, then turn the page. You take one glance at the next spell, and the world spins into darkness ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You are woken by rough shaking, and groggily revive to find Joe peering down at you. "Are you okay?" he asks. "You were out colder than I've ever seen anyone beofre."<br/>
<br/>
"It's the last spell I got to," Frank says. He has the closed <i>Libra</i> tucked under his arm. "It knocked me out for six hours. You can't even look at it straight."<br/>
<br/>
"You could've warned me," you groan. You sit up, and as you do so catch sight of a third figure: Will Prescott, hanging back guiltily. <br/>
<br/>
Frank follows your glance, and nods. "Been awhile, hasn't it? Get that reverse sigil ready when your head has cleared. I'll get the mask off it." He leads your double back into a bedroom.<br/>
<br/>
It takes you longer to prepare the sigil than you'd like, for in your still-dizzy state you make many small mistakes. But finally it is ready, and you set the mask inside it. The golem shell melts and runs, disappearing into the sigil. "Okay," you sigh. "I guess it's time to face the music." You put the mask to your face.<br/>
<br/>
Again, darkness enfolds, but it is darkness with vivid memories and emotions: angry parents, barking teachers, hissing classmates. You twist, trying to escape, but they press upon you and into you, and you wake with a feeling of pitiless dread.<br/>
<br/>
But it's still dark. Worse, you can't breathe.<br/>
<br/>
You snatch at your face, and it's light again. You sit up. You're holding a mask: the mask of yourself. Joe and Frank stare at you.<br/>
<br/>
"What's going on," Frank asks. "Why didn't the mask bind to you?"<br/>
<br/>
You look down at it. There's no golem shell, and your own visage--the unaltered one, that holds your features in their correct alignment--gleams back at you. Absurdly, it takes you a few moments to understand ...<br/>
<br/>
"I can't wear it," you stammer. "You can't disguise yourself <i>as</i> yourself. This is a mask of <i>me</i>, so I can't wear it."<br/>
<br/>
"You've worn it before," Frank objects.<br/>
<br/>
"When he was a golem," Joe says softly. "He's himself again."<br/>
<br/>
"But he's reversed!"<br/>
<br/>
"Doesn't matter. As far as <i>imago</i> goes, it's just a cosmetic change." Joe's eyebrows twitch as he regards you. "You go home like that--" He points. "Back to front, or you don't go home at all."<br/>
<br/>
"I can't," you gasp. "How will I explain it?"<br/>
<br/>
Frank groans, and the two brothers sit down.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The discussion takes the rest of the afternoon, and finally Frank has to put the mask back onto Lucy's golemized form, and sends Joe take it home.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you can't go around like that," he sighs, pointing to you. "You still look too much like yourself." He pulls on his ear. "I guess we'll have to make up a new identify for you. We can forge a brand-new face for you inside a mask by copying several people into it, right?" You nod. "Simplest thing, then," he continues, "is to copy me and Joe. I suppose we could use a little brother."</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112221122111122212121121121211221
author_id: seuzz
title: Frank Tells His Story
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Using you guys as models would be easiest," you concede. Frank just shrugs. "I wish we hadn't sent my golem home. I'd like to give him the mask to polish for me."<br/>
<br/>
"If you're not willing to do the work yourself, you shouldn't do it at all," Frank chides. You bite back a reply. "Getting others to do your dirty work, even a mindless thing like a golem-- It's not right."<br/>
<br/>
"Sounds like something you should be saying in front of Joe," you observe with just a little acid. "Is this a confession of some kind?"<br/>
<br/>
Red spots show in Frank's cheeks. "I know what you mean, Prescott. And I'll tell you and Joe all about my crimes when he gets back."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Joe brings burgers when he returns; but you and he are the only ones that eat, as Frank says he hasn't an appetite. Afterward, he leads you all back into the living room.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll have to make a full report to Dad," he says quietly. "But I might as well practice with you two.<br/>
<br/>
"Prescott's been through the <i>Libra</i> up to the last open spell, so he has some idea of what I got up to over the last week," he says after a pregnant pause. Taking it step by step--" With obvious distaste he flips back to the middle of the book. <br/>
<br/>
"After I buried Prescott in Blackwell's garden, I used this spell to erase Lucy's image from her mask."<br/>
<br/>
"About that," you interrupt. "Did you use a blank mask?"<br/>
<br/>
"It doesn't call for a blank," Frank says.<br/>
<br/>
"Not explicitly. But if you read the sigil carefully-- Okay, just tell me what happened when you did it."<br/>
<br/>
"It was pretty exciting, like a lightning storm broke out in the library."<br/>
<br/>
"Shit." You trace a finger across the finer elements in the sigil. "See, the circle is open, and you have to close it up with a blank mask, or you get discharge. Did you see what it grounded onto?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. I was hiding under the desk."<br/>
<br/>
You rub the back of your neck. "Well, that lightning bolt would have been the contents of the mask, trying to escape. Nothing will happen unless they latch onto a magical item. And that library is full of magic shit."<br/>
<br/>
"What would the damage be?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hard to say," you admit. "Maybe nothing worse than free-floating images."<br/>
<br/>
"Ghosts, in other words," Joe says. "Imprinted <i>imago.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Is that--?" you start.<br/>
<br/>
Joe nods. "That's what most ghosts are. A strong emotion can cause a person's <i>imago</i> to imprint upon any nearby object that has some residual occult properties." He chuckles. "So, Blackwell's house is now probably haunted. Well, nothing we can't handle with a Great Dane and a box of Scooby Snacks."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm trying to be serious, Joe," Frank says. "It gets a lot worse." Joe recomposes his features, and Frank continues. "After that, I used the new mask to unlock the next spell." He turns the page. "This one copies masks into blanks. I had a copy of my own face sitting around--a mask Blackwell had made of me--and I just copied it into the new blank. That gave me access to the next spell." He swallows very hard before turning the page.<br/>
<br/>
"When Prescott hid Blackwell under a mask of Jonathan Straussler, he hid the original under his own mask. I called that golem back out to Blackwell's, and I used this spell on Straussler." He taps the page.<br/>
<br/>
You sigh deeply. Of course, you knew he had to have used it on <i>someone,</i> but it's still unpleasant to hear the name of the victim. All the warmth disappears from Joe's face as Frank describes the spell--which obliterates a person's mind--and he leaps to his feet to pace about the room while Frank watches with a worried expression. You watch Joe closely, too, and there's no missing the anger in his eye. For a few minutes no one says anything; then Joe sufficiently masters himself that he can sit down again. But his manner is brutally cold.<br/>
<br/>
"After that," Frank resumes, his voice falling flat in the dead silence of the room, "I used the next spell on ... on what was left of him." He turns a page and describes its effects.<br/>
<br/>
"We can fix all this, right, Prescott?" Joe blurts when Frank has finished.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't see how. These last two spells don't involve crafting. Only destroying." Joe says a string of words, only a few in English, but all of them harsh. "I have to ask again," you say to Frank. "Was it only Straussler inside the sigil? No golems?" Frank shakes his head. "Lightning storms?" He nods. "Well, there's a second ghost for you, then."<br/>
<br/>
"We'll have to burn the place down," Joe fumes. "Properly."<br/>
<br/>
"We can talk about that later," Frank says in a low tone. <br/>
<br/>
"Oh, we'll talk about it later," Joe retorts. "And I'm gonna do some yelling."<br/>
<br/>
"What about the spell after that," you interrupt, eager to head off the fight. "I can't make heads or tails of this voodoo doll thing."<br/>
<br/>
"I couldn't either," Frank says, tearing his eyes away from Joe. "I used the new golem, the one I'd made of Straussler. It shrank into a doll about nine inches tall. It's still back at Blackwell's.<br/>
<br/>
"And then I had Joe bring Jessica Pearce out to Blackwell's. I needed another human victim. Fortunately--or not--Blackwell had one extra golem on hand. I used this spell to make a copy of Jessica." Joe listens intently as Frank describes how the spell turns a golem directly into a copy of another person. "I was curious to know what would happen," he says, "so I sent her duplicate back in her place. Then I turned the original into another golem."<br/>
<br/>
"The one down in the basement?" you ask. <br/>
<br/>
"Yes," Frank says. "Again, it all seemed kind of pointless. The double that I'd made of Jessica wasn't under any kind of control. It's just a perfect double of her. It has no idea it's a fake. And that takes us up to the present," he concludes with a sigh. He shuts the book.<br/>
<br/>
It's been a heavy and unpleasant evening, and no one says anything. Frank eventually mutters his excuses and retires to the back yard, leaving you and Joe alone. <br/>
<br/>
"Look, I know how you feel," you say as he frowns ferociously on the couch. "It's all horrible, and ... And like I said, I know I'm responsible for a lot of it, ultimately. I should have got rid of the book, or not helped Blackwell ..." But Joe isn't arguing. In fact, he seems to not be paying much attention. "But you can't really get mad at Frank. He wasn't himself."<br/>
<br/>
"I know, and I'm not mad at him," he says bluntly. "I'm pissed because I was helping him do that shit."<br/>
<br/>
You blink. "No you weren't. It was a fake. You weren't even under that mask of yourself most of the time."<br/>
<br/>
"The thing is, I'm going to remember it," he replies. "I said I didn't want to give myself those memories. But I have to. Frank is trying to protect me. I know he wasn't doing all that stuff alone. He would have gotten my double to help. With Jessica, if with no one else." He leaps up and begins to pace again. "I can't let him walk around with that burden. I have to put that mask on. I have to have those memories, and it's going to be hell."<br/>
<br/>
"If it's going to be hell, you shouldn't--" you start to say. But he stalks from the room before you can finish.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Whatever transpires between the brothers happens outside your ken. You guess that Joe has followed through on recovering those memories, for the next day he is uncharacteristically grim. <br/>
<br/>
Otherwise, the rest of the week is occupied putting things aright. You recover the golemized forms of Lucy and Cindy Vredenburg, restore them, and bundle their unconscious bodies into Lucy's SUV, leaving them to find their way back home. They will have huge gaps in their memories, but there's nothing else you can do for them. It is the work of several more days cleaning out Blackwell's library, which involves the careful sorting of thousands of books and the burning of dozens. It gives you all a queer turn when two of them start screaming as the flames encroach: those must be the books upon which the <i>imago</i> of Frank's victims discharged. Frank and Joe insist on dealing with the vampire-cyclops monkey out of your sight. It must have been a fraught experience, for Frank has a nasty set of scratches upon his cheek when you see him afterward, but they assure you the thing is no more.<br/>
<br/>
And then late on a Wednesday night the house itself goes up in a great bonfire.<br/>
<br/>
"I suppose that's that," you sigh as you  watch the glow from a mile away. Already you can hear sirens, but the flames will move too fast and thoroughly for the firemen.<br/>
<br/>
"Not quite," Frank says. "Blackwell is still out there, somewhere."<br/>
<br/>
He's right. The magician, after being rescued by you, never appeared at Eastman; and Joe, after discreet inquiries, has brought news that Straussler's parents--who have millions to spend on their wayward son--have launched a quiet search for him.<br/>
<br/>
"What are you going to do?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"See what Dad says," Frank says. "I'm driving home tomorrow, to face his judgment." He gives you sidelong glance. "You coming?"<br/>
<br/>
"I think he should stay with me," Joe interrupts. "If Blackwell's still keeping tabs on the city long distance, he'll read about this fire. That might bring him back, and he might try contacting Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
You find them both looking at you expectantly.</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111122211221111222121211211212112211
author_id: seuzz
title: Meeting Dad
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I think I need to meet your Dad," you say, "much as I'd like to settle a few things with Blackwell first." <br/>
<br/>
Frank noticeably relaxes, and Joe punches you in the shoulder. "It's not gonna be the same without you. Oh, what am I saying, you'll still be here, and just as dopey as ever."<br/>
<br/>
"We'll make that the last business for tonight," Frank says, "then we'll set off for Dad's."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The "last business" consists in calling your own replacement out to the boys' house, where you charge the mask with your latest memories--and yourself with its latest set of crises--and put it back upon the golem. You've set a new golem shell within the mask that puts it under your control, and you order it to work closely with Joe in your absence: orders that it cheerfully accepts, as it has now been synchronized closely with yourself. You don't even have to give it explicit instructions on what to do if Blackwell tries contacting it. <br/>
<br/>
"Yeah yeah," it says impatiently. "Play along with him, get him someplace quiet, don't let him get his hands near my face, call Joe." He cocks his head mischievously. "Maybe golden boy can put this mask on for a little while, learn how the other half live."<br/>
<br/>
Joe bends it over in a headlock. "Fun thing about golems is you can molest them without it bothering your conscience." He laughs as he releases it, and laughs as Prescott gives him the finger, and laughs again as he tucks his arm in its and gently leads it out to the truck, chatting gaily all the way.<br/>
<br/>
Finally, it comes time to finish off the new mask that you've been working on all week in your spare time. It has been nicely burnished and already has Joe's image inside it; now Frank meekly submits to having it placed upon him. It's very hard to make out the resulting image that floats inside the mask's surface, and you don't seal it; not yet. "Are you sure your Dad will be okay with us doing this?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"If he's not, we can destroy it," Frank says. "Or erase the images, put new ones in." He cocks his head. "In fact, he'll probably leave the choice up to you. That's his style."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"What's he like?" you ask as the endless empty miles pass in the darkness. It's well past midnight, and you're nearly two hundred miles outside of Saratoga Falls, but you're not sleepy.<br/>
<br/>
"Dad? You were inside Joe's mask. Don't you remember?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's all faded. All the memories, anyway. I still remember what it was like being him, though."<br/>
<br/>
"'What it was like'?" Frank echoes in a curious tone. "What do you mean by that?"<br/>
<br/>
"You know," you say helplessly, even though you're pretty sure you yourself don't. "The feeling of being him. It's not like the feeling of being me."<br/>
<br/>
"Really? How so?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, being me is kind of boring--" <br/>
<br/>
Frank surprises you with a sharp, barking laugh--maybe the first time you've heard anything more than a soft chuckle from him. "Being you is kind of boring?" he gasps. "After the past few weeks, I'd think you have one of the more exciting lives I know of."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, maybe that's how come I went out looking for some excitement," you retort, ducking your head in some embarrassment. "I mean, my life was just school and goofing off. Go to school, hang out with Caleb and Keith, do shit. Rinse and repeat."<br/>
<br/>
"And being Joe gave you a purpose?" he asks. "You had things to do even when you weren't being him. And if you don't mind the compliment, you did them pretty well."<br/>
<br/>
You blush, a little. "Thanks. But it wasn't having a purpose. Even that felt like something I drifted into. No, being Joe was like-- There was stuff bursting out of me. I felt like running, jumping, talking, reading, learning, sharing. Being me, it's--" You tap at the truck window. "It's like this. Just driving off into nothingness and hoping something turns up."<br/>
<br/>
"Hmm. Dad's gonna have his work cut out, dealing with you, I can tell."<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean by that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Dad gives people jobs, but he gives them jobs they're suited for." He runs his hand restlessly over the steering wheel. "Well, that's <i>his</i> special talent. I'll leave it to him to figure out what a wanderer is suited for."<br/>
<br/>
"So you're saying I'm part of the <i>Stellae</i> now?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not officially. And even after it's official--but you don't have to join, of course--but even after it's official there will have to be a period of apprenticeship. You'll have more talent than just reading that damnable book." You are suddenly conscious of the overnight case at your feet, which contains the <i>Libra.</i> "But what you said it was like, being Joe? You didn't  have his talents, but you had the memory of them. You'll have your own. Right now they're just latent, and apprenticeship will help you bring them out."<br/>
<br/>
"What kind of talents would those be?" You feel embarrassed even asking--you don't want to sound greedy--but can't help asking.<br/>
<br/>
He just shrugs. "You got me. Joe is pretty sure your connection is to Sulva--that's the Moon--and I think you'll be the first <i>Stellae</i> with that connection in a long time. I don't know any other members who have it."<br/>
<br/>
"How many are there?"<br/>
<br/>
"Me and Joe know a dozen more, but there are more than that. Dad only brings us together when we need to be together." His voice tightens. "You'll meet one more, at least, when we get to Dad's. I talked to him last night, gave him notice I'd be out and what I'd have to report, so Father Ed will be on hand."<br/>
<br/>
"Who's he?"<br/>
<br/>
"Spiritual counselor. Confessor." He pauses. "Asshole."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Well, that sounds like fun.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Frank drives all night, and you doze for a few hours, then take over driving in the morning. It's late afternoon before your destination comes into view: a small town nestled high in the Rockies. The house turns out to be a modest little tract house behind a chain-link fence. The name "Brennan" is stenciled on a mailbox by the gate. A big, friendly dog greets you and Frank, and after a perfunctory knock Frank leads you in. "Sir?" he calls.<br/>
<br/>
"Kitchen!" a voice calls back. Frank leads you through a small sitting room and under a short archway into another room that combines a small kitchen with an eating nook. Its sole occupant is a small man in gray slacks and a white, short-sleeved dress shirt, standing with his back to you as he faces the stove. "You still like grilled cheese, don't you, Frank?" He turns a twinkling eye on your companion. "I don't think you'll ever outgrow them, however tall you get." <br/>
<br/>
"No sir," Frank replies with a shy smile. "But I don't want to take your dinner from you."<br/>
<br/>
"Bullshit. I knew you were coming, and Laverne will be back shortly with a cake." He turns fully around, to show a ruddy face covered by short, white whiskers: that and the small but noticeable paunch give you the vivid impression of a department store Santa caught out of wardrobe. He opens his arms. "I missed you, lad."<br/>
<br/>
"I missed you too, sir," Frank says, and his voice breaks slightly as he and the old man embrace, holding each other for an improbably long time. <br/>
<br/>
His adoptive father grips and rubs Frank's arm as he releases him, then turns his attention to you. "And this must be Will Prescott. How do you do, son?" He holds out his hand, and you take it. His grip is firm. More than that, you feel a rippling strength running down it, into your own arm thence into your own core. "You like grilled cheese too?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes sir," you stammer, for you're trying to connect that vibrating thrill to this very shabby kitchen and its small occupant. "That is, I like 'em just fine." You feel your face color, for it sounds like a very backhanded compliment.<br/>
<br/>
But Dad just laughs. "We'll have a proper dinner tomorrow night. But a big meal doesn't sit well after a long trip." He turns back to the stove.<br/>
<br/>
Frank motions you to follow him, and leads you out and down a short hall to a small bedroom. It's very neat but very crowded, with a bunk bed, a writing desk, and lots of shelves stacked with books, model airplanes, and scientific instruments. He sets the overnight cases on the floor and turns a quizzical glance at you. "What is it? Dad?"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh?" You start a little. "Oh. Uh, I guess." You shrug. "He's not exactly who I was expecting. Not that I knew what to expect. But the way you and Joe talked about him--"<br/>
<br/>
"Dad's-- Well, he's complex," Frank says. He rubs the back of his neck. "Maybe 'complex' is the wrong word. Joe can describe him better than me."<br/>
<br/>
You turn to look at some of the books, and you're amused to see a long line of Hardy Boys titles among them. But Frank is still preoccupied with the subject of his adoptive father. "He's just too big to see all at once," he says abruptly, and you turn back to find him staring through one of the walls. "It's like, he can seem very small, and then you get close and you realize he is actually very big. And then you realize you're looking at him through a telescope--" Maybe it's the telescope on one of the shelves that's suggested the metaphor to him. "You're looking at him through a telescope, and you realize he's millions of miles away, and is <i>so much bigger</i> even than that." <br/>
<br/>
He mulls this a bit, then shakes himself. "Well, you've just gotten to know him. If you're lucky, you'll get to know him a lot better." He smiles.</span></div></div>


path: 11221111111222112211112221212112112121122111
author_id: seuzz
title: A Judgment
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The three of you sit at the small table afterward, munching on sandwiches, pickles and chips, and drinking cola straight from plastic bottles. Dad listens intently but merrily to Frank's account of the drive, interrupting and embellishing it with questions and reminiscences about the towns you passed through, and then gives some light gossip of his own, about the dog and about their circle of acquaintances. <br/>
<br/>
Your initial feeling of nervousness quickly melts away, and you find yourself blurting out long-forgotten stories of your own that the conversation has reminded you of. Frank's dad responds warmly to these, and draws you out further, asking about your life. Most of what you tell him are trivialities--and certainly nothing about your adventures since acquiring the <i>Libra</i>--but he seems entranced, and is able to conjure details from you that you yourself had thought forgotten, and descriptions that to your own surprise seem both vivid and apt. The atmosphere is vibrant and merry, and if not exactly festive, it is certainly relaxing.<br/>
<br/>
Then there's the sound of the front door opening. "Whose truck is that blocking half the street?" The voice is a strong, nasally honk. "There are other people who need to park around here, you know."<br/>
<br/>
Dad leans forward with a sly grin. "Pray for us, Will," he says in a low voice. "Now, and at the hour of our death. But especially now."<br/>
<br/>
Heavy footsteps usher in a tall man--six foot two, at least--with a mop of gray hair that perches like a bad toupee over a flat face. Big, square glasses frame flinty blue eyes and a mouth that purses grimly. A thin windbreaker that is too small for its wearer binds tightly to a white shirt. He stands at rigid attention as his eyes flick over the three of you. "Chuck," he says, and his mouth snaps around name like a turtle biting at an apple. "Giuseppe." His eyes fall on you. "Who are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"His name is Will Prescott," says Frank's father--whose name apparently is Charles. "And now he wants to know yours."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, ha ha," the newcomer says sourly. "He'll learn it in due course. Most likely while you two are gossiping about me while I'm on the toilet. Here." He sets a plastic bag on the table. "Laverne picked me up at the bus station and told me to give you this. It's a tickerstopper cheese cake. Then she dropped me off while she went to run another errand for you."<br/>
<br/>
"If she dropped you off, why are you complaining about not having a parking place?" Frank asks.<br/>
<br/>
"I wasn't complaining on my own behalf, mister," the other retorts, bending over to thrust his face into Frank's. "I was complaining on behalf of anyone who <i>might</i> want to park there. Like <i>Laverne</i>, when she gets back. Now, if you'll excuse me, Chuck, I need to move something from my plumbing system into yours. I was on that bus for four hours." He stalks abruptly from the room.<br/>
<br/>
"Father Ed drives a Buick the size of a small aircraft carrier," Dad says, hiding a smile behind his hand. "But the saints defend you if your economy subcompact isn't parked well within the lines of your parking space." Frank just sighs--but Dad reaches across to squeeze his hand encouragingly.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Father Ed returns after ten minutes, to bark about the state of the bathroom, the miseries of interstate bus travel, the inadequacies of his preparations--despite every attempt to anticipate every possible contingency--and to baffle and banter with Dad about people you don't know. Laverne--who turns out to be a plump, faded, middle-aged woman in a lime-green pantsuit--shows up thirty minutes later with some dry cleaning. After cheerily greeting Frank, she tidies up the kitchen and then departs. Shortly after, Dad suggests that Frank take you on a walk around the neighborhood. <br/>
<br/>
Your friend is distracted on the short stroll in the fading light, and contents himself with brusque, one-sentence descriptions: who lives where, how long he's known them, what he and Joe used to do with them. He lingers near an open field and points to a spot off toward a distant house. "There used to be a big tree there," he says. "Me and Joe loved to climb it." He shifts on his feet. "I miss it."<br/>
<br/>
"What happened to it?"<br/>
<br/>
"I killed it," he says simply. "I was twelve. Goofing off, practicing some stuff. Like, what you caught me doing in our backyard?" He mimes the "tree trimming" motion. "Anyway, I accidentally cut it down. Man, Joe was pissed." He swallows. "Until now, that was the worst thing I'd ever done. Dad didn't yell at me," he adds after a pause. "Which made it worse."<br/>
<br/>
"What did he do?"<br/>
<br/>
"He was just very grave. And then he made me chop it up into firewood. With an axe. We took it around and gave the stacks to the neighbors. Dad told me I should keep part of it, but I didn't want to remember what I did, so I gave all of it away, and burned what I couldn't give away. Which was stupid. I'd give anything to still have part of it. Just a cross section from the trunk."<br/>
<br/>
"None of what happened back there, at Blackwell's-- None of it was your fault."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe not. But I'm ready to talk about it now. That's why Dad sent us out, so I could get my head together. Come on, they'll be waiting for us."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
For a court of inquisition, it's a surprisingly low-key affair. Dad takes a large easy chair in the sitting room, while Father Ed fills a big wooden rocker. Dad smiles with warm gravity as you and Frank enter; Father Ed scowls.<br/>
<br/>
You and Frank slowly drop on the floor before his father. Frank, sitting up straight, looks his father full in the face and launches into a brusque, colorless account of his and Joe's mission, starting with their arrival in Saratoga Falls. You keep your own head ducked deferentially, cocked to the side as you listen to events you didn't know about, and keeping a poker face when Frank begins to describe how he and Joe found you and started working with you. He is careful, you note, not to make any judgments about your actions or to speculate on your motives and intentions. Still, you feel the hair rise on the back of your neck, and slowly turn to find Father Ed glaring hard at you, as though trying to bore into your head and examine your soul. Just as slowly you turn away, to rest your eyes on Charles Brennan, but he is entirely wrapped up in listening to Frank's account.<br/>
<br/>
Eventually Frank comes to the part where he was possessed by Blackwell's <i>anima</i> band. He spares himself nothing in his account, and if he doesn't dwell luridly on the details, they are all the more stark and horrifying for being so bloodlessly conveyed. Dad's expression doesn't change as he listens, but you can see his cheeks pale, and a great sadness settles into his eyes. Father Ed, who has been softly rocking back and forth, brings his chair to a stop. <br/>
<br/>
The silence that follows lasts only a few seconds, and then Dad softly speaks to you. "Is there anything you would like to add, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, sir," you swallow. "If it's about me, I'd have to start at the beginning. If it's about this <i>anima</i> band stuff-- Well, I haven't made one or had one put on me, so I can't say what it's like. But I've studied the sigil, and-- Sir, it wasn't <i>Frank</i> doing those things."<br/>
<br/>
"It's not your place to judge his culpability, young man," Father Ed snaps. "The Governor wants to know about these <i>anima</i> bands and what they do to a person."<br/>
<br/>
"They-- Like, they transfer the soul," you stammer. "Only they don't transfer, exactly, and I guess it's not the soul." Father Ed snorts at your equivocations. "They make you <i>think</i> and <i>feel</i> like another person. Like, you think you're that person, only you're inside another body. You have all their wants and desires. You act like <i>they</i> would."<br/>
<br/>
"So you <i>were</i> doing what you <i>wanted</i> to do, when you did those things," Father Ed says with a horrible note of triumph in his voice.<br/>
<br/>
"It's not <i>your</i> place, at this session, to make that kind of judgment," Charles chides the other gently. "This is only an inquest, to establish the facts." Father Ed bows his head deferentially. "And it seems to me that Frank was not in his right mind when he did these things." He smiles. "Are you in your right mind now, son?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes sir," Frank says fervently. "And whatever I have to do to fix things, or make up for them--"<br/>
<br/>
"I think you already have, from what you've told me. Whatever happens now, to those girls, for instance, is out of our hands." He makes a soft motion with his hand. "If you'd like something to drink now, I think we're finished."<br/>
<br/>
"Thank you, sir," Frank says. He shifts onto his knee and bows before his father; the latter lays his hand on his head and ruffles his hair. Then Frank rises to his feet and steps into the kitchen. Father Ed follows.<br/>
<br/>
"That still leaves the two of us," Dad says to you gravely. "And what do you want to do with yourself?"<br/>
<br/>
The question startles you. From what Frank has said, you'd been prepared for some kind of invitation--maybe even a forcible induction into the <i>Stellae</i>. But the actual question is much more open-ended. And you realize that if you're to join the <i>Stellae</i> you will have to <i>ask</i> to join.</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111122211221111222121211211212112212
author_id: seuzz
title: The New Brother
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I've got a score to settle with Blackwell," you say. You shuffle your feet uncomfortably. "And I guess I'm a little nervous about meeting your dad."<br/>
<br/>
The brothers exchange glances: Frank frowns, but Joe smile wryly. "It'd be tough, but you'd do okay," he says. "Still, maybe it's not a bad idea. I can give you a little prep for when it happens, tell you how to screw your head on right."<br/>
<br/>
On the drive back to Frank and Joe's house, Joe keeps the conversation light and convivial. Not until after you're back at their place do you catch them talking about you and your decision to stay behind. You have the TV on, but duck into the kitchen to get a snack; the boys are in the dining room, talking in low voices. Not so low, though, that you don't hear Joe: "Give him a break, okay? We were kids when Dad found us, or we'd have been scared too." Frank says something you can't catch. "You really wanna leave me behind alone? Don't you think I need watching?" You can hear the grin in Joe's voice.<br/>
<br/>
You rattle a bottle in the refrigerator so they won't think you're trying to eavesdrop, then return to the living room. Joe comes in a few minutes later, his eyes gleaming in a way that suggests he knows exactly what just happened, but he says nothing except, "How about we get that new mask of yours finished up?" and gestures you into the dining room.<br/>
<br/>
Frank is seated at the table, and he looks at you with a carefully composed expression that can't quite hide a look of disappointment. He rears back as Joe scoops up the new mask--which already has his image in it--and hands it to you. "I think you better do the honors."<br/>
<br/>
You feel very nervous as you turn to Frank. "Are you really okay with this?"<br/>
<br/>
"Making this mask, sure. It's the best way to go." He doesn't say anything about what he is <i>not</i> okay with. You try to keep a tremble of resentment out of your hands as you carefully lay it against his face.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You make yourself scarce by going off into another room to seal up the mask while Frank finishes his preparations for leaving. His parting words to Joe seem to carry opaque implications, but his expression--to your relief--clears up when he turns to you. "You did a good job," he tells you quietly, and claps you on the shoulder. "Really, and that's the reason I wish you were going with me. You <i>are</i> ready for this."<br/>
<br/>
You shrink. It's like when you were told you needed to get braces: You dreaded having it done, and fought like hell to put it off, even though you knew it was going to happen eventually. But you still kept fighting it off, just because you didn't want to deal with it yet. "Is it really so bad, me wanting to wait until Joe goes with me?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
To your surprise, Frank winces. "I wish <i>I</i> was the popular one," he mutters. He and Joe fumble at a handshake before embracing. And then he goes.<br/>
<br/>
Joe leans against the door after it closes, his frame shaking with suppressed laughter. "What a doofus," he snorts.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't mean to insult him."<br/>
<br/>
"Of course you didn't, and he knows that. But he <i>would</i> take it the wrong the way." Joe slaps you on the stomach. "Let's see what's in the ice box. You couldn't have found anything <i>real</i> filling on that earlier trip." He winks.<br/>
<br/>
"Mind telling me what you were talking about?" You'd never have asked Frank such a blunt question, but with Joe--<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know how much you overheard," he replies. He pulls open the refrigerator door and peers inside while you tell him what you heard. "Oh, that," he says dismissively. "Okay, there's two things you have to understand. Fuck, we haven't got <i>anything</i> to eat, except soy sauce and celery."<br/>
<br/>
"And what's the other?"<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a look. "That's <i>Frank's</i> job, trying to turn me into the team's straight man." He chucks you lightly on the side of the head. "Okay, first thing is, Frank doesn't wanna go out there alone. You think you're scared to meet Dad? Frank is shitting big enough bricks and enough of them to extend the Great Wall of China to the suburbs of Timbuktu. You ever read <i>Winnie the Pooh</i>? 'It's always friendlier with two'." He looks back in the refrigerator, and pushes around the bottles of milk and juice, perhaps in the faint hope that a package of rib eye steaks or maybe a whole cooked turkey will be lurking behind them. "We've gotten in trouble before, and there's always been one of us to help the other one feel better. This is the first time he's going to get it alone."<br/>
<br/>
"You're making me feel guilty," you murmur.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't, and I don't mean to make you feel guilty. And maybe it'll make you feel better when I tell you the other thing, which is--" He peers at a jar, then puts it back with a snort: pickle brine. "Well, I told you back before, I think, that the <i>Stellae Errantes</i> is a little bit like a prison. We keep an eye on each other. Frank and I keep an eye on each other." He shrugs. "And I'm supposed to keep an eye on you while we're together."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't mind," you say, and you're pretty sure you mean it.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but Frank would rather be the one to keep an eye on you, and he'd much rather you were going with him, so <i>Dad</i> could keep an eye on you." He winks again. "So maybe you can balance a sense of guilt with a sense of resentment, and come to some kind of emotional equilibrium?"<br/>
<br/>
Actually, it makes you feel a little worse, because you <i>were</i> feeling resentment.<br/>
<br/>
He flashes a smile, then tugs the crisper open with a sigh and extracts the celery, breaking off a few stalks and offering you some. "And here's a third thing to consider. He also thinks <i>I</i> need watching. And though he won't say it out loud, I know him well enough to know what he <i>really</i> thinks, and it's none too flattering to either of us." <br/>
<br/>
"What's that," you ask. Just looking at the celery you'd felt your appetite lessen, and now it gets swallowed up by a swelling pit inside your stomach.<br/>
<br/>
Joe's eyes dance merrily as he bites down hard on the celery. "He thinks that without him around to keep an eye on us, you and me are going to get up to <i>absolutely no good.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
He declined to characterize "absolutely no good," unless that was the subtext when he badgered you into calling your own doppelganger and getting it to buy and bring over a pizza. "And let's try that mask out," he says. "You finish it? Awesome. I wanna see if you can fool your old self."<br/>
<br/>
Back in the living room you drop onto the sofa and pick up the mask. Joe grins as you hold it up and then, with a murmured "Here goes," put it on.<br/>
<br/>
The next thing you know, someone is gently shaking you, and you sit up with a start. Joe laughs. "Nice reflexes, little brother."<br/>
<br/>
"What do I look like?" you ask guardedly.<br/>
<br/>
"Let's take you to a mirror. I'll say this, though. The best genes will out."<br/>
<br/>
You're pretty sure what <i>that</i> crack means, and so you're not surprised when, in the bathroom, you see that you now bear a strong resemblance to Joe himself. But a closer look shows it's more apparent than real. Mostly it's the blonde hair--almost the same shade as his, and also draped low over eyebrows and ears--that accounts for it. Your eyes are also rather large, like his. But your eyebrows are very dark, like Frank's, as are your eyes. Your face is also fairly lean, and when you try smiling, to compare your expressiveness to Joe's loose and easy grin, it comes out looking much more subdued. Maybe it's also because you feel self-conscious, but you seem to have picked up a lot of Frank's "watchful" qualities.<br/>
<br/>
Joe seems to have reached a similar conclusion. "It's like my features, but filtered through Frank's face. Or is it his features filtered through my face? Well, you look more like my brother than Frank does, and more like his brother than I do. I guess that's to be expected." He turns from the mirror to take you in directly. Then, to your astonishment and discomfort he grabs you around the neck, bends you over, and wrestles you through the doorway and onto the floor of the bedroom beyond. "This is so cool!" he exults. "I finally got a kid brother I can push around!"<br/>
<br/>
Except maybe he doesn't. Your limbs are lean, but there seems a power in them, and Joe starts to cry, and then to shout and flail, as you push up, push him over, and press him down. "What was that about pushing me around?" you gloat.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, <i>fuck!</i> Not <i>another one!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"What are we gonna call you?" Joe asks afterward. The doorbell rings, but he ignores it to look at you quizzically.<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong with my own name?" you reply. <br/>
<br/>
"'Joe' and 'Frank' aren't <i>our</i> real names, you know. You should come up with a fake one for yourself." He pauses at the door with his hand on the knob, even as the bell rings again. "C'mon, how are we gonna introduce you when I take you to school tomorrow?"<br/>
<br/>
Go to school?</span></div></div>


path: 11221111111222112211112221212112112121122121
author_id: seuzz
title: A New Investigation
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You shrug helplessly, and Joe rolls his eyes as he opens the door. Will Prescott is on the other side, bearing a large pizza box, and Joe grabs it before he can even step inside: "Food!" Joe yells, then introduces you to your double with a jerk of the chin. "Oh yeah, you haven't met the new guy," he says. "Sue, this is Will. Will, Sue."<br/>
<br/>
You blink. "Sue?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey boss," Prescott says nonchalantly before smiling maliciously. "I like the new look, and I love the new name."<br/>
<br/>
Joe swivels in surprise. "How'd you recognize him?"<br/>
<br/>
You too are at a loss, until you remember: "It's the golem shell inside the mask. He's under my control, so he recognizes me whatever I look like." It's a protective device: If Blackwell <i>does</i> return and happens to get the mask off the golem (one of the extras left over from the destruction of the villa) he won't be able to use it to infiltrate your team.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh well, so much for that test," Joe grumbles. He looks at the golem, who is standing in the door with an expectant look on its face. "Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
It holds out its hand. "That'll be twenty eighty-one. I won't charge for gas."<br/>
<br/>
Joe jerks a thumb at the golem and blows an amused raspberry between his lips. "Look who wants to get <i>paid!</i>" he chortles. The golem frowns.<br/>
<br/>
So do you. "Don't be a jerk. Pay him."<br/>
<br/>
"I haven't got any money! That's how come we got Clayface here to--"<br/>
<br/>
"We'll owe you," you interrupt, turning to your replacement. "Give us a couple of days." The golem shrugs and shoots Joe a dirty look before leaving; the latter gives a bark of incredulity as he closes the door. "Come on, be nice to the thing," you chide him. "It's basically me."<br/>
<br/>
"Fine," Joe shrugs. "If you wanna pay him back, maybe you can get a job." He leads you into the dining room, drops the box onto the table, and pulls it open. A warm draught of sausage, cheese, tomato sauce and bread rushes into the room.<br/>
<br/>
"Why do you want me going to school with you," you ask as you pull out a piece--trailing gooey mozzarella--and sit opposite Joe.<br/>
<br/>
"What, you'd rather hang around the house all day?" Joe mumbles through his own slice. "That's what you've been doing for the past week while <i>we've</i> been at Eastman."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not enrolled," you point out.<br/>
<br/>
"You could be," Joe replies. "We don't know how long we're going to be out here waiting for Blackwell."<br/>
<br/>
"We might be here for only a few days."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, there's still stuff to do besides wait for Blackwell," he says. "We think you're not the only one who got mixed up in this <i>Libra</i> business. So unless you can clear up a couple of points over supper, we still have some mysteries to solve."<br/>
<br/>
"Like what?" It sounds like he's got a story to tell, so you take advantage by shoving the hot and tangy pizza slice into your mouth.<br/>
<br/>
He sucks on a wad of cheese, smacks it around loudly, swallows; then, still holding the slice, ducks into the kitchen long enough to fetch a roll of paper towels. "What do you know about a box out at Salopek Engineering?"<br/>
<br/>
"My dad's work?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's your dad's <i>box,</i> as near as we can tell." You stare at him dumbly. "You know, we never got the full story on how you got ahold of the <i>Libra.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
You glance down at your pizza slice regretfully, then unroll some paper towels and set your dinner down on them. "I found it at Arnholm's Used Bookstore." You give him the story of the trip to Arnholm's and your attempt to return it, and volunteer without prodding all the details of your employment at Blackwell's.<br/>
<br/>
"So you don't know anything about Salopek or a box in one of their storerooms," he says. You shake your head. "Or about a box of stuff in a sub-basement at Eastman? That sucks," he says as he looks ruefully at the pizza, "and not just because you're going to catch up to me and then get about two slices ahead while I tell you about them.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay. We--that's our people, <i>Stellae</i> people--heard about the <i>Libra</i> late in June. It turned up in New York, upstate, among the effects of a dead woman. We went up to get it, but it had already been packed and mailed to some of her survivors. Funny thing is that it never made it to where it was supposed to be going. It got diverted, and wound up at Salopek Engineering, addressed to a guy named Harris Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
As he is speaking, you are doing your best to prove his best fears well founded by gobbling at the pizza, but mention of your dad stops you dead.<br/>
<br/>
"It got opened while it was at Salopek, and most of its contents got removed," he continues. "Frank and I showed up too late to prevent that, and nearly lost the trail for good." He gives you an amused glance. "We came real close to hitting the bulls-eye, though, because Harris Prescott was our number one suspect, and we almost paid your house a visit back in August."<br/>
<br/>
He looks at you carefully. You take a big bite of the pizza crust and shake your head. "Wouldna done you any good. I didn't get it until early in September."<br/>
<br/>
"Your dad didn't have it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Pretty sure he didn't. I mean, he doesn't tell me anything, but Blackwell had it by that point, I'm pretty sure."<br/>
<br/>
"And how did he manage that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Beats me. But he showed up at Arnholm's, desperate to get it back. And he'd had it a bit by then, if he had golems and shit when <i>I</i> showed up."<br/>
<br/>
"It's very strange," Joe says after a few seconds' thought, "but I'm pretty sure you're right. Because before we could visit your dad we heard about stuff going on at Eastman."<br/>
<br/>
"This was before school started?" you ask, puzzled.<br/>
<br/>
"Not long before. But I mean the school property, not the institution. There were some Eastman guys who worked at Salopek. They got fired for being drunk on the job just after that box would have arrived. Not long after that, they go onto the school property. They're doing something--no one is sure what--but one of them falls into a coma, and the other dies in a car accident."<br/>
<br/>
You pick up another piece of pizza, but let the cheese ooze off it while you think. "That sounds creepy, but it doesn't sound like it has anything to do with the <i>Libra.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Doesn't it? Ask Blackwell how healthy it is to play with that book."<br/>
<br/>
You regard your pizza slice thoughtfully. "But that was Blackwell's own fault."<br/>
<br/>
"It's always <i>someone's</i> fault," Joe says. "But would you trust an expert opinion if I told you that playing around with magical items--especially the really advanced ones--is about as healthy as playing around with a bag full of mousetraps, plutonium, and angry weasels? Yeah, people make their own luck when things like the <i>Libra</i> are sitting on their bookshelves, but things like the <i>Libra</i> are loaded dice in a crooked casino where they don't let winners walk out the door. Can I have that last piece? I lose control of my metaphors when I haven't had enough to eat."<br/>
<br/>
"So you think these guys got into that box and got the <i>Libra</i> and screwed up?" you ask, ignoring his last question--not that it matters, since he helps himself to the remaining slice anyway.<br/>
<br/>
"It doesn't explain how the book got to Blackwell, I know," he says. "And I'd say it has nothing to do with the <i>Libra</i>--just some glue-huffers who were stupid at work and stupid behind a wheel--except that Frank and me also found a box in the Eastman sub-basement, containing a bunch of <i>Libra-</i>related items."<br/>
<br/>
"Like what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Masks, and a notebook containing references to masks and a bunch of sigils."<br/>
<br/>
"You're joking."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't joke about this stuff. Oh, fuck me, what am I saying, of course I do. But not in this case."<br/>
<br/>
"So you found this box and enrolled at Eastman because you figured someone there had the book."<br/>
<br/>
"Eh, the other way around. We played a hunch, enrolled at Eastman, and found the box. That seemed like confirming evidence, and Karl Popper can bite my sexy ass in return for having the last laugh in this case."<br/>
<br/>
You've learned to ignore it when Joe makes those weird references. "So you want me to enroll at Eastman and help you find out if there's another guy in a mask running around."<br/>
<br/>
"It's something to do while waiting for Blackwell to show up again." He looks into the now empty pizza box with a sigh. "And like I said earlier, it's always friendlier with two."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You make a late night of it, talking over all the evidence each of you has, and constructing lots of hypotheses. Or, rather, Joe constructs them and you knock them down. You don't get anywhere, though, until Joe mentions "those three guys at Salopek." "I thought you said there were only two," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"Three guys got fired. Only two were at Eastman."<br/>
<br/>
"What happened to the third guy?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he was an Eastman student, but he transferred to Westside at the start of the year. We almost followed him, but he wasn't with those guys when those accidents happened, so he wasn't involved, it sounds like."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, not in the accidents. But--"<br/>
<br/>
"That's true. But that box was at Eastman, and still is."<br/>
<br/>
You mull this. "Maybe we should split up? You take Eastman and I go back to Westside?" <br/>
<br/>
He looks skeptical.</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112221122111122212121121121211221212
author_id: seuzz
title: Joe Tells the Truth
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I'd rather us stay together, and that's not just me channeling Frank," Joe says. "Don't you wanna be at Eastman with me? It'd be more fun."<br/>
<br/>
"So go with me to Westside."<br/>
<br/>
"That feels like a red herring. The box is at Eastman."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," you groan. You collect the pizza box and stand up. "You're in charge. What do <i>you</i> want to do?" As you pass him on your way to the kitchen, you clap him on the shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
"I want you to make us some masks so we can have some fun," he says.<br/>
<br/>
You spin in surprise. And your surprise at his words is nothing compared to your shock at what happens next.<br/>
<br/>
Joe swings around in his chair, his mouth open. A fire bursts in his eyes and he explodes out of the chair. Before you can react he grabs you by the shirt and thrusts you into the kitchen and slams you against the refrigerator. "What the <i>fuck</i> did you just do?" he cries.<br/>
<br/>
"I asked what you wanted to do," you cry back.<br/>
<br/>
He slams you again against the ice box, so hard your teeth rattle. "Answer me, motherfucker! God damn it, <i>what did you do?!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Joe! I only asked--"<br/>
<br/>
A deep roar, like a volcano in full-throated eruption, bursts from his chest. Your shirt rips as he hauls you into the living room and hurls you onto the sofa. He plants a firm foot on your chest; his eyes blaze and his mouth twists into a horrible snarl. For a brief instant you have a vision of being incinerated alive. Then he jabs a finger like a javelin at you. "Stay! You twitch so much as a millimeter and I swear by God's great name that I'll have your skin for a smoking jacket!" He swings on his heel and stalks from the room.<br/>
<br/>
You're trembling. You faced down the Blackwell-possessed Frank, but during that fight you knew what was happening, and why, and had been psyching yourself for it. But this explosion from nowhere, from Joe, who has always been the model of kindliness and friendliness-- An icicle lodges in your chest. What if--?<br/>
<br/>
Joe returns, very red in the face. In his hand he holds a pack of cigarettes; he tears it open and pounds a single cylinder from it. This he puts into his mouth, and his cheeks pucker. No match or lighter: the cigarette flares to life as he glares, and almost half of it instantly dissolves into ash. A great wreath of smoke goes up around his head. "I didn't know you smoked," you say weakly.<br/>
<br/>
"Normally I don't," he says in a voice that is very firm but much calmer. "Dad hates these things, but there are worse ways of being disobedient." He leans over you, and there's a fell light in his eyes. "Repeat my next words <i>exactly,</i> asshole." His eyebrows arch threateningly, and you nod. "For the next sixty seconds," he says, "I will be totally truthful, so help me God."<br/>
<br/>
"For the next sixty seconds, I will be totally truthful, so help me God." Your voice is very quiet, and you don't stammer or quaver. This is far too important, you can tell.<br/>
<br/>
"What is your name?"<br/>
<br/>
"William Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
"Where did you find the <i>Libra?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"In Arnholm's Bookstore."<br/>
<br/>
"Have you met or studied with any other magicians than Aubrey Blackwell?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes." At your answer, his eyes gleam ferociously. "You and Frank."<br/>
<br/>
"Ha!" But there's no humor in the bark of laughter. "Why did you ask me what I want to do?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because I want to know what you want to do."<br/>
<br/>
"About what?"<br/>
<br/>
"About investigating that box at Eastman. About finding any more people who have masks."<br/>
<br/>
"Why did you touch me when you asked me that question?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just to be friendly. You know, just to say 'You're my friend, you're my boss, I want to do what you want to do.' You know." You feel tears beginning to form behind your eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"What were you thinking when you asked me that?"<br/>
<br/>
"That I wanted to go to Westside, but I also wanted to do what you want to do, and that I don't want to argue with you, but I want you to <i>let</i> me go to Westside."<br/>
<br/>
"Before you asked that question, did it ever occur to you that maybe I wanted you to make us some masks?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Or, I don't remember if I did."<br/>
<br/>
"Are you a virgin?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," you say miserably after a fractional hesitation that left you feeling like you were choking on someone else's vomit. "I got a blow job at summer camp before my junior year, but I didn't cum or anything."<br/>
<br/>
You expect that to draw a laugh or a snigger, but Joe remains very grave. "Alright, time's up," he says quietly. He looks at the cigarette, draws a short and thoughtful puff from it, then grinds it out--without flinching--in the palm of his hand. "I'm seriously, seriously freaked out right now, but I'm not mad at you anymore." Actually, he looks very pale. "We still have a lot to talk about, though."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"A lot to talk about" takes you deep into the early morning hours, and it is a very long grind. Joe gets a large sketchpad from his bedroom and sits opposite as you splay on the couch. He is indefatigable as he writes and questions you about all manner of very strange things--things about yourself; things you suspect or hope about yourself; things you never knew or suspected about yourself; and things that seem to have absolutely nothing to do with you whatsoever. You are still so frightened that you struggle manfully to answer with as much care and detail and honesty as you can, but you are loopy long before he falls silent. <br/>
<br/>
That silence lasts long enough that you feel yourself dozing before Joe hurls the sketchpad to the floor in disgust. "I can't get a fix on you," he says, and glares again as though you've done something very bad.<br/>
<br/>
"Is this more of that horoscope stuff?" you ask, remembering the oddball session at the Chinese restaurant ... how many days, weeks, months ago was that?<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, but more in depth. I should be able to predict when you'll get married and have your appendix out based on the stuff I just pulled out of you, but--"<br/>
<br/>
"I had my appendix out when I was twelve," you yawn.<br/>
<br/>
He grabs up the sketchpad and frowns carefully at it for almost a full minute, then lets it slip from his fingers. "Maybe I'm just too tired to concentrate. Or maybe you'll have it removed <i>again.</i>" He groans. "You're Sulva, that's blazingly obvious, but you're all goofy."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh-hyuk!"<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up. You're Sulva, but you should have a second planet as well. All Stellae have a second planet. But whatever it is, Sulva has it in eclipse. In fact, your probability envelopes have <i>all</i> the other planets in your chart in eclipse, and those envelopes seem to be in a state of constant dynamic flux." He pulls hard on his lip. "I'll have to talk to Kali. Sulva is the weird one and maybe I just haven't studied it enough," he mumbles.<br/>
<br/>
"Can you at least explain why you got so pissed at me?"<br/>
<br/>
The fire had gone out of his eyes--though they have been glittering with concentration--but now it rekindles. "You did something you shouldn't have been able to do," he says. "You made me tell the truth."<br/>
<br/>
You blink at him--you're too tired to be afraid any more. "Are you saying you don't tell the truth?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, but gilded. And there are a lot of truths I don't tell because it's impolitic. You made me tell the truth against my will--" He leans forward, and hisses out choking words. "And that's something only <i>I'm</i> supposed to be able to do!"<br/>
<br/>
Again, you blink. "Say what?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's one of my gifts, one of my 'magical powers,'" he says, making air quotes as if the sarcasm in his tone wasn't enough. "I don't use it, except in really, really important circumstances, because it's a really rude thing to do." He slumps back again. "As I've just learned to my own immense chagrin."<br/>
<br/>
You sit up. "You're saying I acted like a fucking lie detector?"<br/>
<br/>
"You did a lot worse than that, you son of a <i>bitch!</i> You ripped a secret truth out of me. Yeah," he says, and he slumps and turns very pale. "I'd really like it if you made up a mask for me and let me run around pretending to be someone else." He groans. "I'd <i>love</i> it!"<br/>
<br/>
"Why?!"<br/>
<br/>
He laughs weakly. "My dad was a con man. My real dad, my biological dad. I helped him. I was just a kid, but it was like a game. It was huge fun, even though I didn't understand it. Dad--that's Frank's and my dad, boss of the <i>Stellae</i>--stole me from him. Rescued me, saved me." He passes a hand over his eyes. "But I guess the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree." He blinks hard and rubs at his eyes. "Frank's right," he murmurs. "I need watching."<br/>
<br/>
Silence reigns for a good long time, before Joe sighs raggedly. "Well, we should get at least a little bit of sleep."<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't mean anything by that question, Joe, and I sure didn't--"<br/>
<br/>
"I know. That was clear after I put you through that sixty-second game of Truth or Fuck Me Up the Ass with Hellfire. We'll talk about it tomorrow. You can have my bed. That's my way of apologizing." He smiles weakly.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The thing is, you feel quite confident that you <i>could</i> make him a mask, even without the <i>Libra,</i> which is with Frank. You shouldn't, of course, because you don't want to put temptation before him. But, you realize with a sinking heart, if you don't tell him it might look like you're hiding a secret of your own.</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111122211221111222121211211212112212121
author_id: seuzz
title: A New Mask
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>A long day and a harrowing night finally give way to sleep; but it's sleep at the zombie-hour of four A.M., and Joe's alarm shrieks in your ear only two hours later. Still, it was long enough for a nightmare in which Joe removed your face and stuck his hands in your skull, where he seemed to be rewiring things. The real horror came in the dream when you "realized" that you'd asked him to do this.<br/>
<br/>
You shamble into the kitchen and look through the food stocks. It's either peanut butter or cereal for breakfast, unless it's peanut butter <i>on</i> your cereal. You glance briefly into the living room, to see Joe, still in his clothes, sprawled stomach-side-down on the sofa with his arm trailing on the floor. He raises a heavy eyelid, grunts, and closes it.<br/>
<br/>
You're carefully chewing the last few mouthfuls of cereal when he comes padding in, looking as ill-rested as you. "'M sorry 'bou' las' night," he mumbles as he drops heavily into a chair. <br/>
<br/>
"I'll forgive you if you let me try something," you reply. He screws one eye open and one eye shut and looks at you sideways. "Don't take this the wrong way, but ..." You reach across the table for his face. He pulls back, then with a snort and a small smile relents and leans forward. You pluck at his face and at his forehead. He's clean.<br/>
<br/>
"Think I was outta character, huh?" He yawns and stretches. "Oh, fuck me, but I wasn't. Frank always seems like he's a little pissed off, but he never gets much worse than that. Me, I'm always cool and happy, but when I get pissed--" He makes an ugly face. "Better to have Frank mad at you. He's had a lot more practice keeping control." He hunches, and there's a shake in his sigh. "I came real close to losing my shit last night."<br/>
<br/>
"It seemed like you did."<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't," he says quietly. "Or you wouldn't be here to listen to me apologize again. I'm very, very sorry." He drops his forehead onto the table.<br/>
<br/>
"Joe, I've got something else to tell you," you say, taking a deep breath. "I think I <i>could</i> make us some masks." <br/>
<br/>
Joe doesn't stir, except to raise a middle finger at you. "I'm not trying to get a rise out of you. I'm trying to be totally honest with you. You, uh, seem scared of what I did last night, and it seems like you were mad because you thought I was hiding a secret from you. I don't want you thinking I'm hiding anything from you."<br/>
<br/>
"Frank has the book," he mumbles. "And Dad will have it by tomorrow morning at the latest. You can't do shit."<br/>
<br/>
"But I think I can. I know all the spells. It's like I see them right in front of me."<br/>
<br/>
"But you need the sigils in the book to execute them."<br/>
<br/>
"No I don't." <i>That</i> causes him to raise his head. "It's how come I was able to beat Frank. He had the book, but I was able to make sigils without it."<br/>
<br/>
Joe studies you gravely. "This is important if true," he says. "But we should confirm it before getting our knickers even more twisted up."<br/>
<br/>
"By making a mask?" you ask with a half smile.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes," he says quietly. "Except we don't have any supplies and we don't have any money. We'll have to get some from Prescott--"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm pretty sure you cleaned out his savings," you say. "I never got much of an allowance, and hardly ever had more than thirty dollars at any one time."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck," Joe says after thinking for awhile. "I'm gonna take a shower and go for a run. Maybe I'll have an idea when I get back."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The idea, when it comes, is to call his dad. "I hate asking for money," he says as he dials the number. "It means we've fucked up. Hi Dad," he says into the phone, and even you can hear the slightly metallic insincerity to his happy tone.<br/>
<br/>
The conversation is full of pleasantries, and it takes awhile for Joe to get to the point. "Um, listen, the reason I called--besides getting to hear your voice--is that Prescott and me are tying up loose ends, and we have some one-time expenses that will need defraying. I was wondering if you could give us next month's allowance a little ... early?" He grits his teeth, and then his eyes pop and his mouth drops. "Whoa, you what? Really? Oh, man! Dad! You are <i>TEH AWESOME!</i> Awesome is as awesome does, and <i>you--</i> Does Frank know yet? Well, I'll set his half aside. Wait, his <i>third?</i>" <br/>
<br/>
He grins over at you, and repeats lots of variations on many high degrees of gratitude before hanging up, to leap in the air and punch at the ceiling with a fist. "Greatest Dad Ever! I'd buy him a coffee cup with the slogan, but he already has a dozen."<br/>
<br/>
"We're getting some money?" you ask, though the answer is obvious.<br/>
<br/>
"And not an advance on our allowance, either," he exults. "He transferred a two thousand dollar bonus into our bank account last night. Half of that is <i>yours,</i> cocksucker!"<br/>
<br/>
Your jaw drops. "For what?"<br/>
<br/>
"For a job well done! He wants us to invest it in clean up operations, and then there'll be <i>another</i> bonus after that!" Joe rips open a kitchen drawer and pulls out a debit card. "Ten-twelve is the PIN number. Number of planets, number of constellations. Also, Frank's birthday, but you wouldn't remember <i>that.</i> While I'm at school, you do the shopping. Food, mask stuff, whatever you think we need." He leaps against the wall, planting both feet on it, and bounces off.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You are actually very careful with the money, and even take the bus around town, which means it takes a while to do the errands. Joe expresses dismay over your food choices when he gets back from school, and says he'll make his own grocery run later. He ends by slyly asking, "Did you cook up anything else?" and waves his fingers in front of his face.<br/>
<br/>
With some reluctance, you fetch the mask you'd made. His lips disappear as he takes it. "Is it good news or bad that I can do this without the <i>Libra</i>?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"It's news," he says. "Let's leave it at that for the moment." He shoots a you a keen glance. "Does it work?"<br/>
<br/>
"It has to be polished first." You snatch up a paper towel left over from last night and show him how to do it.<br/>
<br/>
"How long would it take?"<br/>
<br/>
"A couple of days, if we're actually going to--" <br/>
<br/>
He abruptly disappears down the hallway with the mask. You frown. It's a good thing it will take a couple of days; lots of time to talk him out of--<br/>
<br/>
You blink as he returns. He hands you the mask, which glows bluely. Your jaw drops. "How did--?"<br/>
<br/>
"Another one of my gifts. And now I'm starving. I haven't eaten in the equivalent of about thirty-six hours."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You splurge with an early dinner at a steakhouse, where Joe eats for two. "We're gonna have to tell Dad about this," he says over the meal. "<i>And</i> I'm going to ask him if we can use it to do undercover work."<br/>
<br/>
"Joe, if you think it's a bad idea--"<br/>
<br/>
"That's why I'll be asking him. Frank and me were hampered because we could only nose around. Getting <i>really</i> close to people, though--" He stabs at his potato. "Probably you should be the one doing it, but I should be close by." You hold your tongue, lest the phrase "absolutely no good" come tripping off it. "I should talk to Kali first, though," he continues thoughtfully.<br/>
<br/>
"You mentioned this Kali person last night," you say, grateful for the distraction. "Who is she?"<br/>
<br/>
"My mentor. My trainer. The real expert on <i>essentia</i> and <i>ousiarchs.</i> I sent her an email from school about you and that business last night. I hope she'll reply or call tonight. Oh, I should tell you the names of all the people who might be calling. You shouldn't just let the phone ring, because it might be important." <br/>
<br/>
The names--Kali Valentine, Rick Bredon, John Reilly, Nash Carnes, and Ed Lewis--don't mean anything to you, of course, though the last-named sounds like a real piece of work based on what Joe has to say about him. "He's the one you <i>don't</i> want to hear from. Nothing against our spiritual counselor--that's what he is--but he's a great believer in tough love, the tougher the better." Joe's face draws up in pain. "Poor Frank," he mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"When are we going to hear from Frank?" you ask. You don't wonder what kinds of words <i>Frank</i> would have for Joe and this aborning scheme, just what kind of volume he'd scream them at.<br/>
<br/>
"Tomorrow at the earliest," Joe says. "He's not eager to get there, so he's making it an easy drive."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The wish is the father to Joe's reality: a little after seven the phone rings, and his joyful exclamation of "Kali!" after he answers tells you who it is and how happy he is to hear from her.<br/>
<br/>
They talk for a good long while, though she's the one doing the talking, for Joe's end of the conversation is muted and cryptic. He ends up handing you the phone with a quizzical smile.<br/>
<br/>
"Mr. Prescott?" the soft but melodious voice on the other end says in a charming Scottish lilt. "So delighted to speak to you." You murmur your own pleasantries. "Joseph says that you are aiding him with his current assignment. Would you be averse, however, to flying out to California for a few days to meet with <i>me</i>?"</span></div></div>


path: 11221111111222112211112221212112112121122121211
author_id: imaj
title: How To Get Ahead in LA
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You walk unsteadily across the airport concourse, dragging a little wheeled suitcase along behind you.  There is an occasional yelp from an angry bystander as you roll over their feet, but you do your best to ignore them and clutch on tight to the satchel slung over your shoulder.  You scan the crowd, looking for Kali and hoping desperately that she identifies herself to you because, with characteristic stupidity, you forgot to ask Joe what she looked like.<br/>
<br/>
Of course, there was actually a very good reason why you didn't ask, but it's best not to think about it.  You clutch your shoulder bag tighter.<br/>
<br/>
Several people in the crowd at the arrivals section are holding placards with names hastily written onto them.  Luckily for you, one of them reads 'William Prescott'.  You walk over to the person holding it ' a copper skinned woman with a timeless beauty that suggests she could be anywhere between thirty and fifty years old.  The only sign of age is where her wavy black hair is streaked with white at the temples.  A long purple skirt and plain white blouse hint at a simple elegance.  In fact, she puts you in mind of Kendra Saunders from Westside ' if Kendra was twenty years older and somehow stopped being a bitch.<br/>
<br/>
'Excuse me,' you say politely, dragging your case over.  The woman smiles warmly at you.  'Did Kali Valentine send you?'<br/>
<br/>
'I am Kali Valentine,' she replies.  The voice is light and airy with a distinct Scottish accent, although it does not sound exactly any you have ever heard on television or films, unless you count <i>300</i>.<br/>
<br/>
'Oh, sorry,' you stutter.  'I, um, didn't realise you had African Americans in Scotland.'<br/>
<br/>
Kali laughs musically.  'No child, we do not 'have' African Americans in Scotland, because it is Scotland and not America,' she explains simply.  'Back home we would actually use the term 'black' in any case.  My mother was one of the locals, my father came there from Malawi in the fifties.'<br/>
<br/>
'My family are back in Saratoga Falls,' you reply.  'They don't even know I'm gone.  We left a golem in a mask in my place.'<br/>
<br/>
There is an awkward silence for a minute.<br/>
<br/>
'First time in Los Angeles?  How was your flight,' says Kali eventually.  'I understand something has happened to your face as a result of your experience with the <i>Libre Personae</i>.  I had thought that might have caused issues with airport security.'<br/>
<br/>
You flinch a little and hold your satchel tighter.  'No,' you reply.  'Joe helped me sort it all out.'  That much is true ' it was Joe's idea to use the mask of him to get by security and travel on the plane.  You only removed the mask once you reached LA, hiding in a toilet stall to make the change.<br/>
<br/>
'Ah Joe,' says Kali wistfully.  'Is he keeping well?  No doubt he told you much about me.'<br/>
<br/>
'He's fine,' you reply.  'We're all still, that is me, Joe and Frank, we're all still recovering from the business with Blackwell.'  You pause for a second before adding quietly.  'It was more difficult on Frank than on us.'<br/>
<br/>
'I sense you have much to tell me child,' replies Kali.  'Joe has informed me of some of the bare bones of your tale, but there are several specifics that interest me.  That and there is the matter of your own education child.'<br/>
<br/>
'Oh, right,' you say quietly.  'I guess I'm happy to tell you all about it.  Where are we going?'<br/>
<br/>
'Right now, nowhere,' explains Kali.  'I have another visitor flying in today as well.  Her flight arrived a little after yours, so we will not have to wait long child.'<br/>
<br/>
'Uh ok,' you reply.  After a couple of minutes silence, and because you <i>really</i> want to know, you find yourself asking:  'Why do you keep calling me child?  I'm in my last year at high school, I'm practically a grown up'<br/>
<br/>
Kali laughs warmly again.  'As you say yourself, you are <i>practically</i>, not actually, a grown up.  But it is not just about your age child.  You have only taken your first steps into our world, and that makes you a child,' she explains.  'True, you have faced your first major challenge and come out unscathed, if back to front.  Very few could have achieved what you have.'  Kali grimaces unexpectedly for second.  It is so quick that you almost miss it.  'So soon at least.  You lack experience and, crucially, you lack <i>knowledge</i>.'  Kali sighs and smiles at you again.  'Here I am lecturing you already and we haven't even left the airport.  You must be tired from your journey.'<br/>
<br/>
'A little,' you admit.<br/>
<br/>
'Do not worry, we will leave soon,' explains Kali.  'I can see my other guest over there.'  She stands on her tip toes and waves.  You follow Kali's gaze and spot an Asian women, maybe thirty ' it's hard to tell, with boyishly short hair change direction and head straight towards you.  Her case is much larger than yours ' <i>Women and their clothes</i> you think.  She also has a long, thin, sports bag slung over her shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
'Kali, how are you,' says the women.  Her voice has a light accent to it that you can't quite identify.  She lowers her sports bag carefully to floor ' it clinks ' and hugs Kali.<br/>
<br/>
'I am managing,' responds Kali as she breaks away from the hug.  The two women hold each other by the arms for a moment.  'It is difficult on some days.  Ah'  Where are my manners, this is Will Prescott,' continues Kali, gesturing at you.  'Who has come to learn about <i>essentia </i>and the <i>ousiarchs</i>.  Will, this is Miko Toyotomi, another member of the <i>Stellae</i>.'<br/>
<br/>
'Hi,' you say, politely holding out your hand.  Miko takes a step back and regards you coolly for a moment.  She gives you a wary nod.<br/>
<br/>
'Now that we're all here,' says Kali, apparently not noticing Miko's coolness towards you.  'Let's get back to my apartment.'  Kali heads for the exit, with you and Miko trailing along behind her.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">****</div><br/>
<br/>
You are unpacking your suitcase in the smaller Kali's guest bedrooms when your cellphone rings.  You flip it open and answer.<br/>
<br/>
'You in LA now,' asks Joe.<br/>
<br/>
'Unpacking my clothes right this minute,' you reply.<br/>
<br/>
'Isn't Kali great,' asks Joe.  'You're going to learn a lot more over there than you would if you were stuck with me.'<br/>
<br/>
'She seems okay,' you reply.  'I haven't talked to her much yet.  Are you going to be alright on your own now?'<br/>
<br/>
'Don't worry about me,' laughs Joe.  'I got some company over right now.'  In your mind's eye you picture Joe waggling his eyebrows suggestively.  'I might have to phone you when Frank gets back from Dad's though, just in case I feel like ending it all.'  He laughs uproariously.<br/>
<br/>
'Um, Joe,' you say hesitantly.  'There's another woman here too.'<br/>
<br/>
'Oh,' he asks, suddenly much more serious.  You hear him talking to his guest.  His hand must be over the receiver because he sounds quiet and muffled.  'No, I'll be back in a minute.  It's my brother.'  There is a brief pause.  'No the other one.  Yes I have two.  It'll just be a minute babe.'  There is complete silence for a minute before Joe's voice returns clearly:  'Who is it?'<br/>
<br/>
'Miko something,' you reply.  'Miko Toyo'  Toyo, something Japanese I think.'<br/>
<br/>
'Miko Toyotomi,' asks Joe quietly.<br/>
<br/>
'Yeah, that's it,' you say.  Joe makes a sucking noise with his teeth.<br/>
<br/>
'Did she have a bag with her,' he asks.  'About four feet long?'<br/>
<br/>
'Yeah, how did you''<br/>
<br/>
'It's her sword,' interrupts Joe.  'One of the big ones too.  The Japanese have a load of magical swords ' it's their top export after consumer electronics ' but Miko's is major-league.  Dad knows which one it is, I think, but he's never let it slip to me <i>or</i> Frank.'  He pauses for a few seconds and when he continues his voice his very quiet and deadly serious.  'Listen, that mask of me you used to get on the plane, hide it.'<br/>
<br/>
'What,' you splutter.<br/>
<br/>
'Hide it, somewhere no one will find it.  Hell, throw it away,' says Joe quickly.  'You know how Frank's an insufferable asshole and zealot?  Miko is ten times worse.  She's not bad, she's just'  she's just a fanatic.  You've used the <i>Libre Persona</i>e and it's left its mark on you.  If Miko thinks it's left even just a trace of darkness, she will <i>execute </i>you.'<br/>
<br/>
You nearly drop the phone in shock.<br/>
<br/>
'Will are you still there?'<br/>
<br/>
'Yes,' you manage to say with difficulty.  Your mouth feels very dry.<br/>
<br/>
'Shit,' he says with a sigh.  'I'm sorry,  I didn't think this would happen.  I'm sorry,' he repeats and then hangs up.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Well fuck</i>, you think.<br/>
<br/>
In the absolute quiet of the guest room, you can hear a faint murmuring from beyond the door.  You move, as quietly as you can, over to it and open it a crack.  Miko and Kali are talking in the room beyond.  If you tried, you could just about make out what they are saying, but then again, eavesdropping might be exactly the kind of behaviour that might make you lose your head.  Literally.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112221122111122212121121121211221212112
author_id: seuzz
title: The First Examination
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You pull the door shut again, as quietly as you can, and turn to stare back into the bedroom. It seems unreal, the thought that one of the Stellae might just slice your head off without anyone's permission. But you don't know how this secret society works; and Joe sounded very serious. So where are you going to hide that mask?<br/>
<br/>
Behind you, the door flies open, hitting you in the back, and you jump and squawk. Miko is standing there, a hard, glittering look in her eye. "Holy--!" you gasp, and put a hand to your chest to still your heart. "Hi there." You swallow.<br/>
<br/>
It feels like she's slicing and peeling back your mind layer by layer and reading it. You tell yourself you've nothing to feel guilty about--<i>you weren't eavesdropping</i>--and return her stare as levelly as you can. You gain a little strength when you see Kali appear behind Miko.<br/>
<br/>
And maybe you've blunted Miko's piercing gaze. "Are you all unpacked?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," you say. You look back into the room. "I feel like I've forgotten something is all. But I always feel that way when I travel."<br/>
<br/>
"If you've forgotten anything, Will, I'm sure we can supply the deficiency," Kali trills.<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks. It's a nice room."<br/>
<br/>
"Then perhaps you can join us," Miko says. She brushes past Kali, and you hear her murmur "We'll talk later" to her.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Kali's residence is a very large--even expansive--apartment on an upper floor of a luxury building. Aside from the bedrooms--of which there are three--she has a living room that opens out onto a balcony, a dining room, a kitchen, a large office, and a laundry room. The décor is spare and elegant, with lots of blonde wood and glass. The two women sit on a large sofa. Kali relaxes into it and crisply crosses her legs; Miko surprises you a little by curling up girlishly with her legs beneath her after kicking off her shoes. They both turn to you after you've taken a chair opposite them, and look at you brightly but with contrasting expressions. Kali's is warm and inviting; Miko's has a touch of frost. "Why don't you tell us a little about yourself, Will," Kali says.<br/>
<br/>
You fold your hands and bounce your thumbs together nervously. Your biography is dreadfully dull up until the point that you found the <i>Libra,</i> and after that-- You flinch a little as you glance at Miko. What will she say--or do--when you tell her you worked briefly for a black magician?<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'm originally from Saratoga Falls," you start.<br/>
<br/>
"Where's that?" Miko asks sharply.<br/>
<br/>
"It's a little nothingburger town--" you start, and freeze as Miko takes out an emery board and starts sliding it across a very sharp fingernail. "East of here," you gasp.<br/>
<br/>
"The whole country's east of here," Miko says. "<i>Hawaii</i> is east of here, if you travel far enough in the right direction."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, it's not in <i>Hawaii,</i>" you nervously laugh. <br/>
<br/>
"What does your father do? Or your mother?" Kali asks.<br/>
<br/>
"He's an engineer, works for an aerospace contractor--"<br/>
<br/>
"Do you have a sibling?" Miko asks.<br/>
<br/>
"A brother."<br/>
<br/>
"Why isn't he here too?"<br/>
<br/>
You look to Kali for help, but she just continues smiling. "I don't know," you say. "He didn't get mixed up in things."<br/>
<br/>
"Is that the only reason you're here? You got mixed up in something?"<br/>
<br/>
"I guess."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't want to be here?"<br/>
<br/>
You tug at your ear. <i>I wasn't expecting the Spanish Inquisition,</i> you almost say. "I wasn't sure that 'wanting' was part of it."<br/>
<br/>
"Why <i>are</i> you here?" Miko demands, and scrapes a little harder at her nail.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, Kali here called--" You shoot a worried glance at her, wondering if she'll resent the way you seem to be shifting the blame--<i>it sure feels like Miko is blaming you for something</i>--but she continues to  look serene. "And she invited me out."<br/>
<br/>
"Do you accept every invitation you get?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, no--"<br/>
<br/>
"So why did you accept <i>this</i> one?"<br/>
<br/>
You look down, and notice that you've crossed your legs and folded your arms, and you can't seem to unlock them. "I didn't know what else to do," you blurt out. "Joe told me I had this gift or power, and if I was going to join your group--"<br/>
<br/>
"Do you <i>want</i> to join our 'group'?" Acid drips off the latter word.<br/>
<br/>
You look to the side. It's suddenly much clearer what she's on about: She wants to know exactly what your motives are in coming here.<br/>
<br/>
And you've no answer. As your mind races back over the events of the past few weeks, you see your progress as a lot of drifting from one place to another. You drifted into finding the book; you drifted into Blackwell's acquaintance; you drifted into meeting Frank and Joe, and working with them; you drifted out here to LA. Even your final fight against Blackwell and the possessed Frank was more a matter of immediate expedience than deliberate desire. <br/>
<br/>
You're very quiet for a long time, and after a few minutes you look up nervously, expecting to see impatience or even contempt on Miko's face at your silence. But she is just very still--except for the scrape, scrape, scrape of the emery board--and looks at you neutrally.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," you say, and the peace that descends with the answer tells you it's the right one for you, even if it's the wrong one for them. "I never asked myself that question. I never asked myself <i>what</i> I wanted. About this or anything else."<br/>
<br/>
Miko's expression doesn't change. "That's no answer."<br/>
<br/>
Kali smiles, but it seems a private one. "So tell us more about <i>how</i> you came to be here."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's a long, hard, and exhausting interview that follows. Miko picks at every detail of your biography. You gulp when the subject of the <i>Libra</i> comes up, and she jabs at every detail about your career with it: Why you bought it; why you tried returning it; why you took the job with Blackwell; why you chose to work with him. You tremble as you describe each step of that adventure, and wonder if she's got that sword hidden behind the couch, and if Kali is capable of stopping her if she whips it out. (You doubt it.) But Miko accepts each revelation in the same coolly pitiless manner. At only a few points does Kali step in, and you're grateful for those, for they allow you to elide certain mysteries: What happened to you when you passed through the <i>Libra</i>, for instance, and how it changed you. If Miko notices, she says nothing; but then, she seems fixated on your motives at each step. And to that you can only offer variations on the same excuse: It seemed like the easiest thing to do at the time. When it finally comes to relate your confrontation with Frank, you're too worn out to pretend any boastfulness over it, and it too comes across as a desperate improvisation on your part.<br/>
<br/>
The sun has set and Kali has turned on some lamps by the time you're finished. You are also ravenously hungry, but can only murmur polite thanks when she offers to order up some food, and you don't cavil at the suggestion that it be sushi.<br/>
<br/>
You eat with them in the living room, keeping silent the whole time. They talk to each other before and during and after the meal about people and events you don't know or understand, in an easy and familiar way. You do notice that Miko pushes Kali around almost as mercilessly as she had you, but Kali seems able to laugh it all off. They don't ask you to help clean up, and you remain in your seat as they move off into the kitchen.<br/>
<br/>
You are exhausted and utterly miserable. Is this what it's going to be like, these people pushing you around, challenging you, making you feel bewildered and unwelcome, an object of suspicion? They certainly have grounds, and you can't bear the thought of Miko watching you, waiting for a slip on your part as an excuse to strike your head from your shoulders. You sink deeper and deeper in the chair, and soon give up fighting the waves of self-pity that wash over you. All your life you've drifted on currents, and now they've washed you up here.<br/>
<br/>
You raise your eyes briefly at footsteps, and see Miko swing through the living room. She glances around, but her eyes don't even fall on you, and she disappears through a doorway without pausing. A few minutes later Kali also appears, to also glance around without speaking, and follows her. You sigh. <i>All that, and it's like they've forgotten completely about you now.</i><br/>
<br/>
A few minutes later Kali comes back out, and now she stands behind the sofa, facing you with her hands on her hips and a frown on her face. But her glance is distracted, and as you watch she mutters something under her breath. And then her eyes lock onto yours, and she gives a little start.<br/>
<br/>
"Gracious, child, have you been here the whole time?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
You blink. "Yeah," you croak.<br/>
<br/>
She stares at you. "Remarkable," she murmurs. She starts to say something else, then catches herself. "Yes," is all she says, and then gathers herself up. "Well, what would you say to a hot bath and some hot tea?"<br/>
<br/>
That would be nice, and you say so. With a wide smile she leads you to a spacious bathroom, shows you the towels and sundries and a big, fluffy bathrobe, and leaves you to it.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You come out an hour later, feeling totally drained, and pad into the bedroom. You have to flinch a little when you see Kali in there, sitting on the edge of your bed. "Shut the door, child," she says. "And speak softly. I should like to ask you a few questions before you retire. Are you up for it?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Great. Another interrogation. But Miko's not here. And if Kali wants to ask them privately, maybe it's best to accede.</i></span></div></div>


path: 1122111111122211221111222121211211212112212121121
author_id: seuzz
title: Coming Clean with Kali
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I'm really tired, but sure. I don't want it to seem like I'm hiding anything."<br/>
<br/>
"You have hidden nothing, child," she says in a kindly tone, "and have told us much more than you have realized. My colleague is as satisfied as she is capable of feeling. But there are a few issues it would be better to speak of just between us."<br/>
<br/>
She gestures you toward the bed, and even presses you to get between the sheets before she sits again at its corner.<br/>
<br/>
"You told us that you had two quite remarkable experiences with the <i>Libra,</i> that left you transformed." You nod, and stiffen a little. "Miko's questions sliced finely, but not so finely as to disclose all the details. I'll confess I had some hand in that." She looks at you expectantly.<br/>
<br/>
"I wondered," you confess in turn.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes. And it was easier in that she didn't know what to ask. Now. Your first passage into the book. What did you see while you were there?"<br/>
<br/>
You've never told anyone about it, and the memory is now hazy. But the impression is still sharp, for you still feel the effects. "I seemed to see a bunch of symbols," you say. "They whirled all around me. Then they seemed to go <i>into</i> me."<br/>
<br/>
"Do you feel them still?"<br/>
<br/>
"I think so. I don't know how to describe it." You spread your hands and stare at your palms.<br/>
<br/>
"You haven't the words, for you haven't the concepts. We will rectify that in time. Is that all?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes. Well, that time that was all."<br/>
<br/>
"Ah. And the second time you passed into it. You saw something else?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes. There was a man there." You try to describe him, and she lets you, though your impression of him is very vague. "He spoke to me. I think he said something about how I was 'progressing nicely'."<br/>
<br/>
"I see. And did you say anything to him?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think so."<br/>
<br/>
"But?"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't feel like I could speak. But I also felt like I didn't have to."<br/>
<br/>
"What <i>did</i> you feel?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing, really." You grimace. "After awhile, with this stuff, you know, it's like nothing surprises me anymore."<br/>
<br/>
You're startled by her peal of laughter. "Bless me, child. Indeed. I don't know why I asked. You've made <i>that</i> clear enough."<br/>
<br/>
"Made what clear enough?"<br/>
<br/>
"That you take what comes. Let me see your hands." You hold them out to her, and she runs gentle fingertips over your palms. A tingle seems to pass from her to you. "Yes," she says softly. "It is all very clear now."<br/>
<br/>
"What is?"<br/>
<br/>
"Never mind. Let it not disturb you. Tonight, I think, you will sleep deeply and dreamlessly. But I will give you a notebook and a pen on the morrow, and ask you to write down any dreams you have in the future, as soon as you awake, so you do not forget them."<br/>
<br/>
"Are dreams important?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sometimes. Is there anything else you wish to ask me, or tell me, while we are alone?"<br/>
<br/>
You start to shake your head, and then hesitate. "Joe called me, just before we started talking. I told him that Miko was here." You look up at her. "He said--"<br/>
<br/>
"I can well imagine what he said. Do not let it trouble you. You have unburdened yourself, and in the right way and to the right person."<br/>
<br/>
"Except there's one more thing," you say, and her eyebrows shoot up. "It's the way I got through security. Joe ... Well, we still had a mask of him, and I wore it in order to get through. With his identity. I've got it here, and he told me not to let Miko know about it."<br/>
<br/>
"Ah. I think that will not be a problem. But I can relieve you of your worries by relieving you of it."<br/>
<br/>
You thank her, and tell her where it is. She tucks it into her robe before leaving. "Tomorrow we will begin in earnest," she says at the doorway, and turns off the light. "But you need not rise early. Miko and I have other business. Sleep well, child."<br/>
<br/>
You change from the robe into pajamas and get back in bed. If today's session wasn't "earnest," you're not sure you want to see what tomorrow will be like.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
As Kali had foretold, your sleep is heavy and undisturbed by even the echo of a dream, and strong light is pouring through the window when you wake. The clock reads 10:15, and though Kali said you didn't need to get up early, you don't want to be taken for a slacker, and clamber out of bed. You slip the robe back over your PJs and go out into the main apartment.<br/>
<br/>
You have the place to yourself. There's a note on the dining room table, telling you there's orange juice, bacon, and pancake batter in the refrigerator, and you happily make yourself breakfast, and carefully clean up afterward. You then shower and shave and dress. By this point it's almost 11:30, and you've heard from no one. <br/>
<br/>
You don't want to snoop, but there's nothing else to do, so you look through the place. You don't see anything you hadn't spotted before--and you stay out of the bedrooms--and the living space is tidy and uncluttered. The only note that suggests Kali's Scottish roots is a large, framed photograph: the famously iconic picture of the Loch Ness Monster, the silhouette of its head and neck rising from the water. You wonder at its significance: Is the monster real and related to the Stellae? Or is this just a memento, even a kind of private joke? Of her African roots the only sign seems to be a tribal mask that hangs on a wall. <br/>
<br/>
A mask.<br/>
<br/>
On a sudden impulse you pull it down. You have to smile after you have it down, for Joe's mask tumbles out from behind it. Carefully, you replace it.<br/>
<br/>
You wind up in her office, a spacious area with an immense window that looks out onto the surrounding buildings. Besides the desk--which has a blotter and a ream of clean paper and several elegant jars holding pens and brushes--there is a drafting table and an empty easel. A large bookcase covers one wall, and you look over the titles. They are all books on interior design, landscaping, and architecture. You take down one--an immense and expensive picture book of France, its buildings and its countryside. You retreat to the living room and relax while flipping through it.<br/>
<br/>
At one o'clock the door opens and Kali and Miko come in, laughing and chatting. You look at them nervously and put the book down; Kali leans over to see what it is, and seems delighted in your choice, asking if you like it. You nod, but she doesn't seem to be paying attention and just passes on into her office.<br/>
<br/>
Miko remains behind, and looks at you with an archly amused expression. "We gonna have to wash your sheets this afternoon?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why?" you ask, startled.<br/>
<br/>
"You're seventeen. Don't you still have wet dreams?"<br/>
<br/>
You can only gawp at her question.<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have to tell me if <i>I</i> show up in them," she snorts. "I'll be able to tell." She goes into her bedroom.<br/>
<br/>
You're still gasping like a landed fish when Kali reappears. "Ah, I see Miko had something to say to you," she says in a blasé tone. "I do too, but it'll be nicer. I'm afraid we don't have many diversions for you at the moment. You'll be continuing your more mundane education, and I've already ordered some math, history, English, and general science books, but they won't be arriving for a few days."<br/>
<br/>
"I thought I was supposed to be studying--"<br/>
<br/>
"You will, but in the evenings. Miko and I have jobs that keep us busy until six. We do have bills to pay, you know. There's no money in the Stellae side of things."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Yeah, I guess that-- What do you do? If I can ask."<br/>
<br/>
"You certainly may. It's no secret. But didn't you guess? I'm a designer. Miko is here as a consultant on a job. A film producer is building a new house."<br/>
<br/>
"Really? Anyone I've heard of?"<br/>
<br/>
"Possibly, but I doubt it. In this city, film producers are outnumbered only by unemployed actors. Miko, are you ready?" she calls.<br/>
<br/>
Her friend comes back out, and you don't know if you're relieved or frightened that she has that sword with her. She hands you a small jewelry box. "Call it a peace offering after last night," she says.<br/>
<br/>
You open it: It contains a thin, unadorned silver necklace. "Wow. Thanks," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, a cat needs a bell," she says. "Put it on." It's an order, and you comply. It prickles a little, and you don't know whether to hope or fear that it's magical. You'll ask Kali later.<br/>
<br/>
The women depart, Kali leaving you with the invitation to get onto her laptop--which she is leaving behind, with a guest password--and surf the internet or play any of the games she's installed, so you do. You leave the games aside, though, and after spending a few hours watching YouTube and surfing various sites, you become curious about what's going on with your replacement. So you log in and check your email.<br/>
<br/>
There's only one new message since you last checked--many, many days ago--and it is marked as unread. The sender's address provokes your curiosity: thecommittee3475@gmail.com. You open it, and gasp.<br/>
<br/>
It's a death threat.<br/>
<br/>
You settle back, and--despite your surroundings, and your being out of your old life for awhile now--it still hits you hard. Of course, you had made yourself highly unpopular at school--thanks to Blackwell's hex--and maybe death threats aren't to be unexpected. And they're threatening a golem, a thing that isn't even alive. But it still cuts you really close to home.<br/>
<br/>
You wonder if you should call Joe about it.</span></div></div>


path: 11221111111222112211112221212112112121122121211212
author_id: seuzz
title: A Trip to the Moon
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You get your phone from your room and fiddle with it nervously in the office before deciding not to call. It's probably nothing--probably just Black and Patterson and them trying to scare you. The other you. But you can mention it to Kali and Miko when they get back. They can call Joe if they think it's important.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's a little after six when they get back, looking tired but happy. You ask about their day, but they brush it off. "Did you try any of those games?" Kali asks. "I wish you would," she says when you say you haven't. "I will have no objection to your taking a break from your school studies to play them." You wonder if they really are "games" or will be part of your training.<br/>
<br/>
"I got an email," you say, and Kali stops and turns around again at your words. "I checked my account. I mean, obviously it's intended for the fake me that I left at home." You tell them about it.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, aren't <i>you</i> popular," Miko snorts. "<i>I</i> never got a death threat when <i>I</i> was in school."<br/>
<br/>
"I can leave one on your pillow if you like," you blurt out before you can stop yourself. Instantly, you pale.<br/>
<br/>
Kali bursts out laughing; Miko turns pink, and stalks away without replying. "I should go apologize," you moan, and cover your face with your hands.<br/>
<br/>
"You'll do no such thing, child," Kali retorts. "You've just made a friend, and you won't want to queer it. Of course, whether you will <i>enjoy</i> her friendship is something to decide later." She merely gives you an archly amused look when you ask what she means. "As for your death threat, I'll consider the matter." And that's all that gets said.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
For dinner she prepares a luxurious salad of fresh greens, fruit and seafood with a tart dressing. You're quite hungry--not having eaten since breakfast--and are a little disappointed that there isn't more of it. "I hope you've budgeted enough for food, Kali," Miko says waspishly.<br/>
<br/>
"I've had Joe and Frank in my care," Kali replies. "Will has a modest appetite by comparison, and <i>he</i> cleans up after himself." She smiles at you.<br/>
<br/>
You find yourself wishing they were here. "Have you heard anything about Frank," you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes," Kali says. "You've no worries there."<br/>
<br/>
"If you want to send death threats to anyone, you little squirt, I can tell you exactly who to send them to," Miko says, and stabs at the last little bit of food on her plate.<br/>
<br/>
You start to stammer a reply, but Kali catches your eye and gives a little shake of her head, so you're left clueless as to what Miko meant.<br/>
<br/>
After they clean up the kitchen--with your help--they lead you back into the living room. Kali lightly straightens it up, though it hardly seems to need it, and then she asks you to sit on the floor. "We will start with something elemental," she says, and she and Miko join you on the hard-wood floor. "Cross your legs. Sit up straight. Close your eyes."<br/>
<br/>
"Is this, like, meditation?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, since that's exactly what it <i>is,</i>" Miko interjects. "You ever tried it? Good. Then we won't have any garbage to clean out of you first. Well, no more than necessary."<br/>
<br/>
"Miko," Kali says, and for the first time you can hear a note of impatience in her voice. "Now, Will. Take a deep breath. Exhale slowly. Again. Relax. Let your mind wander." You hear a soft grunt, and have the vivid impression that Kali has just nudged Miko hard. <br/>
<br/>
You do as she asks, and try not to stare at the phantom lights behind your eyelids. You breathe in and out, slowly and regularly. Your attention drifts. You start by avoiding the obvious thoughts that might distract you: what is going on in Saratoga Falls; what your future career will be like; girls. A numbness steals over you, and soon you feel like you don't even have to avoid any conscious thoughts. The few thoughts you have arrive like fuzzy and indistinct lumps that softly deflect you from themselves and into other thoughts, which in turn nudge you in other directions. It's like playing a gentle game of mental bumper cars. "Hmm?" you ask, for you've not caught what Kali said.<br/>
<br/>
"Think of the sky," she repeats.<br/>
<br/>
Your mental landscape turns blue, a brilliant and shimmering blue. "Mm? Oh, it's blue," you murmur after she asks you again what it looks like.<br/>
<br/>
"Is it empty?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes. No." You're surprised. "There's the moon."<br/>
<br/>
"What shape?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's gibbous," you say, and feel a touch of pride in knowing the correct term.<br/>
<br/>
"One side is rounder than the other. Which side?"<br/>
<br/>
"The left side." Its apparition is very distinct; and if you were thinking clearly you'd wonder at being able to see it so clearly and in such detail for being only a mental image.<br/>
<br/>
"Describe its surface."<br/>
<br/>
"I see dark places. The seas and craters. They're bunched up in the--" You give a soft gasp. "It's a face. The Man in the Moon?" You've never seen it, and aren't sure if this is it. "A face," you repeat, though they've said nothing. "Like an old man. Very old. Covered in frost. He has a beard. He's smiling."<br/>
<br/>
"Is it Santa Claus?" That's Miko, sounding sarcastic.<br/>
<br/>
"No," you mildly reply. "He seems thin. It's a thin beard. Like ... Chinese? Long and thin whiskers. They hang down." Your voice trickles out in a whisper.<br/>
<br/>
He mesmerizes you, and you hear yourself whispering again, but you can't catch your own words. Vaguely, you wonder if the apparition of the moon is speaking, and speaking through you. The sky behind the moon turns dark, fading to purple and then to inky blackness. The moon blazes brighter. Then it turns grey and fades out. A silver mist pervades your brain.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you back with us, Will? Will?" Kali's voice sounds very close, and you open your eyes. It's dark, and you feel very relaxed.<br/>
<br/>
"Hi," you say cheerfully and calmly. Your body is so still that you fancy you can feel individual air molecules bumping against you. You take a deep breath, and it's like a quick, bracing fire shooting through your veins.<br/>
<br/>
Kali is peering into your face with a smile. "Would you like something to drink? Cola? Orange juice?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure." You are very calm, but a tremble passes through you, and you reach out to grasp the kitchen table to keep from falling out of the chair. <br/>
<br/>
Kali turns and opens the refrigerator. You smile as she takes out a pitcher of OJ and pours a glass. Your hand shakes a little as you take it from her, and gulp it down noisily. You set it on the table and smile again at her. It's fun smiling.<br/>
<br/>
Only then do you look around and-- "How the <i>hell</i> did I get in here?" You <i>were</i> in the living room.<br/>
<br/>
"You <i>drifted,</i>" Miko says, and drops down into the chair on the opposite side of the table. "Bumped into the ceiling as you went."<br/>
<br/>
"What?" You look down. You're still cross-legged, and your knees groan and pop as you undo your legs. "Seriously, how did I--"<br/>
<br/>
"That will be quite enough for tonight," Kali says crisply. "That was several days work in the space of only an hour. We will do it again tomorrow night, and the night after. At that point, I think we'll be able to leave you on your own."<br/>
<br/>
"To do what?"<br/>
<br/>
"To meditate. After you have attained basic competency, you will do it three times a day, morning, afternoon and evening. But, as I say, let us be sure you have the basic competencies down."<br/>
<br/>
"And for heaven's sake, don't do it in a room with an open window," Miko says. "We're seventeen floors up, and if you go out one while--" She takes a deep breath. "This is L.A., and UFOs are one thing. But flying sorcerers are another."<br/>
<br/>
They don't say any more about it, and you can't tell if Miko is being sarcastic or what. As she had promised, Kali gives you a notebook--an expensive-looking thing, with a leather cover embossed with a stylized sun and star--and a silver fountain pen. You retire early, for that meditation trick hasn't left you feeling recharged. On the contrary, you begin to feel quite ill, as though you've just been through a very intense workout that has drained all the sugar from your blood. You curl up with your face in the pillow. The last thing you feel, before you feel nothing more, is the dissolving of the walls, leaving the darkness outside to mix with the darkness inside the bedroom.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wake and blink heavily and smack your mouth, which is very dry. You throw your hand out at the end table by the bed and clutch the notebook and pen. You open to the first page, press the pen against it, and write. Your eyes shut as you do so, and your mouth falls open. Numbly, you feel the pen moving even as you start snoring again.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You take a deep breath and turn over. Something jabs you in the stomach. Grunting, you fish around in the sheets and pull out something small and hard, and send it clattering across the floor. You press your face against the pillow and breathe deeply for a very long time before you feel strong enough to turn over and face the day.<br/>
<br/>
After showering--before eating--you return to the bedroom to dress, and find the fountain pen on the floor. You set it back on the end table. The notebook is there, open to the first page.<br/>
<br/>
You recoil. It is covered by an elaborate and highly detailed sigil. You only have to blink once, and you can take in its meaning.<br/>
<br/>
You break out into a cold sweat. It's one thing to have written down a dream. It's another to have written it out this way. <br/>
<br/>
If you want, you can copy it out again on a new page, in English, and show that to Kali. If you show her this sigil, you wonder if she'll get Miko's sword and use it on you herself.</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112221122111122212121121121211221212112121
author_id: seuzz
title: Call of the Constellations
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Pshaw!" Kali snorts. "You surprise me, Will." She gives you  a pitying glance, and looks back down in the notebook, flipping back and forth between the page that has the sigil and the page that shows an English translation you'd made anyway, apparently comparing them.<br/>
<br/>
"How?" If she's surprised at you, you're equally surprised at her dismissive response.<br/>
<br/>
She glances at her watch. "I have to meet my client at two, so I haven't time to fully explain. For now, let me just say that you have nothing to worry about. I am quite pleased to see this, both for what it shows me and for the fact that you <i>have</i> shown it to me." She smiles a little. "It's not every teenage boy who would show this to a relative stranger. Dreams such as this are quite normal at your age, aren't they?"<br/>
<br/>
You blush. Yes, a dream about yourself, sharing a hot bath with a girl who looks like Chelsea Cooper, would be quite normal. "It's not <i>that,</i>" you retort. "But the fact that I wrote it out like <i>this.</i>" You tap the sigil.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, I know," she says indulgently. "You've nothing to worry about <i>there</i>, either. That's something we will have to talk about this evening. You can answer me one question now, though. Are you good with languages?"<br/>
<br/>
"Foreign languages? Not really. I took a semester of French when I was a sophomore. I didn't do good at it."<br/>
<br/>
"I see. Yet you are quite adept at <i>this</i> sort of language."<br/>
<br/>
"What does it mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"It means several different things, and there are several different things about it that mean several different things. I can't answer you if you're not more specific. But I really must run. There is a game on my laptop, <i>Call of the Constellations,</i> that I'd like you to try out, though."<br/>
<br/>
"For my training?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, but I think you'll find it diverting on its own." She smiles again, squeezes your hand, and departs.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Her reassurances notwithstanding, you're jumpy the rest of the afternoon. Partly, of course, it's because you're bored. You haven't been outside her apartment, even into the hallway, since your arrival, and you're beginning to feel a little claustrophobic. You're feeling bored and lonely.<br/>
<br/>
So it's with a gasp of relief and delight that you answer the phone at around five and hear Joe's voice on the other end. "How's it going?" he asks. "What have they been doing to you?"<br/>
<br/>
"They had me do some meditation thing last night," you say. "That's all, so far." You tell him about it, and at the way you wound up in the kitchen. "They made it sound like I actually levitated myself in there."<br/>
<br/>
"That's 'cos probably you did," he laughs. "Wait, are you serious?" You tell him about it again, and specifically what Miko had said about "open windows" and "flying sorcerers." He lets out a low whistle. "Jeezum Crow! Oops, I shouldn't cuss. But that's really fuckin' impressive if you levitated your first time."<br/>
<br/>
"Is that normal?" you squeak.<br/>
<br/>
"For you, probably. Frank was always telling me that he wanted to tie you down. Oh, I heard from him. He's gonna be with Dad a few more weeks, and then we'll see what happens."<br/>
<br/>
"How about you, how are you doing?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's party central with <i>him</i> finally out of the way. If I know Dad, though, that won't last long, so I gotta make the most of the hay and the girls while the sun's shining." He laughs again. "Oh, but how are you getting along with Miko?" he asks, turning serious.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. It's like she doesn't need her sword to draw blood. I think Kali's trying to keep me safe. I, uh, well I told her a few things, just between us--" You fall silent; you don't want to tell Joe that you shared confidences with her that you hadn't shared with him. "She also hid that mask for me."<br/>
<br/>
"Good. Look, don't get the wrong idea about Miko. She's awesome, but yeah, she keeps you off balance. And if you're already floating around under the ceiling, it means she's doing her job. Oops, someone's at the door. But listen, if you wanna send me emails and stuff, keep me posted on what's going on, I'd love to hear. Fuck, I wish I was there with you."<br/>
<br/>
"I wish you were too. Oh, speaking of email, did Kali--"<br/>
<br/>
But your voice is drowned out on the other end by an explosion of noises: hooting and hollering and cheering. "Listen, I gotta go," Joe says. "But send me an email. Pictures of you getting high--" He guffaws. "Anything! Later, bro!" he chirps, and hangs up.<br/>
<br/>
So you put the phone down too and return to the laptop and the suspended game. The very name <i>Call of the Constellations</i> had told you it would be some Stellae-oriented thing (though you'd momentarily hoped it might contain a little Cthulhuian mischief), and it's a highly abstract thing. It has a certain mesmerizing, Tetris-like charm, though. The game generates colored dots of various hues, and, while playing against a timer, you have to connect them to each other using chains drawn from a pre-set toolbox of shapes. Connect enough of them in the right way, and they collapse into singularities that themselves can be connected to other dots or singularities while unlocking additional and more useful shapes. You're not sure how good you are, but by your sixth game you've racked up a high score of 5000.<br/>
<br/>
Nor is it so subtle that you can't see the purpose behind it. By the time you've lost your sixth game, you've noticed that those connective chains are forming very elementary sigils, and the higher you get in the game the more complex the sigils become. It's clearly a training instrument.<br/>
<br/>
And once you've spotted the pattern, you're able to bust through the ceiling. On your eighth game you crack 65,000 points in only ten minutes. What challenge there had been begins to pall.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Did you tell Joe your high score?" Kali asks over dinner. "I'd like to have seen his face."<br/>
<br/>
"Kid could stand a little humiliation," Miko says.<br/>
<br/>
"Is he good at it?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"I think his high score is somewhere around ten million," Kali says. "It's a beginner's tool, and I don't think he's played in awhile. Try some of the others. I doubt <i>Constellations</i> will hold much challenge for you for very long." You notice Miko giving you a quick, dark glance.<br/>
<br/>
After dinner, they lead you through another meditation exercise, with much the same results, though this time you don't seem to "drift," and you don't feel as strung out afterward. That's good, because Kali puts on the lights and directs you back into the chair. "I said we'd talk, child," she says. "And so we shall.<br/>
<br/>
"Joe has already explained to you the basics of the Stellae, and of our connection to the planets. Like Joe, I have Arbol as one <i>ousiarch,</i> and like Frank, Miko here has Malacandra as one of hers. Our other <i>ousiarchs</i> are Perelandra and Catilindria, respectively."<br/>
<br/>
"Joe mentions <i>ousiarchs.</i> What are they, exactly?"<br/>
<br/>
"You might call them a 'governing intelligence' associated with each planet. By the way, the planets themselves--the astronomical bodies composed of rock and gasses--don't really signify. Their influence is not material in nature; it's not a matter of gravitation or radiation, but of the intelligences associated with them. At some point you'll take a seminar with John Reilly, and he can explain." You must have made a face at the idea of a "seminar," for she chuckles. "If anyone can make it interesting, <i>he</i> can.<br/>
<br/>
"But back to us. We are the ones training you because our gifts are ideal in the circumstances. You would be joining us at a relatively late age. It's not just that we would be teaching you. It's that we would be <i>stimulating</i> your growth as well."<br/>
<br/>
"Pruning you back, too," Miko says. She's taken out some nail clippers, and seems to emphasize the point by snipping at a nail.<br/>
<br/>
"I hope a manicure is the worst thing you give me," you weakly joke.<br/>
<br/>
"Me too," Miko says, and it doesn't sound like a joke.<br/>
<br/>
"You're already showing exceptional promise as a student," Kali says. "The meditation exercises, the game this afternoon." She pauses. "Your dream journal." You glance again at Miko, and you can tell by her expression that Kali has told her about that.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, I told you I already studied that stuff with Blackwell," you say. "So it's not like it's new to me."<br/>
<br/>
"Of course. That's why you shouldn't be disturbed that you wrote it out in the form you did."<br/>
<br/>
"It was kind of a show off thing to do, though," Miko says.<br/>
<br/>
"I wasn't trying to--!" You sigh and look away. "That's what scared me. That it came out <i>like that</i> when I wasn't trying."<br/>
<br/>
"But it's normal under the circumstances," Kali says, and she glances briefly at Miko. That makes you tense, for it suggests that Miko's reaction might be closer to yours: freaked. "We've been <i>stimulating</i> you, and slight prodigies such as that shouldn't be unexpected."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't understand this 'stimulation' thing you keep talking about."<br/>
<br/>
"You're a bit like a plant, child. Our presence--Miko's in particular--is bit like having rich nutrients--fertilizer, if you like--sprinkled over you."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh, is that why it always feels like she's shitting on me,</i> you think.<br/>
<br/>
Kali seems to read your thoughts, for she reaches across to gently touch your knee. "This is all very new to you, I know. You have to trust us, that we know what we're doing. Trust goes both ways."<br/>
<br/>
You twitch a little. That she feels like she has to say that they "trust" you suggests there is always the capacity for "mistrust" on their side as well.<br/>
<br/>
An hour later, as you're preparing for bed, there's a sharp knock at the door, and Miko comes in without asking permission. She closes the door and stares at you levelly. "If there's anything you've told Kali you haven't told me directly, I want to hear it," she says.</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111122211221111222121211211212112212121121211
author_id: seuzz
title: A Metamorphosis
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Do we have to talk about it now," you ask. "I'm really bushed."<br/>
<br/>
"Is that your answer?" Miko says.<br/>
<br/>
"If we talk about it tomorrow, I can give you a better answer."<br/>
<br/>
"Is that your answer?" she repeats.<br/>
<br/>
"My head really isn't clear," you whine. "I don't want you thinking I'm, like, holding something back if I just forget. And hasn't Kali told you everything anyway?"<br/>
<br/>
"Is that your answer?" she says. Something in her tone tells you she won't ask a fourth time.<br/>
<br/>
You sink onto the bed and rub your face. <i>Trust and mistrust.</i> If you don't trust her not to decapitate you, she won't trust you and might decapitate you anyway. "I told Kali more about what happened when I, you know, went through the <i>Libra,</i>" you say. "The first time I saw a bunch of symbols, and it felt like they went into me. The second time I saw some old dude, and he said something, but I didn't talk to him." You suck on your upper lip. "You can get details from Kali, and if you're not still satisfied you can talk to me again."<br/>
<br/>
"Is that all?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
You shift on the bed. "I also brought something with me when I came out here. I worried I couldn't get through security because my face got all--" You flip your upraised palm back and forth. "So Joe suggested I wear a mask of him. We had one left over. So I did. I took it off when I got here."<br/>
<br/>
"Where is it?"<br/>
<br/>
"I gave it to Kali." You hesitate. She doesn't immediately follow up with another question, but as long as you're in this deep: "I think she hid it behind that cuckoo mask she's got hanging in the living room."<br/>
<br/>
"You <i>think</i>?" she asks, and her eyebrows shoot up.<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. "I was looking at it the first day, and just on a wild hunch looked behind it. That's where she'd put it. Maybe she's moved it. I haven't looked for it since."<br/>
<br/>
You look up at her fearfully. She stares back. Then she takes three quick steps toward you. You rear back on the bed, but she's too fast, and an instant later she nips you lightly on the cheek. "Dream about me tonight?" she says, and her grin is like that of a specially nasty cat that's just trapped a specially handicapped canary. Just as quickly she's back out the door.<br/>
<br/>
You fall back on the bed. You raise your hands and claw at the ceiling. <i>Great. She's not only going to keep you off balance. She's going to keep you off balance by using every dirty trick in the book.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You feel yourself toss and turn all night, but when you grab at the dream journal the next morning you only find the account of the previous night's dream. You try to remember anything you might have dreamed, though you're very gingerly about probing. It's one thing to tell Kali and Miko about a dream involving Chelsea Cooper. But after that kiss from Miko, if you had a dream about her--<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh, fuck. What if she's pissed that you </i>didn't<i> dream about her?</i><br/>
<br/>
You spend nearly twenty minutes rubbing your face in your pillow until you feel awake enough to get up. You crawl and stumble more than you rise from the bed, and you have to clutch the front of your pajama bottoms to keep them from sliding off. You have to pee, and you're used to being alone in the mornings, so you just go out as you are. The door handle isn't where you expect it to be; you'll have to splash some water on your face before facing the toilet or you'll send a stream everywhere.<br/>
<br/>
In the bathroom, you turn the cold tap, fill your cupped hands, and throw it on your face. You repeat. It's bracing, and you blow. Then you raise your head to look in the mirror.<br/>
<br/>
Miko Toyotomi looks back at you.<br/>
<br/>
You blink a moment, then whirl around. There's no one behind you.<br/>
<br/>
You take a step back and put your hand onto the edge of the vanity, but you don't turn. <i>This has got to be a dream,</i> you desperately think. <i>Yes, it's just a delayed dream from last night. You're going to look in the mirror, and it's going to be the back-to-front face of Will Prescott--the new face you've slowly gotten used to--looking back at you.</i><br/>
<br/>
You turn. It's still Miko, looking terrified and aghast. Something very warm and liquid runs down the front of your pajama bottoms.<br/>
<br/>
You  cry out and put your hands to your crotch, then pull them away so fast you crack your knuckles on the edge of the vanity. There's no package there. There's nothing there but-- A little shriek escapes your throat, and a warm puddle forms around your bare feet.<br/>
<br/>
You step away from the vanity. Your calves collide with the lip of the toilet bowl and you fall back into it with a <i>sploosh.</i> Oh God, now you <i>will</i> have to take your pajamas off.<br/>
<br/>
You struggle out of the toilet bowl and peel the now totally drenched bottoms off. The hem of your top falls so far down that you can't see anything--not that you're trying to look--and then you lower the toilet seat so you can actually sit on it. What little liquid remains in your bladder tinkles out. A great fart blasts out, followed by a plop.<br/>
<br/>
You clutch your temples. <i>You're going to have to touch yourself down there, and in the most mortifying way possible.</i><br/>
<br/>
But not yet. Your head is reeling, and your stomach is heaving. It's not so much the shock of discovering that now you look like Miko--after the past few weeks, as you'd told Kali, and especially after the past few days--nothing much would surprise you anymore. It's the horror of having to explain it to Kali and Miko. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Explain it?!</i> If you had an explanation that might be okay. But <i>showing</i> them!<br/>
<br/>
Carefully, while staring straight ahead at the wall, you take off your pajama top and cast it aside. While concentrating on the wallpaper, you run one palm up over one arm and your other palm over the other arm. They are smooth and strong. You grip your shoulders, and then with teeth gritted you move them down to touch and cup--<br/>
<br/>
Oh God, you've got breasts. Small, pert things, with slightly upturned tips. You lightly rub the nipples; they are sensitive, but you're so freaked out you're not the least bit excited. At least, if she asks, you can tell Miko that you didn't turn yourself on.<br/>
<br/>
Would she be relieved or insulted?<br/>
<br/>
You close your eyes and put a hand to your face. <i>Okay, you've got her body. Is there anything else?</i> You probe your memories, but there's nothing there except yourself. So if you've got a mask on, it's a mask without a--<br/>
<br/>
A mask. You gasp with relief. That's got to be what it is. Somehow they got a mask onto you in your sleep. Is it another test? Maybe they're waiting for you out in the dining room, to see what you do? Anger floods you. <i>More of Miko and her putting you off balance.</i> Oh, she'll have a good laugh at it, you're sure, and tease you mercilessly until she's an old woman and you're an old man. Sitting in the Home for Retired Stellae and cackling over old adventures and telling the young 'uns tales about all the times you saved the world. <i>But old Will here,</i> she'll screech with laughter, <i>he pissed all over himself the time he found himself in my body!</i><br/>
<br/>
You put your hand to your brow, murmur the words, and pull. Nothing happens. You take a deep breath and try again. Nothing. Your fingernails bite and scrape. Third time is not a charm.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Shit. It's not a mask? It's another one of your "prodigies"?</i> You'd rather it were a joke.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe it will fade. Maybe it's a temporary thing.<br/>
<br/>
With your eyes shut you wipe yourself off and flush and return to the bedroom. (A shower is out of the question.) Your clothes are too large, but you're not going to go snooping through Miko's bedroom to get any of hers, so you dress as best you can. Luckily, Miko is small enough that your clothes, though floppy, don't bind you uncomfortably anywhere.<br/>
<br/>
The apartment is empty. Your first thought is to call Joe, but you can guess he'll tell you to run. Or stay behind and take the consequences. Maybe <i>he'll</i> think you need to be separated from your body.<br/>
<br/>
You're on tenterhooks until a little after two, expecting one or both of the women to return, but neither one does. And then at around three a desperate fear overcomes you. Calling Joe will be useless by this point. You'd have to <i>see</i> him, like this. Having him by your side is your only hope, you feel.<br/>
<br/>
You quietly go into Miko's bedroom. It's much more disordered than you'd expect it to be, with clothes on the floor or draped over furniture. That makes you feel a little better; you won't have to rummage. Even her billfold is out, and you glance through it: ID cards, a passport, several credit cards, several hundred dollars in cash. You wonder a little that she hasn't got it with her; Kali must be carrying her during her sojourn in L.A., at least on a day-to-day basis. But with this stuff you can get to the airport and buy a ticket and return to Saratoga Falls.<br/>
<br/>
Oh, but what if you shift back in the meantime? What if you shift back to your own form while you're on the plane? That would be a disaster even worse than facing Miko and Kali.</span></div></div>


path: 11221111111222112211112221212112112121122121211212111
author_id: seuzz
title: Two Mikos for the Price of One
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You leave Miko's room without touching anything. They said that you had to trust them. There's probably no better way to demonstrate that trust than to throw yourself on their mercy when something like <i>this</i> happens. <br/>
<br/>
But that doesn't mean you have to be stupid about it. You tape a note to the front door, asking Kali to come find you in your bedroom when she gets home. "By yourself, please," you add at the end. You then retreat to your room, close the door and lay on the bed, trying to nap. You don't fall asleep, but you're so exhausted with worry that you do fade in and out of consciousness.<br/>
<br/>
So you're muzzy-headed when you hear a soft knock. "You wanted to see me, child?" Kali says through the door.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Uh, yeah," you repeat, trying to lower the timbre of your voice. You sit up and rub some life back into your face. "Come in." You cover your face with your hands. Let her see your hair first, and then slowly show her the rest.<br/>
<br/>
You hear the door open. There's a pause, and then it shuts again. You peer out through your fingers, take a deep breath, and lower your hands. Kali stares at you a moment. And then her eyebrows arch and her lips compress. "I don't know what happened, Kali," you moan. "I woke up like this. And I've been freaked out about it all day."<br/>
<br/>
"For heaven's sake, child, why didn't you <i>call</i> me?" she says, and her voice cuts the air sharply. "I left you my number. I certainly think this qualifies as an emergency."<br/>
<br/>
You swallow and hang your head. She's right. "I told you, I freaked out. I'm sorry. I guess I haven't been thinking clearly."<br/>
<br/>
"Mm. Whose head exactly have you been thinking with?"<br/>
<br/>
"Mine." You look up sharply. "It's just the look. I don't have anything here." You put a finger to your temple. And then, impulsively, you cock your thumb, pull the trigger, and flop onto your side.<br/>
<br/>
"It might have been better if you had. So what <i>have</i> you been doing all day?"<br/>
<br/>
"Freaking out, I said. I thought about running away." You shrug. "I didn't."<br/>
<br/>
She sniffs. "I'll have to speak to Miko. Privately." She puts her hand on the knob.<br/>
<br/>
"Hide her sword first?"<br/>
<br/>
"Pshaw. You're not the only one in trouble, child," she says, and leaves.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"It's your own fault," Kali says sharply.<br/>
<br/>
"My fault?" Miko screeches. "I'm not the one who--"<br/>
<br/>
"It takes two to make a tangle like this. Will's not in control of himself--<i>as someone of my acquaintance has said already</i>--and I won't have you putting the blame on him."<br/>
<br/>
"It's that damn book," Miko snarls, and her lips peel back from her teeth as she glares at you. "He's got it in his bones now. We'll have to cut it out of him." Her eyes glitter, but then she quails a little. "I'd do it myself, but it would be too weird."<br/>
<br/>
"No one is cutting anyone, not under <i>my</i> roof." Kali crosses her legs and kicks at the air. "Until we find a solution, you're just going to have to live with yourself. In several senses of the phrase."<br/>
<br/>
You're in the living room. The air prickles with electricity. You're grateful for Kali's support, but you know it's not something you can count on. "Believe me, I'd change back in a heartbeat if I knew how to," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe you just don't want to," Miko snarls.<br/>
<br/>
"Give me an incentive!"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't tempt me!" She comes half out of her seat, but Kali restrains her, and she sits back down with a muttered oath.<br/>
<br/>
"Miko's right about one thing," Kali says. "You and the <i>Libra</i> are now entangled. I confirmed that the first night you were here, so I'll accept a considerable share of the blame for this mess as well. Though I <i>did</i> tell you to be careful around the child," she adds, and casts a sidelong glare at her colleague.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, maybe you could have told me something too," you say in a trembling voice. That gets you a sharp look from her as well, and you glance away. "I'm sorry, Kali. But I'm still freaked out and I want to know--"<br/>
<br/>
"<i>Why</i> are you freaked out, you little shit," Miko demands. "You told us you went around pretending to be a girl while you were--"<br/>
<br/>
"I knew what I was doing then, and yeah, I was wrong to!" you shout back. "I don't know what <i>this</i> is--" You thrust out your arms. "And if I knew what it was I'd change back and wouldn't change back again!"<br/>
<br/>
"There is too much distemper in this room," Kali declares. "Miko, your presence was required, but it is no longer helpful. Kindly retire until I summon you again."<br/>
<br/>
"Who left <i>you</i> in charge?"<br/>
<br/>
"Charles did," Kali snaps, and her flat declaration draws a gasp from Miko. "He was quite clear, and if you doubt my word you can talk to him yourself. Or we can discuss it later, when you're feeling more like yourself."<br/>
<br/>
"Fine. You can practice your speech on <i>this</i> one!" Miko leaps to her feet and strides from the room. Her door slams with a resounding crash.<br/>
<br/>
Kali presses her palms together and says nothing. You feel the need to speak. "Kali, I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have-- I'll talk to her."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't. Not at the moment, and not tonight. Miko is angry because she knows she is partly to blame--"<br/>
<br/>
"And I am too?" You clear your throat and change the tenor. "And I am too. So I need to apologize--"<br/>
<br/>
"You are not to blame for anything about <i>this</i> mess. You are a ... a <i>situation</i> that needs careful handling, and you are a situation because of actions that you <i>are</i> responsible for." She seems to weigh her next words carefully. "And, over the long haul--a very long haul--you will have to make ... rectifications. Your being here is <i>part</i> of that process. Perhaps. But this ... Now ... This is something you must suffer with patience and humility, not a sense of guilt." And then, to your immense stupefaction, she throws her head back and smiles widely. "Oh, but it is <i>remarkable,</i> though!"<br/>
<br/>
"What?!" You shudder at the very Miko-like shriek you've made.<br/>
<br/>
"If it had been anyone else, child, even <i>myself</i>-- Oh, but that wouldn't have happened. But if you had ... metamorphosed ... into any other form, we would not be suffering this fraught atmosphere. Really, in and of itself, this is no more significant than any of the other prodigies you have displayed."<br/>
<br/>
That word again: <i>prodigies.</i> "I don't think I like having these 'prodigies'."<br/>
<br/>
"You have them, and you are going to have to live with them. They suit you, and it is becoming clearer and clearer that you are suited for them."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Kali," you cry. "I told you nothing surprises me any more. But that doesn't mean I <i>like</i> them."<br/>
<br/>
"You're not used to them. That is partly a matter of this advanced age at which you manifest them. Frank and Joe--and myself, and most of the others of our company--were quite young when we became aware of what we had in store. The world, and everything in it, are quite new to ourselves when we are only seven or eight, or even ten years old. You are already used to it, largely, so anything like this comes as a shock. Joe may have <i>told</i> you some things, and he may have even shown you some of the things he is capable of. But it is quite another to confront your own gifts in the flesh, as it were."<br/>
<br/>
"It seemed normal, somehow, when Frank and Joe were doing them," you grumble.<br/>
<br/>
"Indeed. They wear them well. You'll wear your own with as much ease, child, if you study, and are diligent, and allow us to guide and temper you."<br/>
<br/>
"Wear them," you echo, and can't quite bring yourself to touch yourself. "Wear them, like this?"<br/>
<br/>
"Indeed. The first order of business is finding a way of changing you into some other form." She chews a fingernail and looks at you appraisingly. "I suppose I could try kissing you, as Miko did, and see if you shift into <i>my</i> form." <br/>
<br/>
You cringe, and then redden. "I'm sorry. I don't want it to seem like I find that disgusting."<br/>
<br/>
"No, you merely find it mortifying. It's quite a different emotion. I confess I would have to swallow my own mortification. At the moment I do not much feel like kissing Miko Toyotomi." You only sigh at her jest. "Besides, I doubt it would work. I'm fairly certain this has peculiarly to do with her. She is a catalytic agent--that is her role in our little three-person schoolhouse--and I doubt I'd have the same effect on you."<br/>
<br/>
You pick at the arm chair. (You have Miko's sharp fingernails.) "You said I was entangled with the book. The <i>Libra.</i> Can you explain that to me?"<br/>
<br/>
"You already told me about it yourself. You have passed through it twice, and the first time you said you absorbed its elements into your own being. The things the book is capable of doing, <i>you yourself</i> are now capable of doing."<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus!"<br/>
<br/>
"Pray do not use that name in that way again, child. We are not all of us of the Church, and we are not required to be. But the invocation of such powers  is not to be made lightly. But yes, when I examined you that first night, I confirmed that you carry the sigils within you. You are the <i>Libra Personae</i> made flesh."<br/>
<br/>
Your eyes widen in horror.<br/>
<br/>
"Miko knows that too, of course, and she is under <i>strict</i> orders to let you be."<br/>
<br/>
<i>So that's what she meant about "cutting it out" of you.</i><br/>
<br/>
Kali talks a lot more with you before letting you retire for the night. She stays up. <br/>
<br/>
On your way to your room, you have to pass Miko's door.</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112221122111122212121121121211221212112121112
author_id: seuzz
title: The Stars in Their Courses
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Kali told you to leave Miko alone, so you do. There you change into the pajamas--you'd at least had the presence of mind during the day's panic to wash them--and climb into bed. <br/>
<br/>
Despite having walked around all day in Miko's body, it feels odd to lay under the covers with it, and you keep your hands firmly off yourself. You also have Kali's words weighing on you.<br/>
<br/>
It's the <i>Libra.</i> You thought you'd gotten rid of it, finally, when Frank had taken it with him. But it's still here, with you, in you. In a sense, Kali had said, you now <i>are</i> it. And as you can use the book to make instruments you can use upon yourself, so too you can execute the its spells directly upon yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Somehow, as a result of Miko's teasing kiss last night, that power erupted during the night, leaving you like this.<br/>
<br/>
You raise and stare at your palms in the darkness. You must find some way of activating the power again. Tomorrow is Saturday, and Kali and Miko will only have to work in the morning. Kali has promised that they would get started directly after lunch in finding a way to reverse things.<br/>
<br/>
She had also urged you to put aside your mortification and take a shower in the morning. <br/>
<br/>
You lower your hands and stare at the ceiling. "You will wear your gifts well," she had said. How good is it to be a shapeshifter? You recall all the stories you've read and movies you've seen that contain them. They are always monsters. What could the Stellae want with a monster, especially one infected by a book that they keep referring to as being "damned"? Are they only keeping you around until they can figure out a way of killing you safely? Is that why they invited you out, to test you and discover how deep the rot had spread into you? Maybe they didn't know, but only suspected. Or maybe they didn't suspect, and are now weighing what to do with you, now that they know what kind of monster you really are.<br/>
<br/>
A hot tear rolls down your cheek. You don't feel like a monster.<br/>
<br/>
Were they all monsters in those stories? Or were they only misunderstood, fretful and dangerous because they knew they'd be treated like monsters? You know that <i>you'd</i> have a hard time trusting anyone who could do what you can now do. You'd be paranoid about a thing like yourself, and so it's hard not to assume your erstwhile, would-be colleagues are paranoid too. And that makes you paranoid of them. Maybe that's why shapeshifters are always acting like monsters, because they have to assume everyone will treat them like monsters.<br/>
<br/>
Do vampires treat shapeshifters like they're monsters?<br/>
<br/>
You jerk your eyes open. You're beginning to drift off, and you don't want to, because you're frightened of what dreams you will have.<br/>
<br/>
Drift off. You were supposed to do another meditation exercise tonight, but naturally that got lost in the uproar. Is there any point in trying?<br/>
<br/>
Well, you'd really like Kali to continue trusting you. You should do what she said, even if she forgot to tell you tonight. Miko, you sourly think, will say you're only trying to amplify your powers so you can <i>really</i> become a monster.<br/>
<br/>
You're very tired now, but maybe that will make it easier. You crawl out from under the covers, and after making sure the window is closed and locked you sit cross legged on the bed and shut your eyes. Almost instantly your mind becomes foggy. And then it becomes very clear.<br/>
<br/>
The Moon is before you again, but larger than ever. You are pulled toward it, as though drawn into the vacuum it sails through. And then you are racing toward it. Its shimmering light falls about you, without touching you. It seems to tremble, inviting you shyly to partake of its poor warmth. A pity for its yearning loneliness overwhelms you, and you embrace it.<br/>
<br/>
And then <i>he</i> is with you, all about you, in the form of a voice, whispering words you can't make out, nuzzling at your ears. His tone is insistent, but filled with a stern tenderness. Thin tendrils touch you, and wrap about you, but loosely. You somehow understand that they cannot bind you, that only you can wrap yourself in them. And you do, spinning yourself up in a light cocoon, cloaking what you now perceive was your own nakedness within the lunar light.<br/>
<br/>
The image of the Moon is now invisible, and you understand that you are now riding around within it. The voice nestles within you, though it now seems content to be silent. You turn, or something within causes you turn, and you see it: a great web of filaments spread across almost infinite distances into the darkness. They shine and refract more colors than you knew existed. But you perceive running through them a web of silver lines, and that you are standing upon such a one. And somehow you understand that the silver lines, alone of the other strands, are nearly invisible to any but yourself.<br/>
<br/>
And then you are racing along, more sure-footed than any spider or acrobat, only lightly touching your foothold in the sky. But you are not alone, and the web, like an impossibly thin road, takes you past the others.<br/>
<br/>
Strictly speaking, you see nothing, but the first seems a globe of verdant, almost volcanic greenery. You have the vivid impression of great plumes rising and spreading and falling. Flowers like stars burst and fade. Beneath it all is a coppery canopy that seems to boil and froth, and a great desire seizes you, to nourish yourself in its roots and soils, to grow strong and great like its trees, and to burst yourself asunder, returning seed and nutrients to nourish others. And then you are past it.<br/>
<br/>
The next is a bright, sinewy ball of shifting metallic sheen. Again, strictly speaking, you hear nothing, but your mind rings in sympathy to its tintinnabulations. They are like bells and trumpets and strings shouting joyously, unmindful of each other, but blended in perfect and kaleidoscopic harmonies and consonances. You plunge through it, and then you are shouting and singing too. And laughing. Every joke, every pun, every word play you ever heard blazes inside your head. Your tongue dances in your mouth, and you argue and cajole with the music and voices and the song, blending your own with them. You feel a momentary spasm of regret as you leave it behind, for you instantly forget all you had said and heard.<br/>
<br/>
And now comes a hard world, of iron cliffs and frigid seas. You see small figures, tossed in great waves and clinging to vertiginous faces. And you are one of them, though you are only watching. You feel the ache of muscle, and the rasp of harsh oxygen, and the piercing shafts of adrenaline. The labor of unceasing combat against a world that bites the hands and claws the flesh, and the hardness of sinews that must bend and break and tear away that which would tear the flesh. And the shout of triumph that comes in brief moments when one victory has been won and before another must be earned.<br/>
<br/>
Another volcanic world, like the first, but a world of reds and yellows, of caustic eruptions and withering geysers and fizzing, bubbling seas. Continents rise and sink, islands are overthrown. And yet there is life here, too. Every ruin throws up a new structure, proud and tall, like a tower, or grand and spacious, like a palace, before tumbling in chaotic decay, replaced by something entirely new, but which yet retains echoes of what it has replaced. No good thing--no straight line or delicately baroque curve--ever completely vanishes but seems to become incorporated within and even improved by what succeeds it.<br/>
<br/>
Then the deep world, of airs covering hazes covering vapors covering clouds covering mists covering fogs covering oceans that cover oceans that themselves cover oceans. There is no end to them, and no center, either, only shifting and flowing currents that whirl into vortexes where they meet. Faces and forms appear and dissipate; great behemoths rise from the depths, take wing in the upper airs, spread themselves, and dissolve in drenching downpours back into the great, all-encompassing maelstrom.<br/>
<br/>
And then the throbbing world. The energies of all the other worlds seem contained in this one, bound under titanic pressures, laboring and laboring without buckling. It is wrapped in a Stygian cold and darkness, but you sense it is brimming with more light and heat than anything you have yet seen--not hoarding it, but bending it to Herculean labors. The strands leading to and from this world pulse and writhe, and you know it is not feeding on those other worlds, but feeding them with itself. As you brush past, your mind briefly fills with ambition and frictionless schemes.<br/>
<br/>
Then you are filled with rest when the next world looms ahead. It is a vast cathedral of space and solitude. Archways open into vast halls and corridors, which branch off into other halls and corridors that run off into a labyrinth of more halls and corridors. Within that great, silent maze, you are given to understand, are cloisters, one of which is yours. But you cannot enter it--not yet--for a great swinging scythe blocks every door.<br/>
<br/>
Now, before you is a great conjunction, a blending of a light golden and a light majestic. But you do not approach them. Not yet. The voice inside, which you realize has been speaking to you all this time, is silent. There is another path here, that vanishes into a distant darkness. You yearn to visit and bathe in the conjunction before you, but you are also seized by a curiosity about the other path.<br/>
<br/>
You've been racing along up to this point, propelled from point to point. But now you seem to hang motionless. And you realize the next movement, in either direction, must come from your own will.</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111122211221111222121211211212112212121121211121
author_id: seuzz
title: The Field of Arbol
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>A great field of light spreads before and around and behind you, and whatever its source, it is lost in the blaze. Within that field you see all the other worlds, and now you know their names: Perelandra, Viritrilbia, Malacandra, Catilindria, Eldibria, Kenadandra, and Lurga. You sense your own name, too: Sulva. You don't wonder about the absence of the Earth from this pantheon. It is so obvious, now. You are <i>on</i> the Earth, and all this is upon the Earth as well. But this great splendor, this vast infinitude of power, is only a shadow resting upon the surface of your own world. It is but the faintest breath of the real splendors and powers above.<br/>
<br/>
Within the great field of light is another, and as you draw closer you feel yourself sinking in awe beneath it. But it has no heaviness and no terror. On the contrary, it's approach is like a trumpet shout of welcome and joy. You are only abashed to be in its presence, and you bend--without resentment, only a happy humility--at your presentation to Glundandra: the King of the Planets. To kneel before him is an exaltation above all terrestrial powers. <br/>
<br/>
And you feel a touch at your heart as you bow (without any kind of self-consciousness), as though the smallest glimmer of a great scepter has passed over you. You feel its awareness. Alone of the planets, this one has an eye. It is not the gross, stormy eye that fascinates astronomers, but a kingly eye, grave but happy--and even with a twinkle of mischief. With a rush, you feel yourself lifted high and placed in a great company. The golden field of Arbol that illumines the planets is like a great court, where all is feasting and dancing and labor all at once. The song of Viritrilbia, pulsing with the power of Kenadandra, the creativity of Perelandra and the raucous energy of Catilindria, drawing on the depths of Eldibria and the discipline of Malacandra, ever rejuvenating in Lurga, rejoicing in the benevolent presence of Glundandra. <br/>
<br/>
And yourself? You are a mirror multiplying panorama and detail to infinity.<br/>
<br/>
It never stops, and you never tire, and though it fades and vanishes, still there is never a moment afterward, in waking life or in dream, that you do not think you will not hear or feel it all again, should a leaf only turn this way rather than that in the breath of the wind.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You lie in bed for a very long time after you wake, and even after all feeling of sleepiness has left you. You don't remember getting back into bed after your meditative experience last night, and you don't remember any dreams. You don't write down your vision. Words and sigils won't be able to convey it, except in its bare outline: "I saw the planets, and I was the Moon," and that will be enough for Kali, you are sure. Though the concrete emotions--which felt real enough at the time--have since faded into only a vanishing echo of exaltation, you doubt you will ever forget them.<br/>
<br/>
When you do get up, you shower (as Kali had requested) but carry out the routine without any sense of shame or self-consciousness. This thing is only a body, and if it happens to exactly resemble that of Miko Toyotomi, it is still yours. And to hell with Miko if she's going to have a problem with it: You're doing nothing with this body that her own twin sister (if she had one) wouldn't be doing with her own. Afterward, you dress back in your pajamas, put on the bathrobe, and sit on the sofa with one of Kali's books on interior design, to wait for her and Miko to get back.<br/>
<br/>
It's a little after twelve when you hear the key in the lock. Kali stops in the doorway and gives you a small smile, then steps quietly in. You look back directly at her, and then look directly at Miko. Your unwilling double blanches a little, and gets a pinched look. She bites her lips, and then without looking you in the eye marches over to the sofa. "Welcome to the club," she says stiffly, then bends over and kisses you on both cheeks.<br/>
<br/>
Your surprise at this greeting is nothing compared to what happens next, when she suddenly shouts, "Oh, why am I being such a cunt about it? As long as you're looking like this, let's have some <i>fun</i> with it!" She hauls you to your feet, takes you by the hand, and runs--with you stumbling behind--into her bedroom.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's nearly an hour before you emerge again, arms tucked in each others'. She is giggling, but you're feeling shy. You're both dressed in dark, knee-length skirts (but with a slit up the side!) and black silk tops, and in red stiletto heels. It's a joint look she had settled on for the two of you only after putting you into and pulling you out of almost everything else she had packed, and only after hitting on the idea of using the duplicate clothes for the duplicate Mikos. She'd then done your nails and spent an ungodly amount of time brushing and combing your hair--though it isn't long--and cooing that it was so <i>much</i> more satisfying to have a model of herself to work on than struggling to get herself done up in a mirror. You still have on the silver necklace she'd given you. But otherwise you are as identical as she could contrive.<br/>
<br/>
You had let her do this work, and had done your best to enter into her suddenly playful spirit. But you had still flinched a little when you'd seen her reflection next to yours in the mirror.<br/>
<br/>
In the kitchen, Kali turns at the sound of your entrance, and her eyes narrow even as they twinkle. "Miko," she sighs with a playful exasperation, and looks between the double apparition. "Sure, and it's all fun and games, until it's time to meet the client and I take the wrong one with me."<br/>
<br/>
"I know, I'm sorry, Kali," Miko says in a dopey-sounding drawl, and it takes you a moment to realize she's trying to imitate you. "It was Miko's idea."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't sound like that," you mumble, and turn a little red. "Do I?"<br/>
<br/>
"She's pitch perfect, child," Kali says. "If this unfortunate impersonation has one fortunate consequence, it will be if we can finally squeeze that whine out of you."<br/>
<br/>
"I whine?" you whine.<br/>
<br/>
"Almost as bad as Frank did when he first came to me."<br/>
<br/>
"<i>Frank whined?</i>" That's an image that does not fit.<br/>
<br/>
"Whined. Kicked. Pouted. He was very young, though, so <i>he</i> had an excuse." She turns back to the counter and starts pulling containers out of some plastic sacks. "I ordered in from the deli--I had no notion how long you girls would be--and it's only pasta and sandwiches. A light lunch. We will go out tonight, for a more celebratory supper."<br/>
<br/>
"What's the occasion?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
Kali turns again, sharply, and looks at Miko. "Didn't you tell him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I didn't want to talk business," she says, and drops into a chair. She pats the one next to her, and you join her. "We were having fun. Besides, I thought I did when we came in through the door."<br/>
<br/>
"Told me what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Charles called, early this morning," Kali says. "For lack of a better phrase, let us just say that your application for membership has been approved. You are only an apprentice, but you are now a member of a very old and prestigious order. The Stellae Errantes."<br/>
<br/>
"My application?" you ask, dumbfounded. "When did I apply? I mean, not that I don't want to, but--"<br/>
<br/>
Kali cocks an eyebrow. "But Charles told me you applied last night. In person, no less."<br/>
<br/>
Your jaw drops.<br/>
<br/>
"Is there something you need to tell us?" Kali asks. <br/>
<br/>
You take a breath so deep you almost fall out of the chair. "I dreamed last night-- No, actually, I meditated again. Maybe it turned into a dream at some point." You look between Kali and Miko. There's nothing else to say: "I saw the planets. And I was the Moon."<br/>
<br/>
They stare at you, then slowly turn to look at each other, and then slowly turn back to look at you. "That would count as an application, child," Kali says.<br/>
<br/>
"And ... Charles? That's Frank and Joe's dad?" you ask. Miko shrugs. "He's--? How would he know?"<br/>
<br/>
"He's the head of the order. <i>He</i> would <i>know.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The celebratory mood doesn't preclude any actual work being done, though to your disappointment it's mundane work: Those school books Kali had threatened arrived while you were still asleep, and the afternoon is taking up with her and Miko planning out a very high school-ish curriculum of boring subjects for you, and they even set you to work on math problems. At six o'clock, though, you leave for dinner, eating at a very posh and trendy restaurant whose menu prices leave you gasping. (But they tell you to get whatever you want, which doesn't stop you from ordering one of the cheaper meals.) You remark on how nice it is to be out of the apartment; Miko says you're free to leave whenever you want, so long as you don't mind being flirted with on the streets.<br/>
<br/>
Then it's back to the apartment. You'd like to call Joe to tell him the news, but you're very shy about speaking to him in Miko's voice; the news is too good for you to want to spoil it with an account of the previous days' disaster. So you send an email (from a new account) instead, outlining the bare facts.<br/>
<br/>
The reply comes only ten minutes later: "Whoop! Whoop! Whoop! You're gonna come out and help me, right?! Partners?! Call me when you get a chance!"<br/>
<br/>
You might as well tell him "No." It would be weird. But you wouldn't mind seeing him again. Maybe you could talk to Kali about it. Maybe just a visit?</span></div></div>


path: 11221111111222112211112221212112112121122121211212111212
author_id: seuzz
title: A Little History Lesson
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It doesn't take much reflection to see there's no point in even talking to Kali about it. You've just started your studies, and you can bet she will want to keep your "prodigies" under close watch and supervision.<br/>
<br/>
And, sure enough, when you return to the living room, Kali insists upon another bit of meditation. "I won't help you with this one," she says. "You have now forged a bond with your primary Stellae, and you will learn the paths under its guidance, not mine."<br/>
<br/>
The reference to a "primary" reminds you that you are supposed to have a "secondary" influence, and you ask about it.<br/>
<br/>
She looks discomfited. "Yes. But to be perfectly frank with you, child, I am not certain what it is, or how to discover it."<br/>
<br/>
"Joe tried making up a horoscope-like thing for me," you said. "Can't you try that?"<br/>
<br/>
"I already have, without success. I am not sure what that means." She hesitates a good long time before speaking again. "It may be that Sulva has to show you. Which is another reason to meditate, and often."<br/>
<br/>
You scratch your cheek. "I think I saw all the planets last night. Wouldn't I have recognized my secondary?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not necessarily. How did you see them? What form did it take?"<br/>
<br/>
The memory of last night has faded considerably, but you relate your progress through the field as best you can, and convey in a very halting fashion your impression of each planet. "I wanted to be with each of them while I was there," you remark at one point.<br/>
<br/>
"That is a common reaction, and may have been more pronounced in your case. Sulva is a mirror, and you would have felt their influence very strongly. We haven't much experience with Sulvae, in point of fact--" A shadow of pain crosses her face. "Our grasp of their nature is quite tenuous. And, in fact--" It is becoming increasingly difficult for her to speak, and her hands work nervously. "Well, all Stellae, even of the same <i>ousiarchs</i>, manifest different powers and to different degrees, but Sulvae, so far as I can tell from my research, vary even more than others. It might even be, in your case, a feature of your relationship to Sulva that your other secondary has no fixed identity."<br/>
<br/>
"What would that mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. Possibly you will reflect a little of each of the others." She arches her eyebrows in that expression you've come to recognize. "Something like that happened with Joe, didn't it, when you had his mask upon you?"<br/>
<br/>
Miko has been listening silently up until this point, but she breaks in. "What happened with Joe?"<br/>
<br/>
"Will used his own veritas technique against him."<br/>
<br/>
Miko's face curdles. "You mean he might start acting like <i>me?</i>" She points a jagged finger at you.<br/>
<br/>
"A nice thought, isn't it, Miko?" Kali says.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck <i>that.</i> Bad enough that I have to see Ed when--"<br/>
<br/>
"Come," Kali says firmly. "There will be plenty of time to worry about that later. Let us see if Will can tell us anymore after tonight's sojourn."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But you've nothing else to tell them after you come out of your trance: you just felt yourself hanging peacefully in the sky. Kali tells you that is perfectly normal and will probably be your regular experience. "That doesn't mean nothing is happening, but it will be reflected in your mundane activities. I myself will have to meditate on this further." You notice that Miko has retired for the night while you were "out."<br/>
<br/>
You have much the same kind of experience the next morning when you meditate again after breakfast: you seem to hang in a peaceful blue void, touching nothing and being touched by nothing. It also appears that every day of the week will leave you alone in the apartment until at least noon. Kali attends church services on Sundays--and makes no point in inviting you along--and Miko also disappears. They have left you with school reading as well, and you spend the bulk of your "alone time" with the books. It's dull, but at least there are no teachers or bullies to distract you. No friends either, though. For the first time in weeks, it feels like, you miss Caleb and Keith, and wonder how they are getting along.<br/>
<br/>
Kali returns before Miko does, and sets to work on lunch. "I am still full from dinner last night," she says. "But I usually prepare a shepherd's pie for Sunday lunch," she says as she pulls out ingredients. "It's a comfort food, I suppose, for a day of rest."<br/>
<br/>
"Am I going to rest today?"<br/>
<br/>
"Of course. I will want an essay from you this afternoon, outlining a history of the United States from its earliest times."<br/>
<br/>
"That doesn't sound like rest!"<br/>
<br/>
She pauses as she takes out the carrots. "You sounded just like Miko when you said that. That's another reason you should rest."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think of school work as--"<br/>
<br/>
"Rest is relative, child. You have been working hard on your main studies, though perhaps it hasn't felt like it. Today you will relax with school work. I'm not expecting anything great from the essay. I'm mostly curious to see what knowledge you <i>have</i> absorbed."<br/>
<br/>
You mumble under your breath, and then try to make amends for what even you recognize is a bad attitude by opening up a can of peas for her, and otherwise helping her out. "As long as we're talking about history, could you tell me some history of your own. Like, about you and Miko, and Joe and Frank, and everyone else? And the Stellae?"<br/>
<br/>
"I think that's a fine idea. Shall we start with Frank and Joe?" she asks with a small smile.<br/>
<br/>
"Very well," she says, after taking your own crooked smile as an affirmative. "They came to us when they were about seven years old. Frank is a year older, so they joined a year apart. Frank was an orphan. He's Italian, by the way. His real name is Giuseppe. He doesn't know his father. Charles investigated, but never told him the facts, so I won't tell you. His mother was a poor woman, someone taken advantage of by the father. She gave birth in the hospital and abandoned him there." She sighs. "It's a common story, sadly. He was placed in an orphanage, where they treated him as well as they could. But it is difficult to find love in such places."<br/>
<br/>
"If he was in an orphanage, how did the Stellae find him?"<br/>
<br/>
"You said you saw the planets? Then you must have seen their paths." You remember the filaments, like spider webs. "They are tricky to navigate, but individual Stellae can be found on them by those who know how to meditate. That's not the same as finding them in the physical world, of course, and it sometimes takes a team of scouts employing their disparate gifts to finally run them to earth. We don't always succeed. Of course, there's no way to know how many are out there that we <i>don't</i> find, for of course we'd have to find them before we could count them. We suspect that there are a great many more out there that we don't know about."<br/>
<br/>
"Might they be out there doing things we don't know about? Things like Joe and Frank can do?" You don't feel like adding your own name to the list.<br/>
<br/>
"They wouldn't be noticeable. You must undergo the right sort of training to bring your gifts out. Though such gifts <i>can</i> manifest in ways that might seem odd. You yourself, for instance."<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean?" You pause before picking up the potato peeler, lest you cut yourself.<br/>
<br/>
"Your little disappearing trick the first night you were here. I thought at the time it was only your first prodigy, but it may--"<br/>
<br/>
"What disappearing trick?"<br/>
<br/>
"Didn't you notice? You were sitting in the living room. Miko and I both went through, looking for you. I had to come back in and throw a little light around before I could find you."<br/>
<br/>
"I was invisible?" you gasp.<br/>
<br/>
"No, you weren't invisible. I just didn't notice you, even though I was looking for you and looking directly at you."<br/>
<br/>
"How is that possible?"<br/>
<br/>
She smiles as she pours a little oil in a skillet. "Have you ever turned your house upside down looking for your keys, only to discover they were sitting in plain sight the whole time?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but it's usually my shoes."<br/>
<br/>
She smiles wryly. "As it was with Frank and Joe. But It was something similar with you. I imagine you were feeling sorry for yourself and wishing you could just disappear. You managed to put up some kind of block that kept us from noticing you, the sort of thing that sometimes keeps us from noticing things that are directly in front of us. Sherlock Holmes," she says, turning to put the skillet on the stove, "called it the difference between seeing and observing. I suppose we saw you, but we didn't observe you, and so kept looking for you."<br/>
<br/>
"Whoa."<br/>
<br/>
"So Miko gave you that necklace. Don't feel like you <i>have</i> to wear it. But as long as you are in training, there is a chance that you'll accidentally disappear on us again. We might not even see you if you're trying frantically to get our attention. That necklace will prevent that from happening."<br/>
<br/>
You touch it with a light fingertip. So it <i>is</i> magical.<br/>
<br/>
"I told you Sulvae are very rare," she continues. "It's probably better to say that we don't notice them, and that they have a unconscious knack for making themselves inconspicuous." She tears open a package of ground beef, but pauses before dropping it into skillet. "Were you often invisible at school, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not as much as I'd have liked. There were these bullies--"<br/>
<br/>
"But you weren't often in the thick of things? No busy social life?"<br/>
<br/>
"No," you say quietly. "Just hung out with a few friends. Never even really sent to parties."<br/>
<br/>
"Would you <i>like</i> to go to a party?"</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112221122111122212121121121211221212112121112122
author_id: seuzz
title: A Little More History
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>This sounds like a serious invitation. You'd like to get out of the house. But a party? You pale a little. You don't want to go out while looking like Miko. What if someone tried to pick you up?<br/>
<br/>
"Well, some other time, perhaps," Kali says when you don't reply. "But I am curious to see what happens when we put you in public."<br/>
<br/>
You don't like being talked of as a science experiment. "Back to the Stellae?" you ask, and return to peeling the potatoes.<br/>
<br/>
"Ah yes. Well, I told you that Frank joined when he was seven. Joe joined a year later. His name is Franz, and he's from Germany. His father was a confidence man, a smooth-talking fleece artist."<br/>
<br/>
"Does Joe know?"<br/>
<br/>
"Joe <i>helped</i> him. He was only a small boy, but preternaturally self-possessed, and a skilled prevaricator and actor even as a very young boy."<br/>
<br/>
"So how did he wind up in the Stellae?"<br/>
<br/>
"We used his father's own tricks against him, and kidnapped him from under his nose." She turns at your gasp. "Don't be so shocked, child. We're not in the kidnapping business, and each recruitment is made in a way specific to the circumstances. Take your case. Your parents don't even know you're gone, do they?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I guess they don't."<br/>
<br/>
"Quite right. We found you because of the <i>Libra</i>, and we used that circumstance--the <i>Libra</i> and what it can do--to bring you in without leaving a ripple behind."<br/>
<br/>
"Is it right to have done that? To use the <i>Libra,</i> I mean? Everyone talks about how it's a bad book."<br/>
<br/>
"It is. And there is no guarantee that the creature we left behind in your place won't come to a bad end. But the devil cannot <i>make</i> anything. He can only pervert that which already exists. And so, anything he perverts can be changed back to what it was intended to be."<br/>
<br/>
She grasps you firmly by shoulders, and turns you so you can see her grave but kindly expression. "Your gifts are not <i>evil,</i> child," she says. "You and the <i>Libra</i> resonate with each other, and you are now entangled, as I've told you. But that doesn't mean <i>you</i> have been perverted. Not unless you <i>choose</i> to be. You and the <i>Libra</i> may be twins now. But you, unlike it, have the capacity to choose. And you can be its good twin, I suppose we can say, even as you can do everything <i>it</i> can."<br/>
<br/>
You let your eyes drop, and nod. It feels like a great weight has been placed on your shoulders. But you are determined not to be unworthy of it.<br/>
<br/>
She turns back to the skillet, and stirs the meat. "Take Joe, for instance. He is a great talker, as you know, and can charm a bird into the mouth of a cat. But he won't do it, unless it is a very bad bird and a very good and hungry cat. Anyway, to return to their story, we found them and took them in. They spent the first five and six of their years with Charles Brennan, the head of our order. He's the one they call 'Dad,' and he raised them and tempered their character. They are very good boys, as they would be after living with him. They came to me for training for a year, and then went about apprenticing with others. They have had some fine adventures already. This business with the <i>Libra</i> was their first solo mission, and they acquitted it well."<br/>
<br/>
"Even though Frank--" you start before you can stop yourself. <br/>
<br/>
"They found <i>you,</i>" she says firmly, "and spun you into their orbit. That is why Frank survived, and why they did <i>very well.</i> But come," she says when you fall into an abashed silence. "You might cut the taters a little smaller, and you've been lagging while I've been talking."<br/>
<br/>
"It's a lot to think about."<br/>
<br/>
"Then perhaps--"<br/>
<br/>
"Could you tell me about yourself? And Miko? I don't mean to snoop."<br/>
<br/>
"Of course not. But Miko can tell you her own story. My own is much duller. My father moved to Scotland in the fifties, to train as a clergyman, and that's where he met and married my mother. When I was very young I came to the attention of the Stellae, for there are close contacts between us and the Church. There was no need to kidnap me. Margaret Dillon came up from Sussex to take me in hand, and I studied in my own home, and didn't leave for my own apprenticeship until I was seventeen."<br/>
<br/>
"The Stellae and the Church?" you carefully ask. "Aren't religious types, like, suspicious of magic?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, which is why there is an alliance of sorts."<br/>
<br/>
"Are the Stellae part of the Church? Which church?"<br/>
<br/>
"None. All. And not formally. That's why I speak of it as an alliance. It would be better to call it a partial 'affiliation' at the level of personnel. For various contingent, historical reasons, most of the Stellae have also been members of the Church, as worshippers and even as priests and officials. But it is not a requirement for membership. It's rather like the relationship between the army--any liberal and enlightened nation's army--and the Church. One can be a soldier <i>and</i> a Christian. Or a Muslim, or a Buddhist, or an animist. The Stellae, like the army, makes no distinction there, and the Church accepts warriors and doctors and shopkeepers. Whether you, as a Stellae, are a Christian or an atheist or something else is a matter between you and God."<br/>
<br/>
"So the Church doesn't mind all the magic?"<br/>
<br/>
"No more than they mind nuclear weapons and those who carry the keys to the missiles that can annihilate all life on earth. Of <i>course</i> they are interested in the character of those who carry such responsibilities, which is why there has been such a close affiliation over the millennia."<br/>
<br/>
"Millennia?"<br/>
<br/>
"But of course, child. Did you think that all this was invented in the time of Galileo? But I see that I must pay for that essay on American history with a short lecture on the history of the Stellae. Very well."<br/>
<br/>
She scoops your potatoes into a boiling pot, and folds the other vegetables into the meat. "There have been Stellae, I suppose, though they wouldn't have been called that, ever since there have been human beings. The order itself can trace itself back to ancient Babylon. They were the first to make a systematic study of the heavens. The Chinese did too, of course, and there were Stellae-like orders there as well. There has never been a formal union between the eastern and western practitioners, though there has been close cooperation ever since regular contact was made across the trade routes at the time of Darius the Great. The very earliest adepts were probably a rather wild bunch, but there is always a reversion to the mean where mankind is concerned. The Church has been infested with parasites, and great scoundrels have been crowned Pope. In the same way, even the bloodiest and most depraved cults over time tend to become rather bureaucratic, more mindful of protecting what they have gained than at spreading ruination.<br/>
<br/>
"Certainly it was so by the time of the Achaemenids, and the Court of the Stars, as it was known then, was practically a part of the bureaucracy at Ecbatana. It survived through the Hellenic and Roman periods, being associated with various cults and moving westward into Europe. Its center came to rest in Constantinople, and there, I guess you might say, it was Christianized along with the rest of the Late Roman Empire, through the simple expedient of most of its members becoming Christian, as everyone was becoming a Christian at the time. But the emperors at Constantinople couldn't make it a department of the state, for it was too widespread, with members eastward in Sassanid Persia and later the Caliphate, and westward in post-Roman Europe. That is when the Stellae acquired its present, autonomous form, and struck a long-lasting alliance with the Papacy, which was similarly struggling to free itself from Imperial control."<br/>
<br/>
"That makes it sound like it really is part of the Church," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"No. As I say, it was an alliance and an affiliation, and there have been periods of stress between the Stellae and the Church. There was tension during the Crusades, for instance, for the Papacy wished to use us as a weapon. We refused, for it would fracture the Order. Many of our members were Muslim and lived and worked in the Arabic lands. We got our way with the pragmatic argument that a war between magicians would be very bad business. Since then we have insisted on staying free of sectarian and ideological strife. There are enough bad things in the world for us to concentrate our particular gifts against."<br/>
<br/>
"You mean you wouldn't fight the Nazis?" you ask with no little skepticism.<br/>
<br/>
She smiles coolly at you. "We did. They had magicians of their own--none of <i>us,</i> I'm pleased to say--and we concentrated on taking <i>them</i> out. We left the rest of it to the Allies, though, and would have continued to operate even if the Nazis had won."<br/>
<br/>
That sounds rather cold, but you say nothing.<br/>
<br/>
"But our center of gravity became more Europeanized after the Renaissance, and Atlanticist after the colonization of the Americas. The Ottoman Turks did their best to extirpate us in what is today the Middle East. Of course, we still operated, and still do, in Mesopotamia and Palestine and the rest of the Turkic and Arabic and Persian lands. One of the great heads of the Stellae, in fact, was Sulieman the Star-gazer, who lived in the seventeenth century in Damascus."<br/>
<br/>
"Would you fight terrorists?"<br/>
<br/>
"Bomb throwers," she sniffs. "They can barely mix household chemicals. If they had gotten ahold of the <i>Libra,</i> of course, we would intervene. But we would also intervene if the Department of Homeland Security laid hold of it."<br/>
<br/>
"So you really are neutral."<br/>
<br/>
"No, child, we're only specialists."</span></div></div>


