# chapters

path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112223121
author_id: seuzz
title: The Runaway GF
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Maybe you should give it some time," you tell Sydney. "You know, maybe if you wait long enough, the memories will start to come."<br/>
<br/>
She looks doubtful, and pulls away. "It didn't take <i>you</i> any time when you put on Blake's mask," she reminds you. "In fact, if I recall correctly, it took you a couple of minutes to remember that you <i>weren't</i> him."<br/>
<br/>
She's right. At the same time, having gone through all this trouble to get her into the face and body and clothes of Catherine Muskov, it would seem a waste to give up.<br/>
<br/>
Besides, as you look down into her face—into those grave eyes; at the button nose; at the pillowy lips; and as you gently finger the loose curls of her soft, brown hair—how would it be possible to challenge the identity of someone who <i>looks</i> so much like Catherine Muskov? As long as she keeps mostly to herself, and doesn't try to volunteer anything ...<br/>
<br/>
"I think you can fake your way through," you assure her. "At least for tonight. Tomorrow morning—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh God, <i>tomorrow?</i>" she gasps. "You want me to fake my way through until tomorrow? With Catherine's <i>family?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"So let's go out. Yeah!" Your hands slide down her back until they are cupping the top of her hips. "Catherine—" You catch yourself, and feel your lips curling up into a faint smile. "You, Catherine," you correct yourself, "were saying earlier about how you and me and your boyfriend and my girlfriend should all go out some time. So, let's make it now."<br/>
<br/>
"Now?" she squeals. "Just leave? But it's— This is <i>Catherine's</i> house, it's her party!"<br/>
<br/>
"It's <i>your</i> house. But just try it. Go find some of her friends and tell them that you're leaving with whats-his-nuts and a couple of friends, and they can shut down the party whenever they're ready to."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, jeez!"<br/>
<br/>
"Do you want to stay here and try to run things?"<br/>
<br/>
"But if we go out, I'll have to talk to Michael, like I know him!"<br/>
<br/>
"So we'll get rid of him after we're out of here. Look, if it doesn't work out, we'll take the mask off you and send Catherine home or something, and <i>she'll</i> have to deal with it all if it's a disaster."<br/>
<br/>
Sydney mutters something that sounds like <i>It's going to be a disaster anyway,</i> but she agrees to go along with your plan.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Still, it takes some time for Sydney to extricate herself from the party. While she's talking to some of Catherine's friends and searching for Catherine's boyfriend—because he has to come along if it's not going to look completely weird—you pull Fake-Sydney aside and explain things to ... her. She takes it all in with a bemused smile. "So what am I supposed to do about it?" she asks when you're done.<br/>
<br/>
"Who asked you to do anything?" you retort. "Except help out."<br/>
<br/>
"Like how?"<br/>
<br/>
Good question. "Do most of the talking?" you lamely suggest. "So she doesn't have to?"<br/>
<br/>
"Can't you do that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'll try my best."<br/>
<br/>
She lifts an eyebrow.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't take this as a criticism, sweetie," she tells you, "and don't hold it against my friends. But the one thing they all have to say about you, is that you don't do a lot of talking."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Catherine's boyfriend is named Michael and you get a chance to get to know him a little on the drive, for Catherine insists on sitting up front with Sydney, putting you in the back with him.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, first baseman," he clarifies when Catherine (a little nervously) informs you that he's on the school baseball team. "Where'd you go to middle school?" he asks you. "Schuyler, right?" You grunt an affirmative. "Yeah, I remember you, you played on their team."<br/>
<br/>
"Not me," you correct him. "I don't play, uh, much." <i>Or at all.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Really?" He sounds surprised. "'Cos I could've sworn— Oh, I dunno," he sighs, "maybe it was just someone else, just looked like you."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Or maybe you just don't pay attention,</i> you think to yourself. You ask if Jason Lynch isn't on the baseball team too. "What's that like?" you ask when he nods, for Lynch has a reputation as one of the most psychotic of bullies at the school.<br/>
<br/>
But Michael only shrugs. "It's alright," he says. Then, as though guessing why you asked, he says, "Nothing wrong with Jason as long as he sticks to business. And he likes to win. I do too." He leans forward to drape his hands over his girlfriend's shoulders. "It's how come we're together."<br/>
<br/>
"That's right," she says, and lays a hand over his. "I love it when you win."<br/>
<br/>
Michael kisses the back of her head, and you tense all over. <i>My girlfriend has a boyfriend,</i> you can't help thinking, <i>and he's not me.<br/>
<br/>
Though I could be him. If I wanted to.</i><br/>
<br/>
He's not bad looking, though he's nothing very special to look at, either. He's got shaggy blonde hair, blue eyes that droop at the corners, and a long nose over a small mouth; otherwise his features are only regular. As for the rest of him: Well, baseball is not a sport that calls for a lot of running or weight-lifting, and that he looks he eats more than he burns off on the baseball diamond.<br/>
<br/>
But he must have some attractive qualities, to have landed a girl who looks like Catherine. You can't help wondering what those must be.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"I'm sorry you didn't have any fun at my party last night," Catherine tells you the next day. She pulls herself to you, and lays her nose beside yours. "We had fun after, though, didn't we?" she breathes into your mouth.<br/>
<br/>
It's Saturday now, almost noon, and you're at Sydney's house. You have the place to yourselves, except for Fake-Sydney, who is in the kitchen getting refreshments, leaving your girlfriend—a dead-ringer for the co-captain of the school track team—to nuzzle at your face as you curl up on the sofa together.<br/>
<br/>
God, she feels just as good up against you as you thought she would. You found that out last night, after you shook Michael off and it was just you and her and Fake-Sydney, parked at the old elementary school, with Fake-Sydney up front with her cell phone, and you and the real Sydney in the back. You soon found yourself wishing you were shaped more like a pillow and less like a plank, so that you could conform yourself better to all of her curves and bumps.<br/>
<br/>
"You didn't get in any trouble, for taking off with me last night, did you?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"No. I don't think so," she whispers. She rubs her lips against yours. "No one said anything. And Reagan and them cleaned up after they started sending people away." She kisses you.<br/>
<br/>
You kiss her back, sucking gently on her lips. "But no one thought you were out of character?" you murmur.<br/>
<br/>
"No. I was, a little, probably." She titters softly, then leans back with a sigh. "But a lot of times I just do whatever comes into my head."<br/>
<br/>
"What comes into your head now?" you growl.<br/>
<br/>
She titters again, then releases you as Fake-Sydney comes in with a plate of sliced cheeses and fruits. "I know what you <i>hope</i> the answer is," she says as her doppelganger sets the plate on the coffee table. "But for right now—" She pulls her cell phone out of her hip pocket. "Let's see what we can do about finding you—" She bites down on her lip. "The perfect girl."<br/>
<br/>
You make a face, but settle back as she starts to scroll through her phone.<br/>
<br/>
She must have hundreds, maybe thousands of pictures in her album, because it takes her forever to find what she's looking for. Which is okay. You use the time to study her, and to imagine peeling off her clothes and peeling back the folds of her body to find the tender parts.<br/>
<br/>
"So we want the track team," she muses, almost to herself. "There's Lily. She's probably top of the list there." She turns the phone around to show you the picture. You recognize her as the girl who was talking about going clubbing. In the picture she looks even taller and skinnier than she did in real life, and she's got a smile that comes thrusting through the phone screen. Curtains of dirty-blonde hair drape around her shoulders.<br/>
<br/>
"Or Ella," Catherine says after she's scrolled deeper into her album. Ella is also tall and skinny, and not as pretty, in your opinion. "They've got boyfriends, though." She looks up at you. "Is that going to be a problem?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Not as much as you having a boyfriend,</i> you think. Aloud, you ask, "How much of a boyfriend?" <br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean, how much?"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, how, um— How far—? Have they, them and their boyfriends—?" You feel yourself blushing.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh! Have they slept together?" She looks amused. "I don't know. I don't think so. Lily and Ella aren't even into PDAs much." She then goes looking for photos of their boyfriends. They both look like jocks, which is both flattering and horrifying, when you try to imagine yourself in either girl's place.<br/>
<br/>
"But Faith isn't seeing anyone," she continues, and shows you a picture of a girl with tangled hair, a crooked nose, and a crumpled-up smile. You wince a little—easy to imagine why she hasn't got a boyfriend.<br/>
<br/>
"Those are the seniors," she concludes. "The other girls on the track team are juniors or sophomores."<br/>
<br/>
Yes, there's nothing that says you have to pick one of the senior-level girls as your impersonation.<br/>
<br/>
And there's Michael, still. The plan does include adding a guy as the tenth member.</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111122231211
author_id: seuzz
title: The Party Hearty Girl
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I'll go with Lily," you tell Catherine after a fractional hesitation.<br/>
<br/>
"Why?"<br/>
<br/>
Her bluntness sets you back. "Well, why not? Is there a problem? If you don't want—"<br/>
<br/>
She laughs. "There's no problem, Will. I'm just curious." She cocks her head, and a soft quizzical smile spreads across her face. "Why her?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>God, you're beautiful,</i> you find yourself thinking. Oh, not in a sexy, supermodel sort of way. (Sydney, with her toned body and California tan, is closer to that ideal.) Catherine's beauty is softer, more gauzy. She has clouds of brunette hair, and wide-set eyes, and a gentle smile. There's a shy glint in her eye, a hint of ambivalence, as though she's unsure whether she'll like you or you'll like her, but she'd like to find out.<br/>
<br/>
Add to that her fat, rounded breasts—now tightly clasped in an athletic top—and her wide hips—encased in running shorts—and her strong, smooth legs. You slide your hand between her thighs, palming the warm skin, and she spreads them with a slight gasp. You lean over and kiss her again.<br/>
<br/>
But even though it's just you and her and a fake in the house, you pull back. It seems important to retain some degree of self-control.<br/>
<br/>
"How is that an answer to my question?" she asks after you've settled back on the sofa.<br/>
<br/>
"What question?"<br/>
<br/>
"Goose." She plucks  a cheese slice up off the plate that her <i>pedisequos</i> left behind. "You did that just to shut me up."<br/>
<br/>
With a corkscrew smile, you bury your face in her bosom. She cradles your head there, even as she takes out her cell phone and thumbs a text into it.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
 On reflection—something you do a little later, in the bathroom, on the toilet—you decide it was Lily's "party hearty" attitude that recommended her to you. You didn't have a lot of fun at Catherine's place yesterday, as several people observed, both to your face and behind your back. But Lily did, and you'd like to have fun too. You'd like to have fun tonight, and it sounds like you'd be bound to have fun as her as she goes club-hopping with her friends tonight.<br/>
<br/>
You catch your reflection in the mirror you wash up afterward, and you can't help giving yourself a speculative once-over. <i>What did Lily see when she looked at you? What did any of them at Catherine's party see yesterday?</i><br/>
<br/>
The literal answer is: a skinny teenage boy with a fading summertime tan, a smile that gets tangled up in its own teeth, a furtive and embarrassed gaze, and hair as yellow and stiff as the bristles of a broom. The best that can be said about your arms and legs is that they don't look like they'd snap <i>too</i> easily. And in your t-shirt and cargo pants and sloppy white ball cap you are completely anonymous.<br/>
<br/>
<i>So you're the one that finally scored with Sydney,</i> said that Chinese-American guy. <i>Yeah, right.</i> So what else did he his friend, and Raymond and Eli and all the other guys, see? They saw Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster, a space alien—a thing so mythical that even as they stared at it in direct sunlight they couldn't believe it was real. They saw Sydney McGlynn's ludicrously improbable boyfriend.<br/>
<br/>
You sigh as you shut off the light and step back into the hall. You wondered last night in the car what Catherine saw in her boyfriend Michael. Well, what Sydney sees in you is invisible to others, and it had better remain invisible, given that it has to do with magic and murder.<br/>
<br/>
So maybe you and Sydney should break up? Not the real two of you, but your <i>pedisequoses.</i> You're in trouble with people like Blake O'Brien and David Kirkham, and no one can believe you're together anyway.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," Fake-Sydney greets you from the bottom of the staircase as you tumble down it. "Boss-lady says to tell you that Lily's on her way out."<br/>
<br/>
"Awesome." You hesitate, weighing whether it's worth practicing a break-up speech on the <i>pedisequos</i> before suggesting it to the real girl. <br/>
<br/>
But before you can plunge in, the fake steps up to give you a hard peck on the lips. "What was that for?" you gasp.<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos we're still going together, at least until she gets out here. Right?" The <i>pedisequos</i> dimples at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Right," you mutter. But you feel awful as you say it, and crumple a little inside. <i>So much for breaking up,</i> you think, and you hate that it feels like a defeat.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Was Lily really on her way? She must have taken the long route, because it's another hour before the doorbell rings. She's so long in coming, that Real-Sydney has had to leave again, to hang out with her boyfriend and his gang.<br/>
<br/>
So it's just you and a thing that looks like your girlfriend when she finally arrives. "Hey, Will!" Lily exclaims when she sees you loitering in the entryway behind Fake-Sydney. "So you going out with us to Legends tonight?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, yeah," you croak. <i>If you are, I am.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Awesome! You know, I was hoping— Here!" She tugs her cell phone from the front pocket of her skinny jeans. "Can you two skooch together?" she asks as she holds it up. You oblige, though you feel your expression freezing up. "You guys look so—!" Her eyes pop as she touches a spot on the phone. "Now let's get one of all of us together!" She squeezes in close on the other side of Sydney, and holds her phone far out to catch the three of you in one shot.<br/>
<br/>
"Relax, Will," Fake-Sydney growls at you. "The camera's not going to steal your soul."<br/>
<br/>
"Steal your soul!" Lily laughs after lowering the phone. "Will, do you not like having your picture taken?"<br/>
<br/>
"Grrmhmm," you mutter at the back of your throat. When Lily laughs again, you excuse yourself to the kitchen.<br/>
<br/>
The girls are deep in conversation when you return from getting yourself a glass of water. Lily is gabbling a mile a minute and chopping at the air with her hands while Fake-Sydney listens with a patient smile. <br/>
<br/>
<i>They're not really friends,</i> it suddenly occurs to you. The thought startles with its clarity. <i>Lily's just trying to impress Sydney.</i> And Sydney just as clearly is only indulging her. There's no spark between them.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Am I the only real friend Sydney has?</i> you wonder.<br/>
<br/>
"So hey, how about you show Lily that outfit," you suggest as you rejoin them, "so we can take off."<br/>
<br/>
Lily's eyes glint. "And he <i>wants</i> to go shopping with us! Trade you Noah for him."<br/>
<br/>
Your imposter girlfriend steers her by the elbow toward the stairs. "I saw him first."<br/>
<br/>
"You coming up, Will?" Lily asks over her shoulder as she mounts the stairs.<br/>
<br/>
"My mom doesn't like me having boys up in my room," Fake-Sydney says.<br/>
<br/>
"But she's not here, is she?"<br/>
<br/>
Fake-Sydney's reply is lost as they vanish upstairs.<br/>
<br/>
You pace the living room, wiping your palms on the legs of your pants, and wondering if you made the right decision. It comes back to you now what a chatterbox Lily was yesterday, how pushy she was at the party, and how loud she could be. She's also very stork-like, now that you've paid closer attention to her, being skinny and bony in the shoulders and hips and elbows, and with jutting cheekbones and chin. Catherine Muskov is very plush while still looking fit, but Lily is almost as stick-like as you and your friends.<br/>
<br/>
Well, it's too late now, and it's later even than you think, for Fake-Sydney surprises you by almost instantly reappearing at the head of the stairs. "We're ready for you, Will," she calls down.<br/>
<br/>
"Already?"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't waste time. Do me a favor, sweetie, and try not to talk my ear off after you're her."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"We're getting her clothes off now," you tell Catherine as you help Fake-Sydney tug the last of her underthings off Lily. She had texted Lily's phone when she hadn't heard from any of you, and you called her back direct. "I guess, like, ten minutes and we'll be ready to come meet you someplace?"<br/>
<br/>
Catherine giggles. "What's so funny?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Lily's never been on time to anyplace. Also, are you planning to get your hair and makeup done that fast?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Touche.</i> "Well, you want to come back over?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm busy with Michael. Oh, that reminds me, Noah's over here too, if you want to come find him after you're—" Again, she giggles.<br/>
<br/>
Your ears start to burn. "I thought we were going shopping. That's what we told Lily, to get her to come out," you remind her.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't think you'd want to go along with it afterward."<br/>
<br/>
"So what am I supposed to do if I meet you where you are?"<br/>
<br/>
She laughs again. "I told you, Lily's boyfriend is here. You'll have ideas."<br/>
<br/>
Now your whole face starts to burn. "Wait a minute," you growl. "What are you getting up to with <i>Michael?"</i><br/>
<br/>
"Whoops, gotta go! Call me later!"<br/>
<br/>
Fake-Sydney looks vastly amused as you toss the phone away. "It'll probably be a lot less embarrassing after you're looking like someone else," she tells you.<br/>
<br/>
You make a face, then glance past her at Lily. She looks better, now that she's naked, but as far as your hormones are concerned, that's probably true of most girls. She doesn't look quite so much like a rake handle, though her boobs are little bags hanging off the front of her ribcage, and there's very little meat down below. But (oddly) she looks slim rather than bony when she's outside of her clothes, and there is something gazelle-like about the shape of her legs and the curve of her long neck. On a whim, you pick up her warm hand and squeeze it in your own.<br/>
<br/>
It's coincidence, surely, but the mask chooses that moment to pop back out on her face.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll finish it up," Fake-Sydney says. "You can go in the bathroom and take off your clothes."</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221111111222312111
author_id: seuzz
title: Lily at Play
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You grab the edge of the sink and hoist yourself to your feet. Your head and shoulders throb, and you roll your head around on your shoulder, trying to loosen things up. With clenched teeth you open your eyes to regard your reflection.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh. Right.</i><br/>
<br/>
There had been a moment of confusion when you opened your eyes and sat up on one elbow, to blink stupidly at the toilet bowl next to your head. You were naked, and you wondered what you were doing naked in a strange bathroom.<br/>
<br/>
Then you felt the pendulous weight—two of them—hanging off your chest, and looked down to find your pecs melting and oozing into two small bags of flesh that wobbled a little as they slid down and pointed at the floor. For a moment you were dumbstruck.<br/>
<br/>
Then: <i>Oh. Right. <br/>
<br/>
Lily Whatsername.</i><br/>
<br/>
And just thinking the name was like setting off a soft, wet explosion inside your head. A great flume of memories shot up from the base of your neck, flooding your brain from back to front. You felt the memories coming—rushing at you—even before they struck in all their detail.<br/>
<br/>
Of a little ranch house out west of town with two ugly, middle-aged people ...<br/>
<br/>
Bill and Lori Hallet, who love you and you love them, and they aren't ugly anymore, just prematurely aged and wrinkly, but with a warm and tender love in their eyes and smiles.<br/>
<br/>
Of a couple of girls, skinny, way too skinny, sitting in or around a tire swing, hunching furtively ...<br/>
<br/>
Because you and Audrey and Ella and Olivia are thirteen and are sneaking a smoke in Ella's back yard while her parents are away.<br/>
<br/>
Of a couple of guys lurking in the corner of a room while dance music plays, and they keep looking over at you, then one of them saunters over—walking as though he's stepping on hot coals—and ...<br/>
<br/>
Noah Baker asks you to dance and you say sure, and so you dance, and eventually you wind up out on Olivia's patio where you spend a lot more time talking than you did dancing, and that's going to count as your first date, you decide later, after you've hung out a couple of times and started holding hands and touching lips.<br/>
<br/>
As their prickling novelty settled over and inside your brain, you laid back on your elbows and reminded yourself that you were Will Prescott and that you were in your girlfriend's bathroom, and that when you go out into the bedroom it won't be Sydney waiting for you but a kind of magical robot that has taken her place.<br/>
<br/>
And you were so good at reestablishing your sense of self that when you grabbed the edge of the sink and hoisted yourself up to grimace in the mirror ...<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh. Right. Lily Hallet.</i><br/>
<br/>
And, as if you'd snapped on a pair of sunglasses, the world again takes on a different-colored hue.<br/>
<br/>
A Lily-colored one.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Fake-Sydney is leaning back in a chair with her feet on the bed when you emerge, now dressed, from the bathroom. She's tapping a message into her phone, but she pauses to look up and give you a steady, silent look. You hesitate under her stare, then sweep the room with outstretched arms, as though to say, "Ta-da!"<br/>
<br/>
Fake-Sydney drops her feet to the floor. "Are we going to have to stay in together tonight?" she asks, sounding as if she dreads a positive reply.<br/>
<br/>
"For what? Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"Think you can pass yourself off as Lily with her friends?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why not?"<br/>
<br/>
"Jeez, Will." She stands up, and her expression hardens with skepticism. "I'm asking if you can remember anything, if you can be like Lily, if— Because you know, mm, with Catherine's mask?" Her eyebrows arch.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh. Right.</i> (Is this what it's like being Lily? Constantly being reminded of things you shouldn't have to be reminded of?) "No, it's all working fine, I think."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
You stare at her, this ... <i>thing</i> ... that looks and acts exactly like your girlfriend.<br/>
<br/>
Then you blurt it out, almost without realizing that you were going to say anything: "You know, you're kind of a snot, Sydney."<br/>
<br/>
Her eyebrows arch even higher. "What did you say?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're kind of a snot." Your heart beats hard, and you start to gabble.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't mean you're a snob," you tell her. "There's a difference, you know. Being a snot's better than being a snob. But there's definitely this, like, chasm that you put yourself on the other side of with people. Well, with some people."<br/>
<br/>
"Really." Fake-Sydney's tone is studiously neutral. "I didn't know that."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I didn't think you did. Maybe it's the girls you hang out with. Like Reagan." You can't help making a face. "She's a snot too. God, I hope you don't hang out with her because she's a snot and you're a snot, and it's like snots will only hang out with other snots."<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't know I came across like that."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you do. You're doing it now. Oh, you're nice enough, Sydney, and you really seem pretty cool. That's how come I wish you weren't a snot. I bet you're a lot of fun to hang out with. Oh, God! You know, I'll tell you I was all kinds of excited when you texted me to come out so we could go do something. I thought, Wow, you were, like, bridging that chasm. God." You rub a skinny arm. "And it turns out it was only 'cos your boyfriend wanted to hijack my body. Tch. Way to be way off the beam, Lily." You mime shooting yourself in the temple. "Pchoo!"<br/>
<br/>
If Fake-Sydney's eyebrows rose any higher, they'd touch her hairline. "So this is Lily talking?" she says. "Not you, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh God no! You just asked if I could do Lily." You make a crude, quick, satirical curtsey. "That's what she'd tell you, probably. If she had the nerve."<br/>
<br/>
"Jebus." She glances down at her cell as it dings with a text. "Hang loose for a minute, then we'll talk about what comes next."<br/>
<br/>
Except you know what comes next, don't you? A trip out to the mall or someplace to shop for clothes; then meeting up with Noah and Audrey and Chuck and a bunch of other people for dinner—probably Mexican—then out to Legends and some other places, climaxing in a visit to the Warehouse.<br/>
<br/>
But like a good girl you hang back as Fake-Sydney returns to her cell. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Oh  my God, no!" You burst out laughing as—bent almost double—you peer into the back seat of the green sedan that's pulled up in front of your house. There's four people in back, one of them—Audrey Briscoe—sprawled over the laps of the other three. "I'll get a ride with— Who else is coming?"<br/>
<br/>
But your grinning boyfriend, Noah Baker, stretches out to grab your hand and draw you toward the sardine-can-on-wheels. You bump your head on the roof as you try to crawl in atop him.<br/>
<br/>
Then you pull back. "No! There's no room!"<br/>
<br/>
"Room for one more," says someone from deep inside. <br/>
<br/>
You peer in, and squeal in surprise. "Rachel! I thought you weren't coming! Is there a story here? Are you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"No," says Rachel Bell. "Yes," says Mitchell Belz, who is squeezed in next to her. "You have to get in to find out," laughs Noah.<br/>
<br/>
"You guys are awful! Ow!"<br/>
<br/>
Somehow you manage to worm your way headfirst into the ridiculously overpacked compartment of Chuck Johnson's SUV, ending up straddled across three pairs of knees with your face in Audrey's sneakers. "Don't get us in a wreck!" you holler as Chuck, who's up front with his girlfriend, swerves back into the street. <br/>
<br/>
There's too much laughing and chortling and poking and squealing for you to carry on any kind of conversation, and not until you tumble out into the parking lot of La Cocina some thirty minutes later can you catch your breath and hope to have a real talk with anyone.<br/>
<br/>
Of course, by that point you've forgotten anything you might have wanted to talk to anyone about. Besides, you're distracted by—<br/>
<br/>
"Ooh! Vaqueros!" You flick your chin at the dance club across the street. "I forgot about them! We wanna try getting in there before we go down to Legends?"<br/>
<br/>
"You need an ID to get in there," Chuck says. He resettles the seed cap on his head and puts his arm around Ella. It's a brawny arm, coppery bronze, to go with the farm boy tan that still shows in his face.<br/>
<br/>
"I got an ID," Mitchell smirks.<br/>
<br/>
"A real one. They're pretty strict out there."<br/>
<br/>
"Why, you ever try getting in?"<br/>
<br/>
"My brother did, a few years back. The bouncer confiscated his ID and said he'd break his arm if he ever tried getting in again."<br/>
<br/>
Mitchell chortles.<br/>
<br/>
"He said it in Spanish, too. I wouldn't fuck with those guys."<br/>
<br/>
"How much you wanna bet I could get in?"<br/>
<br/>
You don't hear Chuck's answer, for Noah distracts you with an arm around your waist. You jump a little, for although Lily and Noah have been seeing each other almost since the start of the year, they are still very shy about grabbing onto each other. You cover your surprise by saying "Hey you" to him.<br/>
<br/>
Noah is cute, you suppose. Not in a "pretty" way, like a teen pop star, but in a restful way, like a favorite stuffed animal. His lips are a little thick, and his nose is a little big, and his face—thrusting out from under a too-short, surfer-style cut—is a little too fat. But it's easy to rest in his dark eyes, and his smile is soft and warm.<br/>
<br/>
There's already a twelve-top prepared in the largest dining room, and a quartet of your friends is bunched at one end. Greetings are shouted over the Mexican polka that blasts from the speakers, and in all the noise and confusion you almost miss the chime of your phone.<br/>
<br/>
The text is from Catherine: <i>Want me to bring will n sydny too?</i></span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111122232
author_id: seuzz
title: New Friends for Old
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>The cheerleaders!</i> you almost shout.<br/>
<br/>
But you restrain yourself. It seems too obvious. And if you really want some cheerleaders in this coven, you can always circle back to them later.<br/>
<br/>
So you affect an indifferent shrug. "If you know some of these girls already," you tell Sydney, "I guess we can start with them."<br/>
<br/>
"You mean the volleyball team?" she says. "Oh, I can definitely get to some of them. Reagan, Ellie." She trails off into a thoughtful but bright-eyed silence.<br/>
<br/>
"Reagan?" you echo. "Isn't she one of your friends?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, yeah!"<br/>
<br/>
"And you'd be okay with that? With turning her into—?"<br/>
<br/>
Sydney stares at you, then laughs.<br/>
<br/>
"It's not like she's one of my <i>friend</i> friends. It's not like we grew up in Kansas City together! Anyway," she continues with a smile that has turned smug, "we'd be <i>even better friends,</i> you know if—" She squeezes your arm. "If it was <i>you</i> being her."<br/>
<br/>
You warm and stiffen all over. Especially in your pants.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Sydney doesn't believe in wasting time, so after shooting a text to Reagan, she gives you a bright but steady look and tells you to make yourself useful.<br/>
<br/>
"Put together a shopping list," she tells you. "While I get things set up with Reagan, you go buy us some stuff to make more masks." You've already got two masks—which is all you need to make a replacement—ready to go, but you scramble to your feet anyway. Running errands would be better than sitting around, waiting and watching, while Sydney taps away at her phone.<br/>
<br/>
You've only picked up half the things you need, though, when you get a text from Sydney, urging you to get over to her house ASAP. <i>Text me when ur five min away,</i> she instructs you.<br/>
<br/>
She must have Reagan all ready to go for you, so you drop your shopping basket in the middle of the aisle and hightail it for the exit. Not until you're out in your truck do you realize that you've never actually been out to Sydney's house. So you text her for directions. She gives you an address, and tells you to plug it into a maps app.<br/>
<br/>
She lives on the northwest side of town, in turns out, where the subdivisions fade into rolling countryside with woodland stands. It's country where the McMansions stand aloof from each other with pastures and grazing land to buffer their borders. Sydney's place is a rambling, asymmetrical house of white stone walls and gray shingled roofs, with a tower with a cupola rearing up over the front door. There's a red minivan parked out front, with one of those "My Kid Is an Honor Student" bumper stickers slapped onto its ass.<br/>
<br/>
You haven't even knocked before Sydney, flushed and breathless, yanks the door open. "It's another friend from school!" she shouts back into the house, and she grabs you by the wrist. "We'll be out of here in a little while!" She hauls you inside, twists you around, and shoves you toward a staircase. "Upstairs!" she growls. "Be with you in a minute."<br/>
<br/>
Of course, you're baffled by the hallways on the upper floor, not knowing which of three different ways to turn, so you loiter helplessly at the head of the stairs, waiting for Sydney to rescue you. "This way," she says when she joins you, and pulls you down the hallway on your left. "I'm not supposed to have boys up in my bedroom, so I'm using Nicholas's study." She shivers. "<i>God,</i> I'm so glad we dealt with him!"<br/>
<br/>
She pushes you into a spacious room that's the size of the living room, dining room and kitchen back at your own house. In fact—and you do a double take when you notice—there's a small kitchenette, complete with refrigerator, sink, and cabinets, in a far corner. Otherwise it is furnished with a desk the size of an aircraft carrier, and a glass-topped coffee table with two chairs on one side and a small sofa on the other, and there is still vast, open acreage to walk around in. Big, bright windows look out over the street in front, and a hillocky yard in the back.<br/>
<br/>
There's also a girl in the room. She is reclining on the sofa with her feet on the floor but her head tilted back, her blank, staring eyes turned to the ceiling.<br/>
<br/>
It takes you a moment to recognize her, for it's like all the life has flowed out of her, leaving a flabby flesh-suit behind, but it's that girl Reagan you've seen hanging around with Sydney. "How long has she been out?" you ask Sydney.<br/>
<br/>
"Since you texted me." Sydney pulls at her own hair nervously. "Five minutes?"<br/>
<br/>
You bend to grasp Reagan by the ankles, and heave her around so that she's lying face up on the sofa. Sydney says, "I'll guard the door, make sure my mom doesn't come busting in on us."<br/>
<br/>
That leaves you time to study the body you're about make into your own.<br/>
<br/>
The girl isn't fat, exactly, but she is big, and there is something whale-like about the way she's beached on the sofa. She's wearing shorts and a t-shirt, exposing large thighs and arms. Her expression is lifeless, but you remember it being animated with a bold expression and a bold gaze, behind a bold, prow-like nose. Her hair is long and blonde (with dark streaks) and it trails off limply somewhere below her shoulders.<br/>
<br/>
With nothing else to do, you strip her of socks and sneakers, then pull off your own.<br/>
<br/>
Only then do you remember that you need to copy yourself into a mask, so that you can put it onto Reagan.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
There's a throbbing behind your left eye when you wake, and you lay still for several seconds, taking careful breaths. The pain is like a marble pushing at your eyeball from behind, trying to dislodge it.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you awake there, Will?" a voice says. It's familiar but you can't quite place it. You frown to yourself. <i>And who are they talking to?</i> you wonder.<br/>
<br/>
"Will?" the voice says.<br/>
<br/>
You make a face and pry your eyes open. Sydney McGlynn smiles down at you. You stare at her.<br/>
<br/>
"Sydney?" you grumble. "What the—? What was that—?" Except you don't know what to call it, what she did to you.<br/>
<br/>
She had ushered you into her stepfather's study, and you were cooing and gushing enviously over it, when you turned around to find Sydney pushing at you. You stumbled backward, wondering at her but giggling, then fell back onto a sofa. Sydney had something in her hand, and she pressed it to your face as she sat on your lap. There was an expression on her face that frightened you. A kind of hungry expression ...<br/>
<br/>
"Oh!" You feel all the blood rush from your brain and face, and you almost faint even as you sit upright. You put your face to your knees. Your hair falls forward, and brushes against your bare calves. <i>"Ohhhhhh!"</i><br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong?" Sydney asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Blood rush," you mumble back. "And memory rush."<br/>
<br/>
That's the only way to describe the avalanche that threatens to tear your brain away. It's a mudslide of memories, of friends and birthdays and vacations and parents and school rooms and playgrounds. They belong to two different people though, and slide together into a heaping wreck, mangled up and mixed in with each other, so that you remember attending a school in California with your best friend Caleb Johansson, vacationing in the Caribbean with your other good friend Keith, and changing workout clothes in both the boys' and girls' changing rooms during middle school P.E.<br/>
<br/>
Then, like metal filing plucked from a pile of wood shavings, everything springs apart again, and you feel two distinct brains and personalities within you. One that is yours, and the other that is—<br/>
<br/>
Well, you're not sure what it is, or even what it's like. All you know for sure is that it <i>feels like</i> Reagan Hackett's mind and personality idling inside you, waiting to be driven. All you have to do is—<br/>
<br/>
You slide into her, and feel a sense of mischief (and a little peevishness) wash over you. You look up at Sydney and smirk at her. "I'm going to get you for this, Sydney," you tease her.<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes widen. "Get me for what?"<br/>
<br/>
"For what you did to me! You and your boyfriend!"<br/>
<br/>
Now Sydney looks alarmed, even frightened. "Um—"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't worry, I'm just teasing. It's me, I'm just— What did you do with my clothes?" You are completely naked, and you look down at Reagan's very full-figured body: floppy, melon-like breasts, jiggly belly, and immense hips. <i>Plus-sized, but not unhealthy,</i> you remind yourself with a certain bright desperation.<br/>
<br/>
"I— Whose clothes, exactly?" Sydney still looks wary.<br/>
<br/>
You sigh. "Well, if I'm going to be Reagan, I'd better put on Reagan's clothes, am I right?" You give Sydney a look. "I can't exactly put on— Where's, um—?" You snap your fingers. "What am I going to call him? The guy who looks like me?"<br/>
<br/>
"You mean Will?" Sydney's tone turns sarcastic. "If you're going to 'be' Reagan, you'd better start calling him that."<br/>
<br/>
You make a face. "It sounds funny. Calling someone else by my name." <i>Not to mention,</i> you don't add aloud, <i>thinking of that funny little guy as Sydney's boyfriend.</i><br/>
<br/>
"I sent him out to finish picking up supplies, to get him out of the way while we talk. Is there anything we need to talk about?"<br/>
<br/>
You've got lots of gossip about the life of Will Prescott you could share. Blake's friends, who dragged you outside for some humiliation. David Kirkham, who promises you the same. Your friends, who are now no longer your friends. "Reagan" would love to spill it all.</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221111111222322
author_id: seuzz
title: Avalanche Girl
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The urge is strong, it almost like a swelling nausea in your chest: <i>A bunch of Blake's friends took your boyfriend out to the school for a beating, Sydney,</i> you could tell her. <i>And David Kirkham is also threatening him. Also, his friends all now hate him!</i><br/>
<br/>
But those are the problems of someone else now. It's why you wanted to slough off your old life for a new one. You've got a <i>pedisequos</i> now, let him worry about it! Besides, if you told Sydney what was going on, she'd probably want to do something about it, which would get in the way of her (and your) plans for this coven.<br/>
<br/>
So ...<br/>
<br/>
"No, I think I got you all caught up before I came out here," you tell your girlfriend with a smile. "I mean," you correct yourself, "<i>Reagan</i> did. God!"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you okay?" Sydney is looking at you so closely that her eyes are in danger of crossing.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm <i>fine,</i> Sydney," you assure her with a giggle. "It's just a little overwhelming is all. She is kind of like an avalanche, isn't she? Reagan, I mean?" You look down at your breasts, then cup and hold them up. They wobble heavily in your hands. "Speaking of things like rockslides—"<br/>
<br/>
"Her clothes are over there." Sydney points and withdraws, but still watches you closely. You toss your hair and pretend not to notice.<br/>
<br/>
Reagan doesn't dress up much, but she was extra dressed down for this afternoon: just the minimums. You pull on panties and a bra that is more like a double catapult than a double slingshot, then floppy shorts and t-shirt that hangs like a waterfall off your breasts. You fall back heavily onto the sofa so you can pull canvas sneakers onto your bare feet. Once done, you sprawl and smile up at Sydney.<br/>
<br/>
"So," you say after the silence has grown just the teensiest bit awkward, "we're making a coven. And we need to find you a spot on the volleyball team."<br/>
<br/>
"Shouldn't be hard, should it?" she asks between frozen lips.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, no. Easiest thing in the world. We're all such friends!" You tease out a long strand of hair, examine it for split ends, and roll it between your fingertips. "I almost wish we were turning the whole squad into our Brotherhood!"<br/>
<br/>
"We could do that," Sydney says.<br/>
<br/>
"Except then there'd be so many <i>other</i> girls we couldn't recruit. No, I think our original plan is best. We just have to make sure we pick the right girls."<br/>
<br/>
Sydney's eyes dart about. "Is Reagan one of the right girls?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, <i>dur!</i>" You laugh out loud. "Actually, there probably aren't any wrong choices for us. But I don't think that means we need to just rush in."<br/>
<br/>
"That's fine," Sydney says. "That's good, that's probably the way to go."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure." You ogle her with an open-mouthed smile. "We don't even have to find <i>you</i> a place right away. I mean, you're friends with me already, it's not like—"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you trying to come onto me, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
You're rocked by a hard spasm, and feel momentarily ashamed. But then you are lifted by a surge of Reagan's abundant self-confidence.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, sure. Don't you want me flirting with you, Sydney?"<br/>
<br/>
"Reagan worships dick, Will."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh God!</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Oh Jesus, oh Jesus, oh <i>sweet Jesus!</i>" you gasp and moan as Matthew McElroy hammers his penis into you. It's like an iron spike, and he's trying to split rocks with it. You sink your nails into his bare back, and he almost doubles the thrusting pace. When you cum, it's like a volcanic caldera has opened within you, and a roaring heat engulfs you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">~ ~ ~ ~ ~</div><br/>
"Nrnh. Nrnh. <i>Nrnh!</i>" You sink your teeth deeper into Austin Dougherty's shoulder muscles, and clamp your legs more tightly around his waist. His cock sinks another inch into your hot, loamy flesh. "Nrnh!" There's a spot down inside you, way down deep, that itches and quivers like a burning ember has lighted on it. If Austin can just find it with his dick, if he can just touch it with the tip— He thrusts and comes within a millimeter of it. <i>"Nrnh!"</i> you plead, and bite deeper. He chokes a little, pushes again, his feet kicking against the mattress, and— A great flume erupts within you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">~ ~ ~ ~ ~</div><br/>
"Oh, it's precious," you moan as you delicately stroke Sebastian Clarke's upthrusting member with your fingertips. He is bent back upon the motel bed like a bow being pulled taut. <i>Taut with fear and lust.</i> He was shy and unwilling, and you more or less had to bully him into coming out with you. "And it's big!" It is one of the largest you've seen, and well-proportioned. Beautiful, too, like it was gently sculpted from blushing marble shot through with royal-purple veins. The skin is silky, and your lids fall shut as you stroke your cheek against it. Then there's a mushy-sounding squirt, and something warm splats against your ear.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Oh, fuck you, Sydney!" You cover your face with your hands. "Now how am I supposed to get this stuff out of my head now?" you cry.<br/>
<br/>
She laughs unfeelingly.<br/>
<br/>
"Good, now I know it's really you, Will." She puts out a hand. "On your feet."<br/>
<br/>
You try pulling her down onto you, but she plants her feet and grits her teeth, and with a rolling sigh you give in and get up. <br/>
<br/>
"I've got something to show you," she says as she leads you out of the study. "I could show you the thing in here, but I'd have to get it from my room anyway, so we might as well move in there. Besides, my mom's less likely to bust in on us in there."<br/>
<br/>
"What is it?"<br/>
<br/>
"A tool the Brotherhood uses." She says no more until she's led you into an ivory-colored bedroom whose tall, clear windows overlook the driveway. She shuts the door behind you.<br/>
<br/>
You glance around at the room as she goes to a closet. It's furnished with a four-poster bed and a blonde oak desk whisked clean of clutter. There's also an armoire and a vanity table with mirror; two dressers; and some cabinetry built into the wall. But the room is spacious enough that it doesn't feel cluttered, and under the high roof it even has an airy feel.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney has an old Candyland board game box in her hands when she emerges again from her closet. She sets it on her bed and opens it. <br/>
<br/>
"I started making these things after you said you were okay with making a Brotherhood," she says as she extracts two rods of polished, blonde wood from the box. They are about a foot long, with a carved grip at one end and a knob at the other. It strikes you with a note of shock—and more than a little excitement—that they have the length, shape and heft of a dildo.<br/>
<br/>
"They're meditation wands," Sydney continues. "You hold them like this." She demonstrates by gripping the hilt in her right hand and cupping the shaft in her left. She closes her eyes. "Then you concentrate."<br/>
<br/>
"What on?"<br/>
<br/>
"Whatever needs concentrating on. For a start, though—" She bites her lip and looks a little furtive. "You have to train yourself to find the, uh, the plane where—" She turns a little pink. "The plane where Baphomet dwells. That's just a figure of speech," she hurriedly adds, though you didn't say anything. "That's the way it's described in the notes my dad left behind. The official notes. But it's just a psychological technique, really."<br/>
<br/>
"A technique to do what?" It surprises you a little to feel yourself so completely unfazed by what Sydney is saying. <i>Maybe it's Reagan,</i> you think. <i>She's got a big-bottom, maybe it's hard to knock her over.</i><br/>
<br/>
"To get yourself in the right frame of mind. That's what all this is about, you know. Unlocking hidden potentialities. It's a matter of self-confidence. People don't have the confidence to do a tenth—not even a thousandth—of what they really can do, so they have to invent a god or something that can do it for them."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't feel like I'm exactly lacking in self-confidence, Sydney," you declare. (And it gives you an icy thrill, like a slap in the face by a sharp, refreshing wind, to say something like that.) You snatch up the other wand and heft it thoughtfully—it is heavier than you were expecting. "But whatever." You slide the thing in and out of your cupped hand. "I can think of some fun I can have with it."<br/>
<br/>
Sydney grabs your wrist to make you stop.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, you joke," she says, "but that's an <i>advanced</i> technique."<br/>
<br/>
You feel your mouth curl up with mirth. "Oh, God, really! That's <i>awesome!</i>" you laugh.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you just do what I tell you to do with it. This stuff is dangerous—"<br/>
<br/>
"I thought it was just a 'psychological trick'." You hook some quotation marks in the air.<br/>
<br/>
"You want to be careful about what you let out. There's things inside you that—"<br/>
<br/>
She's interrupted by a chime from her phone. She takes it out to check.<br/>
<br/>
"It's your <i>pedisequos,</i>" she says. "He's got the last of the stuff I sent him out for."</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112223221
author_id: seuzz
title: Like a Boss
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Oh, good!" you gurgle. "We can make some more masks now!"<br/>
<br/>
But Sydney gives you a funny look.<br/>
<br/>
"We need to go over this stuff, Will," she says. "This is—"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. But you don't want to get one of these for yourself?" You wave a hand in front of your face. "I mean, I know you and Reagan hang out, it won't look funny or anything—"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Not nearly as funny as you and whatsisname hanging out,</i> the traitorous thought comes.<br/>
<br/>
"—but I want us to get our coven started." You giggle as you fondle the wand she handed you. "Besides, it'll be more fun playing with these things if we're being other girls."<br/>
<br/>
Sydney's eyes narrow, and her face takes on a cramped expression.<br/>
<br/>
"You need to be more serious about this, Will," she says.<br/>
<br/>
But then she catches herself.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, okay," she mutters, and hands you her wand so she can devote both hands to her phone. "Maybe you're right. We should be training the, uh, the new members, the <i>pedisequoses,</i> in using these things." She starts tapping in a reply to your replacement. "And that's probably better to do if we're, um, inside the, uh—" She trails off as she concentrates on the text.<br/>
<br/>
"Exactly!" You put an arm around her and pull her close. "You just listen to me, Sydney, I'll steer you straight."<br/>
<br/>
If Sydney recognizes the allusion—it's a close variant on a promise Reagan made to Sydney the first day they hung out at the start of the year, when Sydney was still very new and Reagan was eager to pull her into her and her friends' orbit—she doesn't show it.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You and Sydney meet your <i>pedisequos</i> at the old school and help him unload things into the basement. He is very shifty and gives you a sidelong fish-eye as you work. You have a hard time suppressing a laugh, partly out of nervousness. <i>That's me,</i> you keep telling yourself, not because you don't believe it, but because the thought is like a canker sore you can't help poking with your tongue. That goofy, scrawny, shaggy, baggy-clothed scarecrow is the face and form that you show other people and which other people accept as being you! It's embarrassing!<br/>
<br/>
It's also creepy. You've got a feeling like you're having an out-of-body experience. <i>I'm standing over here, but I'm also standing over there. And I can't control what I'm doing over there!</i> It's as if your reflection has come unglued, pushed its way out of the mirror, and starting tramping around the real world. You feel as though you've been pushed out of the way—displaced! More than a couple of times you feel an urge to tear off the masks and reclaim your rightful identity.<br/>
<br/>
"Guess I can go now," the fake you mumbles after you've got the supplies piled up in the basement. He shoots you a quick look, winces, and turns toward the stairs.<br/>
<br/>
"Will," Sydney says, and you and the other person both turn at the name. "Do you want to give your <i>pedisequos</i> some instructions?" she asks you with a meaningful look.<br/>
<br/>
You turn to him, and feel Reagan's sass rising in you like hot sap.<br/>
<br/>
"Straighten up and fly right," you tell him. "Do your homework, don't backtalk mom and dad, and leave Robert alone." The fake you flinches, but nods. "And try not to be an idiot." He mumbles something under his breath, and a flush creeps up his throat.<br/>
<br/>
"I have to get something from my purse," you tell Sydney after the other you has gone out the door. "Be back in a moment." You dash for the stairs. Will is just opening his truck door when you emerge into the late afternoon sun. "Hey!" you call to him. He stands with a moody expression as you hustle up.<br/>
<br/>
"Listen, I know it's going to be tough for you," you murmur at him when you're pressed up close together next to the truck. "You got a lot of shit going on, but me and Sydney are going to, you know, do something about it. That's what all this cult business is about."<br/>
<br/>
"Did you tell her about it?" he asks. "About Blake and Kirkham and Caleb and—?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Well, not yet," you add as his face curls up into a scowl. "But just do your best for now, okay? And keep hanging out with Sydney. I know it makes, um, <i>us</i>, happy." His expression darkens, but the light in his eye brightens a little at the same time.<br/>
<br/>
"Look," you start to say. Then you give in to an impulse, and push yourself close to him. He staggers back a step, bumping into the truck, but you follow him, brushing your tits up against his chest. The musk of his dirty clothes envelopes you.<br/>
<br/>
"You probably know what Reagan thinks of you," you tell him. "What she thinks of <i>me.</i> Of <i>us.</i>" You lightly stroke his shoulders, and he stiffens. "But that doesn't matter now. Because I'm her. I can do her thinking for her. Her talking, too. No one's going to give you shit—none of Sydney's friends—about being her boyfriend. I can talk you up. I think I might even can get Blake's asshole friends to leave you alone."<br/>
<br/>
"Can you do anything about Kirkham? Or Caleb?"<br/>
<br/>
"Forget Caleb and them. You're getting some new friends to hang out with. Better friends, more popular friends." You tug and pinch at his clothes, and your put your face so close to his that you can feel his breath on your nose. "We'll fix you up so you don't look so much like a pity fuck. Oh, jeez, sorry," you murmur as he flinches. "That just sort of popped out. It'll all be okay, you'll see."<br/>
<br/>
You caress his warm, fuzzy cheek with an open palm, and stare into his dark, liquid eyes until you feel yourself going cross-eyed. Almost you brush his lips with yours.<br/>
<br/>
A sound like a cough pulls you out of the reverie, and you release him and step back. "Remember what I said," you tell him. He makes a face—it must be a reflex with him/you—but he looks a little happier as he climbs up into the truck. You watch, and wave once, as he backs up and pulls away.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney is standing near the basement door, watching with an amused expression, when you return. "You were hitting on my boyfriend," she dryly observes.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm starting to get the attraction," you tell her.<br/>
<br/>
She lifts an eyebrow. "Really?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'm having to make myself get it." You toss your hair. "I mean, really, Sydney. I could set you up with anyone on the lacrosse team just like that!" You snap a finger as you brush past her and descend the stairs to the basement. "But no, <i>you</i> have to go for a guy who looks about as much like a black magician as a starter for the New York Giants."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Your doppelganger picked up enough supplies for at least half a dozen masks and memory strips, and you and Sydney set up a quick-and-dirty production line in the basement, casting six masks in quick succession, and prepping six metal strips. You split the remaining jobs, with you polishing three masks while she starts the longer and more exacting work of carving runes into the metal bands. The buffer is loud enough that you save your breath and don't bother talking.<br/>
<br/>
You also don't check your phone for messages, even though it is regularly going off with alerts. Not until you have gone home—Reagan lives on the northwest side of town, near the river—do you catch up with all the texts and DMs, some of which are a little irate with you for having ignored them.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Lol sorry spent day w sydney,</i> is the reply some variant of which you send to a dozen people, some of whom were looking to hang out with Reagan, and some of whom were just sending links. <i>We ate choclate chip cookie dough and five gallns of ice cream and talked lol not really but did talk,</i> you explain to a few girls who express some disguised envy at your hanging out with Sydney McGlynn. <i>Not evys perfect w sydney and she needed some talk time,</i> you improvise when pressed. <i>Confidential! I do same for u sum time,</i> you are forced to assert when the demands grow too hard. The flurry of return emojis suggest that the other girls are now <i>really</i> envious of you. You send Sydney a text telling her what the cover story has turned into. She sends back an emoji of her own: a shrug.<br/>
<br/>
She took two of the memory strips home to work on while you took one. You work idly work on it until the wee hours of the morning while surfing between social media sites and fielding messages. <i>Keeping in character</i> is one of the excuses you give yourself—as you are now Reagan Hackett, you need to act like her—and for that reason you are also greatly enjoying yourself. But you are also using social media to peruse possible "recruits" on the volleyball team to your coven—impersonations for Sydney.<br/>
<br/>
The prime recruit would have to be Kayla Shea, who is Reagan's best friend, and one of the girls sending you envious texts about hanging out with Sydney. Second choice would either be Ellie Kemp, who is the captain of the team, or Lacey Salter, who is the star player. (If the WHS girls' volleyball team can be said to have a "star.") Actually, almost any other member of the squad would be a good choice—they're all good girls, not at all the type to get into devil-worship, or whatever it is Sydney is luring you into—but the dark horses would have to be either the boyish (almost butch) Regina Yost or one of the non-seniors. Probably, on reflection, Aria "Confidence Queen" Giordano.</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111122232211
author_id: gogostopgogo
title: A Best Friend Betrayal
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“No don’t put that mask on! Put it down and run away! You need to stop talking to me and just run. Because if you put on that mask you might never wake up again…” <br/>
<br/>
Are the thoughts that are screaming in the back of your mind, and what you would be telling your best friend Kayla if your Reagan thoughts weren’t being controlled by someone else. <br/>
<br/>
Instead the words that escape your lips are “Yeah its like a new face mask procedure, all the rage in Asia right now... You should try putting it on, it will really clean your pores too!” <br/>
<br/>
In the back of your mind you are feeling seriously distressed about whats going to happen to your best friend. A friend you’ve know since elementary, and someone you consider more of a sister than your own two older sisters. <br/>
<br/>
You don’t want this, you are okay with it happening to you but not your own best friend! You feel like you are betraying a person you would never want to hurt. <br/>
<br/>
But at the same time you can’t help but kind of enjoy the distress your Reagan feelings are currently giving you now. Its almost kinky you realize the amount of pleasure/pain you are getting out of this. Sure she is a best friend but making her a slave is so much better, especially one you could make-out with if you want to too. <br/>
<br/>
Your Reagan mind can only watch on helplessly as you see your best friend place the mask on her face and slump over in her chair. You then brush those annoying Reagan thoughts away and get to work sealing the golem mask in. <br/>
<br/>
***<br/>
<br/>
Its around an hour later and you and your bestie are eating at your favorite place in the mall, a knock off of a Panera Bread called Zoey's. <br/>
<br/>
You two are both giggling and chatting like normal but the conversation is much different than any other day when Reagan and Kayla would come here. “Oh my gawd that is so cool, maybe we could put one of those masks on my boyfriend?” The golemized version of Kayla says to you. “Nah its just a girls thing, a witches coven you know?”<br/>
<br/>
“Right, okay, but maybe we could add outside recruits to our team, maybe some hunky sex slaves?” Kayla says with a wink. You consider it for a moment but then shake your head. <br/>
<br/>
“Oh I forgot you are really a boy under there.” She says with a smile. “Oh shut up!" you say playfully slapping her arm. “Come on lets go shopping at Penny’s we can pick up something cute.” You say as you both discard your half eaten meals and carry your Starbucks cappuccinos with you. <br/>
<br/>
“O.M.G... sooo are you like a lesbian now Reagan!” She says while playfully pinching your sides while walking to the outfitters.<br/>
<br/>
 “Ewww... no…maybe.” You say with a laugh. <br/>
<br/>
As you two shop around for clothes you can’t help but feel you made a great choice choosing your best friend. Reagan and Kayla could talk on and on for hours and hours and they both just get each other so well. The golem also had the benefit of instantly knowing everything about your coven plan too, which was a benefit as you would think the original Kayla would be to weirded out about the masks. (Even if you didn’t tell her you were really a boy wearing a Reagan mask.) Also your Reagan self feels really comfortable being in a coven now that her bestie is in it with you too. <br/>
<br/>
But as you are both looking at dresses you can’t help but to notice Kaylas silhouette. Unlike you, who guys like Will Prescott would consider “Thick", Kayla is a very lithe and thin looking thing. With shoulder length dyed black hair, and deep blue eyes with a model like face. Her proportions are both small in the ass and bra size, Reagan knows she’s only a A cup size compared to your double Ds but still her beauty really shines out in her smile. <br/>
<br/>
You can’t help but feel jealous that your Will mind finds her hotter than Reagan… But you can always change that too, you think.You are feeling a little frustrated by these thoughts so you break character and grab Kayla by the hand, leading her into the dressing rooms with your selected outfits over your shoulders.<br/>
<br/>
 Its not long before you have her pulling down your skirt and pushing aside your panties and she is licking your cunt, only with a few demands. Reagan absolutely loves oral sex you recall, as she has only ever orgasmed when a guy was going down on her.<br/>
<br/>
But as your best friend’s tongue goes in and out of your folds, you can’t help but feel yourself dry up even as her saliva creases and wets your pussy. It isn’t until a memory of Reagans pops into your mind. Its an image of Kayla Shea's father that entires your mind, that is when you begin to feel yourself warming up to the stimulation. <br/>
<br/>
“Oh Gosh” Reagan has a huge crush on her best friend’s father Mr.Shea, which now means YOU have a crush on him...<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221111111222322112
author_id: gogostopgogo
title: Reagan’s Revelation
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>As you are laying down in bed you can’t help but to finally connect the dots on Sydney your supposed "girlfriend”…. "That’s why Sydney wanted me to become Reagan.” You say to yourself laying in bed.  <br/>
<br/>
You were happily browsing social media like always when you came across a post from Sydney, and a notification of “Being in a Relationship”, and her smiling with a very tall looking guy with his arm around her in a new profile photo she posted. <br/>
<br/>
And while one half of you wanted to “like” the post and type something like: “OMG such a cute couple! <img alt="*Heart*" border="0" class="emoteZ" height="15" loading="lazy" src="https://images2.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/e21/heart.png" style="" title="Heart" width="15"/> <img alt="*Heart*" border="0" class="emoteZ" height="15" loading="lazy" src="https://images2.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/e21/heart.png" style="" title="Heart" width="15"/>,” another part of you wants to speed dial her and text her: "WTF why does it say you’ve been dating this guy months before I even met you!"<br/>
<br/>
But everything kind of slips into place with your new mind. Sydney never really liked liked you as “Will Prescott, you were never really even considered a romantic partner to her, you were always just a means to an end. Everything Sydney did was to manipulate you into going along with her plans to gain access to your magic book. She was dating another guy behind your back the entire time. <br/>
<br/>
Sydney never saw you as a true romantic partner but as a pawn she could manipulate into going along with her Satanic Agenda… That’s why she isn’t dating the "Will Prescott" beta now, but some douchy looking freshman frat boy from the local college.. She only ever saw you as a pawn she could bribe with her looks and sexuality, so she could wrap you around her finger like the attractive girl she is.<br/>
<br/>
Thats also why she wanted you to become Reagan, to not only get "Will Prescott" out of her hair but to have one of her “actual friends" be on board with her Satanic Cult plans in taking over the volleyball team. She correctly knew Reagan, or any other one of her friends from high school, would be completely horrified, disgusted, and appalled at what you would be doing with the masks and golems....<br/>
<br/>
 Sydney correctly knew the original Reagan would oppose her plans, and from your own knowledge of Reagan’s mind she would absolutely protest to Sydney's use of the masks. That's why she had to get rid of the original Reagan and in a way get rid of the original Will Prescott too. You were just the pawn with the magic tome to go along her plans. That’s why she was so okay with throwing the original Reagan under the bus..<br/>
<br/>
You clench your manicured hands into a fist. This last week as Reagan was all about you getting her the golems she needed. Already half the team is under her command, and stupidly you allowed her to take the book home with her. You can’t believe you were so dumb to not realize this until she started dating another guy, where you were finally connected the dots on your so called “girlfriend.” </span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111122232212
author_id: seuzz
title: Capture the Captain
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>There's no real rush to decide on who your next "convert" to Baphomet should be, and picking one of your five candidates now won't preclude picking another of the five later.<br/>
<br/>
But when you wake the next morning—Sunday—you find that you have picked a name: Ellie Kemp. You like the idea that the team captain should also be the head of the three-girl coven secreted within the team.<br/>
<br/>
And besides, you go to church with her.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Is she really that popular?" Ellie asks you on the drive out to Sydney's. "I mean, don't get me wrong," she quickly adds when you gasp at her question. "Everyone likes Sydney, and she could <i>be</i> really popular. Don't look at me like that!" she cries as you take your eyes off the road long enough to give her a boggle-eyed stare.<br/>
<br/>
It's the middle of Sunday afternoon, and you've just picked Ellie up. The pretext is that Sydney has generously offered to host a fundraiser for the volleyball team at her house. <i>She wants to throw a party,</i> you told Ellie after church, where she and Reagan both sing in the choir, <i>and there'll be great food and a band and everything. She'll pay for it all herself, but people'll have to pay, like ten dollars or twenty dollars in order to get in, and all the money will go to the volleyball team!</i><br/>
<br/>
The idea took Ellie aback, and what enthusiasm she did show felt as limp as runny toothpaste, but she agreed to go with you to Sydney's to talk about it. Besides, she had never been out there, and you gushed over how great Sydney's house was, and how if Ellie saw it she'd understand why it would be the <i>perfect</i> venue for a classy fundraising party.<br/>
<br/>
But now, on the ride out, Ellie is explaining that she isn't sure Sydney is popular enough at school to draw a paying crowd. "I mean," she says, "if it was <i>Chelsea</i> who was throwing the party—"<br/>
<br/>
"Nobody likes Chelsea," you retort.<br/>
<br/>
"No, but everyone <i>has</i> to. When Chelsea gives a party, everyone is <i>required</i> to show up. So if <i>she</i> was throwing it—"<br/>
<br/>
"Chelsea's not going to throw a fundraiser for the volleyball team!" You roll your eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't say she was! But this would be like ... like Kelsey Blankenship throwing a fundraiser. Sure, it'll be fancy and stuff, but no one'll want to—"<br/>
<br/>
"What have you got against Sydney?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing!" Ellie crosses her arms and turns to stare out the passenger-side window. "But she's new, and I don't know if she's got enough ... pull ... at the school to draw a crowd."<br/>
<br/>
"Catherine's new, and you need a crowbar to pry your way through the crowds she gets at her house!"<br/>
<br/>
"Everyone already knew Catherine. Sydney's from ... California, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Kansas."<br/>
<br/>
Ellie's head swings around. "You're kidding. She looks like she went to a Beverly Hills high school."<br/>
<br/>
"You knew she came from Kansas!"<br/>
<br/>
Ellie turns back around. "You'll probably have to remind me again."<br/>
<br/>
You texted Sydney just before you left, and you text her again after pulling into her driveway. Ellie says nothing as she gets out, but her expression suggests she's impressed by the size of the pile. "Just let me do the talking," you tell her after ringing the bell.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney is all smiles and gushing gratitude when she opens the door, and Ellie chirps and gushes back. (You have to fight to keep from rolling your eyes.) Sydney also makes a great play of telling Ellie how good she looks. And she does look good, for after changing out of the loose-fitting, calf-length dress she wore to church, she is now in a neon-green t-shirt and tight black shorts that show off her butt, her legs, and her rust-red hair to great effect. You flatter yourself that Sydney's praise is a backhanded compliment to you for your choice of a new body for her.<br/>
<br/>
She leads you into the living room, but a bearded man with haggard, wolf-like eyes is sitting on the sofa with a newspaper, so Sydney smoothly turns your trio around and suggests going upstairs. "My stepdad," she tells Ellie. "I'd have to clear my idea with him, but that's no problem if I can get my mom on board." She shoots you a hooded glance as you put your hand to your mouth to stifle a titter.<br/>
<br/>
Upstairs, Ellie coos enviously over Sydney's bedroom, and asks to see the backyard. "Patience, Blossom," you tell her, using the nickname that Reagan and Kayla like to give her behind her back, for Ellie has both the coloration and the bright but slightly bossy personality of the chief Powerpuff Girl. "We've got something else to show you first."<br/>
<br/>
You close one arm around her from behind, and with your other hand draw the memory band from your pocket. Ellie has only had time to stiffen before you raise the strip and press it to her forehead. She relaxes in your hold, and you release her she topples face first onto Sydney's bed, where she bounces twice, and slides off to the floor. Her head, twisted at an ugly angle, stares up sightlessly past your shoulder into a high corner of the room.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, Will, that was fast," Sydney mutters as she hops over to close the bedroom door.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't fool around," you reply as you bend over to grab Ellie by her ankles. You pull her out away from the bed, straightening her head and neck but disordering her long, flat hair. "Besides, I was sick of talking to her about this 'fundraiser' idea, and I didn't want to go all over it again. You get the masks from the school?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes. Your brother's awfully cute, by the way."<br/>
<br/>
"My brother?" You straighten up. Your first thought is, <i>I don't have a brother.</i> Then you realize she must be thinking about Robert, the pestilential thirteen-year-old who shares your house and last name. "When did you see him?"<br/>
<br/>
"This morning. When I stopped by your place to pick up the key to the basement." She gives you a look, like she can't believe you had to ask. "He answered the door and was staring at me in the foyer the whole time after he called your <i>pedisequos</i> down." Her mouth spreads into an indulgent smile. "Has he got a girlfriend yet?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not that I know of, and I don't like thinking about it," you mutter.<br/>
<br/>
"He's going to get one soon, I bet. He's going to be <i>real</i> popular with the girls, I can tell." She pinches at your belly, and you jump. "I can't believe <i>you</i> weren't more popular with the girls. I should have had to pry them off you with a—"<br/>
<br/>
"Just get the mask ready, please."<br/>
<br/>
Sydney's smile widens, but she sweeps over to one of her dressers and pulls open a drawer. "Oh, and I had nothing else to do while waiting for you this morning," she says as she takes out a plastic sack that clinks and clanks, "so I made up and polished three more masks. If Ellie has no more plans for today, I thought we could finish up the rest of the bits to go with them."<br/>
<br/>
"You'll have to tell me if she's got any plans. You know, after—" You wave a hand before your face.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney drops the bag on the bed and slips her arm around your waist. You slip yours around hers—a much more natural feeling than it has been, maybe because Reagan likes putting her arm around her girlfriends. Embracing this way, you look down at the body that Sydney will soon be putting on.<br/>
<br/>
Ellie isn't a small thing, except next to a big, bluff girl like Reagan. She is very Irish-looking, with coarse, rusty-red hair that hangs down to the top of her boobs. Her arms are thin, but they have some definition; her legs are well-shaped, but the flesh wobbles loosely on them. Her breasts are on the small side. But she's well-shaped, and she's got a cute face.<br/>
<br/>
"You could afford to go a little lighter on the mascara," you tell Sydney, "after you put her face on."<br/>
<br/>
"What mascara? And why are you mentioning it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just following a train of thought. And she's not wearing as much right now, because her mom doesn't let her wear makeup to church. But she likes to lay the mascara on thick at school. Haven't you noticed?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not really."<br/>
<br/>
"God, Sydney." You roll your eyes. "You must be, like, the least judgmental girl at school. I mean, if you're not going to go around <i>noticing</i> how the other girls are doing their makeup, and what they're wearing—"<br/>
<br/>
Sydney grabs a fistful of your flesh and pinches you hard.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, whatever," you say. "It's going to be <i>so cool</i> having extra classes with you, and volleyball—"<br/>
<br/>
You prattle on while Sydney listens with a fixed smile on her face.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The memory strip comes out, and Sydney remembers (just in time) that she also has to make a mask of herself, to put onto Ellie. She glues the memory strip she made last night into one of the masks she polished this morning, then stretches out on the bed and places it on her face. You prep a new container of the <i>pedisequos</i>-paste as you wait. The mask comes out of Ellie while you're waiting for Sydney to be copied into her mask, but you're not too scared of Ellie waking up—you figure you can just pop the mask back onto her to knock her out again. You coat the inner surface of Sydney's mask with the paste, snip off a little of her hair, and burn it inside the mask. Ellie is still unconscious when you carefully lift the mask from off her face.<br/>
<br/>
Before you drop Sydney's mask onto Ellie, though, you have a thought. You've not coated Reagan's mask with the <i>pedisequos</i>-paste, which means that if you wanted to, you could pass Reagan to Sydney, and take Ellie's face for your own.</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221111111222322121
author_id: seuzz
title: She Who Runs the Show
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Maybe it's paranoia, but you think you see a flutter beneath Ellie's eyelids just before you set Sydney's mask onto her face. Ellie's Irish-lass looks vanish, replaced by the California beach-blonde face of your girlfriend. Her eyes open, and dart over to meet yours.<br/>
<br/>
For a moment you stare at each other. Then an amused smile creases her face, and the new Sydney sits up.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, lover," she says as she sits up. "So are we just about ready to—?"<br/>
<br/>
She catches herself with a frown, and looks around and down at herself. She freezes, and for a long moment she says nothing and does nothing. Then she raises a cautious hand to pluck at the front of the t-shirt she's wearing. "Um," she says, and looks around with a pale face. She doesn't look at you, you notice.<br/>
<br/>
There's a rustle from the bed, and the <i>pedisequos</i> slowly gets to her feet. Her expression is very tight as she looks at the girl sprawled atop the bed—a girl who has the same face as hers. "Um," she says again, and her upper lip disappears.<br/>
<br/>
"It is freaky, looking at yourself, isn't it?" you say.<br/>
<br/>
She swallows—a visible flutter at her throat.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," she says. "It's even freakier when you know it's—" She swallows again, and a crease shows between her eyebrows. "When you know it's ... her. It is her, isn't it? And you're—"<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes are suddenly puffy.<br/>
<br/>
It gives you a shock to realize that this girl, who only looks and sounds exactly like your girlfriend, must have woken up thinking that she really was Sydney McGlynn, and has only now realized that she's not.<br/>
<br/>
<i>What would it be like to find out,</i> you wonder, <i>to realize in a flash that you are not real, that you are only a copy of someone else, and that your only purpose is to temporarily occupy their space, and that you will be thrown away, like a cheap Xerox, when your usefulness is done?<br/>
<br/>
Funny,</i> you reflect, <i>that I didn't think the same thing when I met up with the fake me yesterday.</i><br/>
<br/>
The moment doesn't last long, though. While you are still standing there, regarding the fake girl that you and Sydney have created, and as she is staring at the bed, there is a rustle of movement. <br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Jesus," Sydney groans as she sits up on one elbow. "Those things really—"<br/>
<br/>
She freezes at the sight of the doppelganger that is staring back at her. No one says a word.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll give you guys some privacy," you tell them, and pick up all the masks and supplies you can reach. "You probably want to talk to each other. "Oh," you add, "and don't put on Ellie's clothes, um, Sydney." Both girls wrench their eyes from each other to look at you. "I want to do another switch."<br/>
<br/>
You feel like you're walking on razor blades as you go into Sydney's private bathroom, and close the door behind you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
There's only one girl in the bedroom when the voices fall silent and you look back out again."Everything okay?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
The girl nods. "Just a bit of a shock is all," she says. Her face is drawn, and there's a distant, thoughtful look in her eye. "I sent her downstairs, so that— Well, I sent her downstairs," she lamely concludes. "What's this other switch you want to do?"<br/>
<br/>
"I thought I'd take over for Ellie, and you could take over for Reagan. If that's okay."<br/>
<br/>
"That's fine." Sydney sounds distracted. "Any special reason?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Except—" Except, now that you think you think of it, you have no reason. "No, I guess I don't have to. Maybe I should just—"<br/>
<br/>
"No, do whatever you want, Will," Sydney says. "Ellie's cute, and if you want to be her instead of Reagan, that's fine."<br/>
<br/>
You shrug and try to demur again, but Sydney shakes her head and pushes you onto the bed. "Let's get it done," she says.<br/>
<br/>
The process is tiring and even a little irritating. You strip and let Sydney pull the mask off you, and when you awake you are groggy and a little out of sorts, and you sit, huddled on the bed for a long time with your bare arms wrapped around your bare knees, as alien memories drip and drain away, like water off a swimmer newly stepped from the sea. It's like your mind is going, even though it is not your mind and they are not your memories. And yet, when you finally stir again, you feel oddly refreshed, as though in stripping Reagan off you can feel yourself <i>as</i> yourself for the first time since maybe you were born.<br/>
<br/>
There's a girl on the bed next to you all this time, but it's Reagan, not Sydney, and she is sleeping a very long time, so that finally you become alarmed at her not waking. But it only takes a brush from you to get her to sit up. Her smile is quizzical as she peers at you. "Hey," she asks, "why haven't you put Ellie's face on yet?"<br/>
<br/>
"I needed to get Reagan clear of my head. Is she coming in for you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know." She yawns. "I feel like I had a good nap, though. Mmm." She grips your arm. "Kiss me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Must be Reagan asking," you say as you bend toward her. "You don't usually ask me that." Her reply is lost as you put your mouth to hers. Her lips open and you feel her tongue pressing at and into your mouth. Your hand goes to her breast, and cradles a fat boob. <i>Wow,</i> you think. <i>I'm kissing a naked girl and I'm naked and this girl isn't supposed to be a girl who even really likes me.</i> Your dick gets really hard.<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe I'm just feeling sassy," Sydney says when you break apart. She sounds very lazy, "but how about you go get changed into Ellie, and we'll go have some fun."<br/>
<br/>
You know what kind of fun you'd like to have, and it wouldn't involve getting out her bed. But Sydney has warned you before about her mother, and how she wouldn't like finding a boy inside her daughter's room, so you clamber to your feet. You listen intently for any kind of sound from Sydney as your cock sticks out like a dowsing rod, but when you sneak a glance back, you see her—Reagan Hackett—laying back in bed with her eyes closed, smiling at the ceiling.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But she's not smiling later, when you emerge from the bathroom in your new form. Ellie feels different from the inside than Reagan did—more muscular—and you have the urge to do a cartwheel and a backflip across the room, as she used to do when she took gymnastics in middle school. You pluck at your t-shirt, and snap the hem of the very tight shorts you pulled onto your shapely hips. You pull your long hair around your shoulder and drape  it over a breast. "Hey," you grin at Reagan. "You wanna go downstairs and find Sydney, talk some more about this 'fundraiser'?"<br/>
<br/>
But Reagan Hackett, who is now dressed and frowning into the vanity mirror with her hands on her hips, makes a face at you. "I'm not getting the memories," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"No?" you say. "Well don't force them." You rub her back. She's a big girl, and there's a lot to rub.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't get your friend Caleb's memories, either. Do you remember that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Vaguely. You know, it freaked me out when you did that, turned yourself into him."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I can't remember anything that Reagan should know. Where she lives, her family." She pauses. "Volleyball practice."<br/>
<br/>
"Can you name the girls on the team?"<br/>
<br/>
She thinks. "Well, there's you and Reagan and Kayla. Whitney. Kerri Whatshername."<br/>
<br/>
"Mullen. Well, that shows you're getting some of the memories," you assure her.<br/>
<br/>
"No, it doesn't, because I know most of the team already through Reagan." Her frown deepens as she glares at her reflection. "Aren't there some juniors and sophomores on the team?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. Libby and Jolene and Aria—" You can't help rolling your eyes at mention of the "Confidence Queen."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, there, you see, I didn't know that," Reagan says. "I can't put any faces to their names, either."<br/>
<br/>
"I know the mask works, Sydney. I was wearing it myself—"<br/>
<br/>
"So why doesn't it work for me? Oh my God!" She pales. "What if they only work for the person who owns the book?"<br/>
<br/>
"We both own it," you generously allow.<br/>
<br/>
"You know what I mean. Books like that can only be owned by one person at a time." You notice that she doesn't explain how she knows that, or why she thinks it.<br/>
<br/>
"The masks work. Maybe you just need to give it some time." You rub her back, up and down, up and down. "Tell you what. Even though it's a school night, I know my parents—Ellie's parents—will let you sleep over at ... her place. That way you don't have to go home and try faking it with Reagan's parents. And if you still can't do Reagan tomorrow, we'll just switch you back before school." You feel very calm as you make this suggestion. It's just so obviously the thing to do!<br/>
<br/>
"You mean let Reagan go free?" Her expression darkens.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I mean we put some of that stuff inside Reagan's mask and put it onto her. So she'll still be a <i>pedisequos,</i> even if it's not one of us inside her."<br/>
<br/>
"I guess that'll work," Reagan allows, and goes back to glaring at her reflection. It's like she's trying to intimidate the reflection to give up the real Reagan's memories.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. We can do that tomorrow, too, with a third girl. I'm the team captain now, you know," you smugly remind her. "We'll pick someone and get her to come with me and— Oh!"<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Coach Schell!"<br/>
<br/>
"Who?"<br/>
<br/>
"You really <i>don't</i> remember anything," you tease her. "Our coach. It'll be perfect," you continue as Reagan looks doubtful, "having Ellie and the coach both!"<br/>
<br/>
Reagan only grunts.</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112223221211
author_id: seuzz
title: Catching Coach
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Your girlfriend continues to look skeptical, even after you dig through Ellie's phone to find a couple of selfies that she's taken with Coach Schell, a youthful, clear-skinned blonde who is much more fit than any of the teenage girls that she coaches. But it's not until you remind her that you could use the coach's house—or apartment, or whatever—as a base of operations that she softens.<br/>
<br/>
"You're more into this idea than I am, Will," she says. "But we'll do it."<br/>
<br/>
That pleases you, for the more you think about Coach Schell, the more excited you are at the prospect of adding her to the coven. You wonder, in the back of your head, if some of that excitement is Ellie's own, for you get the impression that Ellie is envious (in an admiring way) of the volleyball coach.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney is reluctant to return to Reagan's house, but she is equally anxious to get out of her own house, because (she admits) she is freaked out by her doppelganger. So you scoop up and pack all the supplies, and carry them downstairs. A girl who looks like Sydney is in the living room, carrying on a conversation with a woman who looks like an older version of herself. Her stepdad has gone.<br/>
<br/>
"We're going to take off now, Sydney!" you call out brightly to her. "Hello, Mrs. McGlynn!"<br/>
<br/>
Sydney's mother smiles at you; the fake-Sydney murmurs something to her, and she says, "Hello, Ellie! I'll talk to my husband about this fundraising party idea."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, you don't have to do that! I'm not sure— I mean, it's just an idea we're talking about. And we should talk to our coach about it first. You don't have to say or think about anything until, you know, we know for sure, uh, on our end if—" You're distracted by the way Reagan is bumping you in the back.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we can talk about it too," Mrs. McGlynn says indulgently.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, it was nice meeting you," you say, and edge toward the door. Outside, Reagan murmurs, "God, that was even worse than just talking to that girl in there by herself!"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you going to be okay with these impersonations?" you ask. "You sound like you're not having fun."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I'll get through it, as long as I'm  not around— And you know, we just have to get these girls programmed to be, like, what we want them to be. Do you think that'll take long?"<br/>
<br/>
"I 'unno. We'll just have to see." You load your supplies into the back of Reagan's car, then get into the passenger side. "Let's go back out to the basement, finish up some more stuff. My mom— Ellie's mom," you correct herself, "likes to barge in when she's got company. We'll have more privacy out there."<br/>
<br/>
Reagan talks a little more on the drive out, but you don't pay much attention, and lean back, smiling, with your eyes closed, and enjoy the warmth of the sun on your bare thighs.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's early evening, and you've finished off two more memory strips and glued them into masks before you take a break and get something to eat. You're texted your new mom to confirm it'll be okay if Reagan spends the night with you, so everything is set up there for you and Sydney. You also set it up on Reagan's end by texting and then talking on the phone to her mom. To manage that, you briefly switch out of Ellie's mask and into Reagan's, and confirm that you get Reagan's memories instantly. That only deepens the mystery of why those memories won't unlock for Sydney.<br/>
<br/>
The problem dissolves in anticlimax, though. You go to bed around ten, sharing Ellie's queen-size bed, and you embrace and even indulge in a little soft, quiet, but lustful kissing after the lights are out, and quickly fall asleep. Reagan comes awake at a little before six, though, rousing herself and you with some swinging fists. It takes you a few moments to calm her down, and her gaze is distant and feverish while you try to shake her out of whatever nightmare was riding and thrashing her. When she recovers herself with a groan, she excuses herself to the bathroom, leaving to you huddle, frowning with anxiety, as she takes a long shower. She's much calmer when she emerges, still damp, with a towel wrapped around her, to tell you that she's got Reagan's memories now. That's what woke her up, she says: a nightmare in which she was being crawled over and invaded by an army of ants, and when she woke it was with vivid and horrific impression that she had been eaten from the inside out and converted into a skin-suit inhabited by a giant bug-queen.<br/>
<br/>
The morning light, though, dispels all but the faintest shadow from her face as you both dress and prepare for the day. By the time you drive in to school (together, in Reagan's car), the girl is her warm, bold, confident self.<br/>
<br/>
"So I wonder if Will and Sydney will come to school together," Reagan says as the two of you climb out of her car. There's an impudent gleam in her eye as she turns a laughing face toward you.<br/>
<br/>
"You're going to have to point this guy out to me," you reply. <i>I'm Ellie Kemp,</i> you think at Reagan with a smug smile. The fresh, cool morning air prickles pleasantly against your bare thighs and arms, and the tips of your breasts tingle as you worm your way even deeper into the impersonation. "Did he at least <i>use</i> to be on any of the varsity teams?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think so," Reagan says. She looks like she wants to laugh aloud. "Not to look at him. But I'm sure he's got something going for him. Sydney wouldn't—"<br/>
<br/>
"He's got a personality, you mean? Or maybe he only takes his prowess out when it's just him and Sydney?" You smirk.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, God!" Reagan slaps at you with a shriek and a laugh. "You're awful!"<br/>
<br/>
You don't reply, but wave across the lot at a couple of other girls, then stride into the breezeway that connects the student parking lot to the school. Inside, you separate from Reagan, for you have to drop your book bag off in your locker. Then, with your workout bag over your shoulder, you go to the gym.<br/>
<br/>
Pre-class basketball practice is just breaking up in the east court when you enter, and you cast a quick, appreciative glance at the players as they troop toward the boys' changing room. Dylan Lloyd and Darren Green grin back openly at you—they've hit on Ellie before, at parties—but you ignore them to stare at Scott Frazier, a blonde kid with a trim torso and sexy legs. Of all the basketball players, he's the only one that Ellie even likes a little bit, for he is quiet and no showboater, even though he's very good. <i>Good for you, girl,</i> you congratulate Ellie, <i>on having a crush on someone who's sexy without being an asshole.</i> But you turn your back to stride into the hallway under the mezzanine, where the coaching staff have their offices.<br/>
<br/>
Those offices are more like large closets, and they are packed close together. Most of the doors are open and the lights lit, and the braying voices of the male coaches bounce up and down the hallway. You ignore them, though, walk boldly up to the open office door of Coach Schell, You knock at it, and smile as the coach looks up from behind her desk. "Morning!" you call out to her. "Do you have a minute to talk before we start class?"<br/>
<br/>
"I've got fifteen minutes," she says as she glances at the clock on the wall. "What's up?" She doesn't react as you push the door almost closed.<br/>
<br/>
"Reagan and I went out to see a friend ours," you tell her as you set your athletic bag on her desk, and you prattle on about the fundraising idea as you dig out one of the masks you and Sydney prepped yesterday afternoon. Coach Schell watches you with a curious expression, and she doesn't react even when you step around her desk. Not until you are leaning over her does a note of alarm show in her eyes.<br/>
<br/>
But then it's too late. You press the mask to her face. It slides into her—like pushing a plate into a soapy sink of water—and then her expression goes blank and her eyes lose their focus. She sags in her chair, but doesn't slide out.<br/>
<br/>
You shut her office door, then push the lock in. After a moment's thought, you turn the light off, and use the glow from your phone to find your way back to the corner of the coach's desk.<br/>
<br/>
You're perched there for five minutes or so, patiently watching the seconds tick down on your phone, when you hear a soft knock. You hold your breath. The door handle jiggles, and there's another knock. Then silence.<br/>
<br/>
Your phone goes off with a text from Reagan: <i>Am at coachs office where r u?</i> You hop off the desk and open the door. Reagan, startled, catches her breath as you grab her shoulder and tug her inside."What—?" Reagan hisses as you close and lock the door again.<br/>
<br/>
"All done," you murmur. "Well, not <i>all</i> done," you correct yourself. "Waiting on the mask." The light from your phone shines from below, casting a pale, ghostly shine and eerie, flickering shadows, over Reagan's face. You grip her bicep and whisper, "Do you want to be her?"<br/>
<br/>
"I just got Reagan's memories!" she whispers back. "What if I can't get hers?"<br/>
<br/>
"We'll just put the stuff into the mask. Then you can switch with her tonight."<br/>
<br/>
Reagan looks thoughtful, but says nothing.</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111122232212112
author_id: seuzz
title: Coach Class
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Listen, I'll just switch over now," you tell Sydney. "You don't sound real enthusiastic."<br/>
<br/>
"It's not that,," she whispers back. Reagan's face looks bloated in the dark, lit only by the glow from the screen of your cell phone. "I just don't want— Well— Maybe you better."<br/>
<br/>
"If you don't want me to—" you start to say, but you're already kicking off your shoes.<br/>
<br/>
"No no, it's alright. In fact, now that I think about it, it's probably for the best. Except for—" she starts to add.<br/>
<br/>
"Except for what?" You pull your t-shirt off over your head. It sends your hair flying.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing," she says. "I'll just make sure to keep an eye on Ellie today," she adds.  <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're unconscious during all the switching, so Sydney handles the masks for you. The office lights are on, and Reagan is lurking near the door when you wake. A fully dressed Ellie Kemp is standing on the other side of the (very small) office with a doubtful expression on her face. You are cold, and very conscious of your nakedness, as the two girls look down at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," you mumble as you sit up. You pull your knees to your chin, both to ward off the chill and to help cover yourself, for you've got a penis flopping around down below. "I thought I was gonna be looking like someone else when I woke up."<br/>
<br/>
"Coach's mask is on her desk," Reagan says. "But I want you to talk to—"<br/>
<br/>
"He doesn't have to tell me anything," Ellie interrupts. She folds her arms. "You can leave it to me, boss," she tells you.<br/>
<br/>
"Leave what to you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Whatever."<br/>
<br/>
You and Reagan exchange a glance.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, um, I guess for now, just go out and be normal," you tell Ellie. "You know, go to class, talk to your friends. Don't tell them about, you know, what's going on with, um—"<br/>
<br/>
Ellie rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I get that. I'm not dumb." She puts a hand on her hip. "Do you want me telling people about that fundraiser idea?"<br/>
<br/>
"No! Well—" Again, you look at Reagan, who doesn't react. "Just, uh, follow Reagan's lead on that. We—"<br/>
<br/>
"You need to get dressed, Will," Reagan says. "It's almost time for class."<br/>
<br/>
"I was just going to say," you continue, "that we'll get together tonight to talk. Over at the coach's place, probably. So keep your schedule clear."<br/>
<br/>
Ellie gives you a half-smile, then prances over to Reagan. She put her arm in the other girl's.<br/>
<br/>
"Come on," she tells your disguised girlfriend. "Coach has to get ready for class. Want me to run things for you while we wait?" she asks you. There's a smirk on her lips.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. Just remember to take your cues from—" But she's already opened the door and pulled Reagan through. You scramble over to push the lock in after she's pulled it shut behind her.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It was probably just as well that Sydney gave you a couple of minutes to collect yourself outside of one mask before plunging you into a new one, for you're still disoriented and you have to sit (still naked) at Coach Schell's desk, with the light off and the door locked, for a couple of minutes more before you feel like you've shaken the worst of a small hangover. You find the mask in the dark, and cradle it in your hands for another minute, as you murmur your own name to yourself over and over: <i>My name is Will Prescott. My name is Will Prescott. I'm Will Prescott.</i> You still feel a tug that wants to substitute <i>Ellie Shaw</i> in the formula. When you are finally feeling centered—some minutes after the bell for first period has rung—you close your eyes and lift the mask to your face.<br/>
<br/>
You're still cold, and you're still feeling like yourself when you wake, in the dark, some time later. Even when you raise your head, and feel soft hair tumbling to your shoulders, you still feel like yourself—as though the hair is a wig. The absence of a dick—impossible to miss as you pull on some thong underwear—is a terrible shock, and it's not until you have the light on and are putting on the rest of the clothes the coach left behind—tight, Lycra running shorts, a t-shirt, and a pink-and-green polyester windbreaker—that the feeling of another mind starts to steal over you. And not until you've tied and double-knotted the sneakers, and rubbed a hand down a smooth, hard, bare calf that the feeling really takes hold: <i>My name is Cathy Schell, and I'm one of the junior coaches at Westside High.</i><br/>
<br/>
And then, as you glance at the clock: <i>Oh, shit, I'm way, way late!</i> You grab the lanyard with the whistle on it, brush back a hank of tawny blonde hair, and leap for the door.<br/>
<br/>
The girls are already broken into two teams on the court floor, on opposite sides of a net, when you emerge, feeling haggard and breathless, and you really wish you'd had a chance to check your own face in a mirror or on your cell phone before showing yourself. It would be a hell of a thing—and your heart almost seizes up with terror at the thought—if you had Cathy Schell's hair and body, but Will Prescott's face. But no one shrieks and points as you come hustling out onto the gym floor. Only they do turn to stare at you. Aria Giordano pauses with the volleyball in her hand, poised to serve it.<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry I'm late, everyone," you call out. "I got hung up on— Have we done laps yet?"<br/>
<br/>
"Ten of them," Ellie calls back. Her expression is very neutral.<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks, Ellie!" You take up station on the sidelines near the net. "Alright, let's go." You blow the whistle, more to claim it, and the woman it belongs to, for yourself than to signal the start of class.<br/>
<br/>
There's a moment of suspense, and then Aria serves.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You don't intervene more than a couple of times during the warm-up game that follows, but you have to pay a lot more attention to the practice drills you set the girls afterward. It's a good bunch, and they respond well to instruction. It's not just that they know how to take orders, though. The coach and the girls both have the sense that this year they have a bench with the talent to do more than just play and win some games. They have a chance to make it all the way to the state levels.<br/>
<br/>
You have a more challenging class to manage after that: Personal Fitness 2. It's the kind of unrewarding work that falls to the junior coaches, like Cathy Schell, and in this case it's complicated by the fact that the class not only mixes grades and attitudes—from intensely competitive senior jocks looking for more practice, to sophomore shirkers who are taking the class only because it would fit in their schedule—but also includes Shawn Sax and Darren Green, who are on the basketball team, and who waste no time humiliating the others in the class while getting pissed off that the class doesn't come with more of a challenge. Half a dozen times already this semester the coach has had to pull them aside to chide them for their attitude, without apparent result. It doesn't help that they share the class with James Randolph, one of the JV basketball players, against whom they seem to have some kind of a grudge.<br/>
<br/>
The other classes are much more balanced, and the sixth-period class is a positive delight. It is dominated by the four students who make up the school's marching band color guard, and they are such a tight and friendly group that you make a mental note to suggest making them part of the coven.<br/>
<br/>
The real challenge comes during third period, which is when Coach Schell takes her lunch. It is also a free period for one of the guidance counselors, Thomas Luna, and he always comes to her office to visit.<br/>
<br/>
Because he and Coach Schell are sleeping together.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"He likes to drop by my place unannounced."<br/>
<br/>
You keep your voice down as you tell Reagan about Thomas, and why you might not be able to hold "Brotherhood" meetings at Coach Schell's house, like you'd hoped. You're in the coach's office—it's the end of the day, and you're packing to go home—but the door is open, and the other coaches have been in and out with grins and good-byes.<br/>
<br/>
"Isn't that a little, um, rude?" Reagan asks.<br/>
<br/>
You glance at the door as Coach Gossett swaggers past, but he doesn't stop.<br/>
<br/>
"He texts first," you murmur back, "but Cathy almost always tells him to come on over. Also—" You hesitate before giving voice to one of her suspicions. "I think he likes to drive by her place."<br/>
<br/>
Reagan's eyebrows go up. "That's kind of a creeper thing."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. She doesn't think so. She doesn't know what to—"<br/>
<br/>
You cut yourself off as Thomas Luna himself appears in the doorway.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," he greets you with a wide, white smile. "You about ready?"<br/>
<br/>
"Five minutes." You return him a smile of your own. "Don't wait for me, I'll meet you out there."<br/>
<br/>
He nods, and nods at Reagan too before turning and sauntering out. Even in his loose-fitting slacks and his soft white shirt, he exudes a panther-like muscularity.<br/>
<br/>
Reagan gives you a look when she turns back to you, a look that says, <i>Impressive.</i><br/>
<br/>
Thomas Luna is impressive. He's in his late twenties, like Cathy Schell, and is either coming off of or is taking a break from a couple of years of pick-up artistry. He is Hispanic, with a complexion like dark cocoa; his hair is black as coffee, and swept back like a rooster's comb. His gaze, even when relaxed, is smoking. <i>Half chicano, half black, all man,</i> he likes to murmur when atop and inside Cathy Schell.<br/>
<br/>
"We need at least one dick in the Brotherhood," Reagan says.</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111122234
author_id: seuzz
title: Cheerleaders Galore
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I know I just said we didn't have to do any cheerleaders," you start to say.<br/>
<br/>
"But you want to do it with some cheerleaders," Sydney finishes for you.<br/>
<br/>
"Just three of them!"<br/>
<br/>
"Any three in particular?" There's mischief in her smile. It's like she can read your mind.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you just said we should start with the team captains," you stammer. "That makes sense. Chelsea— She would know who would be best." You feel yourself redden.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney at a spot over and behind your head. "I don't have a lot to do with her," she says. "I hear she's kind of a bitch, though. And isn't she dating the captain of the basketball team?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"Would you be okay with that, Will? With, um—" Again, she smiles mischievously. "Me going out with him?"<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself pale. "Would you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I assume you'd like me to spend <i>some</i> time being her. Or—" She bites down on a hard smile. "Or were you thinking of taking her part for yourself? Were you thinking that <i>you</i> could be the head cheerleader at school?"<br/>
<br/>
Your face is about to burn off the front of your skull. <i>We'll talk about it later,</i> you mutter.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
While Sydney shoots texts around, trying to find a way to get Chelsea by herself, you drive around town and pick up supplies to make more masks. You've already got five masks or less ready to go, but when Sydney can't set anything up with Chelsea—it's Friday night, and she's busy of course—you grab some barbecue and take everything back to the old school to work on making some memory strips to go with them.<br/>
<br/>
As you work and eat, Sydney scrolls through cheerleader photos online and prattles helplessly about which identities you might appropriate. Chelsea, she agrees, is a given, and she suggests Eva and Jessica Garner too. ("Wouldn't it be fun to be sisters?" she gushes.) But she admits she doesn't know that much about the girls on the squad, for she mostly steers clear of them. You ask her why that is, given that she used to be a cheerleader.<br/>
<br/>
"It's <i>because</i> I used to be one, I guess," she explains. "It was fun, I'm glad I did it, and if I was back in Kansas City I'd still be doing it. But joining up at a new school? I don't think so."<br/>
<br/>
"It's not a fun thing at Westside," you admit. "The stories I hear— Well—"<br/>
<br/>
"I hear them too. But who do you hear them from?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not a total loser!" you protest. "I was friends with some of the girls on it!"<br/>
<br/>
"Really?" She laughs, but not in a mean way. "Who?" You're sitting close as you work, and she reaches over to grab you by the knee. "Who am I supposed to be jealous of?"<br/>
<br/>
You pull away, but tingle all over with pleasure. <br/>
<br/>
"Well, I sometimes hang out with Yumi Saito. Sometimes Lin Pol. We, uh, have friends in common," you add, so that your brag will be closer to the truth.<br/>
<br/>
"You have a thing for Asian girls, Will? I could be one of them for you."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh God."<br/>
<br/>
She laughs and asks you who else you know on the cheerleader squad.<br/>
<br/>
"Just them, actually. Sometimes Cindy Vredenburg will come out and, like, sit where I'm sitting. She won't talk to me, though."<br/>
<br/>
"She's stuck up?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm just not the type she'd notice." You give her a sidelong glance. "You wouldn't have noticed me. You more or less told me so."<br/>
<br/>
She smiles, but it's a tight one.<br/>
<br/>
"That's all over," she tells you. "You got my attention." She cocks her head. "So I wonder if it would have been the same with Cindy. If you'd got Cindy's attention with these things"—she gestures at the masks like they're prizes on a game show—"I wonder if she'd be all into you. We could find out!" She leans in to brush your cheek with her nose and lips. "Make me her, and she'll start paying all kinds of attention to you!"<br/>
<br/>
You almost explode with delightful shivers. "She has a boyfriend!" you gasp.<br/>
<br/>
"Mm. He doesn't have to know. None of them have to."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Between you, you finish up enough masks and memory strips to give you a total of six masks, ready to use. You might have got more done, but you take a couple of breaks to go for a walk in the dark of the evening with Sydney, holding hands and pulling each other close. At home, you ignore your homework—you'll be someone else come Saturday night; Sunday at the latest.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney texts you the next morning at a little after eleven: <i>Chelsea can let me have 20 min w her ths afternoon,</i> she writes. <i>Pick me up at 230.</i> She doesn't have to tell you to bring masks and other whatnot along.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, the Great and Powerful Chelsea Cooper is giving me twenty minutes of her time." Sydney intones when you pick her up, and she says the words so that you can hear the capital letters. "I told her I wanted to talk to her about cheerleading stuff. You're coming along for moral support."<br/>
<br/>
"Is that all I'm along for?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"I expect you to help me with the mask, Will," she retorts. "Which reminds me, are you there to help turn me into Chelsea, or am I helping turn you into her? Or are we just going to do a thing to her like we did to Nicholas, make her a pedisquos?"<br/>
<br/>
When you don't answer right away, she gives you a sidelong look. "We're coming up fast on the moment of truth. Better decide."<br/>
<br/>
Your heart is already going a mile a minute, which is a lot faster than your truck can manage in the Saturday afternoon traffic.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But it won't matter if you can't get Chelsea by herself. There's lots of cars parked in front of her house when you arrive. You recognize one of them.<br/>
<br/>
"Shit," Sydney mutters when you tell her that Lin Pol is there. (And the expletive surprises you; Sydney you've noticed hardly ever cusses.) "Chelsea's ambushing me."<br/>
<br/>
It looks like she is, because it's Yumi Saito who answers the door when you ring the bell, and the Garners are hanging out just inside the foyer. Feminine voice drift in from a farther room.<br/>
<br/>
Yumi only has time to say, "Oh, hey" in greeting before an older version of Chelsea comes bounding in. Like Chelsea she is short and blonde with hard boobs. But her face is slightly more lined, and it has the look of skin that is beginning to think about going to leather. News of Sydney's coming has apparently preceded her, for Mrs. Cooper—it can be no other—greets her by name.<br/>
<br/>
"So I hear you used to be a cheerleader too," Mrs. Cooper gushes.<br/>
<br/>
"Er, yeah," Sydney replies. For the first time since you've met her, she seems discombobulated. Under the laser-like focus of Mrs. Cooper and the hot stares from the other girls, it looks like she might start sweating.<br/>
<br/>
"And I heard you went to a state championship at your old school. Come in, don't hang back, honey!"<br/>
<br/>
"Regional," Sydney gasps.<br/>
<br/>
Mrs. Cooper beams. "We can't wait to hear about it, can we?"<br/>
<br/>
Then she does a slight double-take at you. Sydney follows her glance, and introduces you as her boyfriend. She reaches out to squeeze your hand.<br/>
<br/>
Now it's your turn to almost melt under the amused glance of the cheerleaders. Mrs. Cooper only beams at you. "Well, if you'll just follow us in," Mrs. Cooper says, and with an arm around Sydney's shoulder she pulls her toward an adjoining room. "I think we're all just about here.<br/>
<br/>
"So why'd you come out too, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
You jump at Yumi's very blunt query; only after staring at her do you realize your mouth is hanging open. You flush.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm her boyfriend. You heard. I came out for, uh, moral support."<br/>
<br/>
Yumi's mouth twitches into a faint smile. "You sure landed on your feet, didn't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"Listen, I want to talk to you when this over."<br/>
<br/>
"What about?"<br/>
<br/>
"Stuff." She pulls at the front of your shirt. You can't help being aroused by her touch, and by the light of mischief in her eye.<br/>
<br/>
She pulls you toward the doorway that Sydney went through—the Garners have already drifted through it—but Sydney comes barreling out first, and she pushes you back until your heels hit the front door.<br/>
<br/>
"You don't want to be here for this," she murmurs at you. "But if we're going to do the main thing, we need to be prepared. Like, don't we need a mask of one us to put onto Chelsea? To hide her?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well ... Yes." It's more complicated than that, but Sydney's frown tells you this isn't the time for nuance.<br/>
<br/>
"You have one ready?"<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
"Then how about you go make one. Looks like you're volunteered. Go do it in the truck while I'm busy here."<br/>
<br/>
She gives you a quick kiss and dives back into the house.<br/>
<br/>
In a daze, you go return to your truck, to pull out one of the blank masks. You just have to put it to put it to your face, and after it has copied you can seal it and put it onto one of the girls—a girl whose face and form you will take with another mask.<br/>
<br/>
As you are contemplating this future, another car pulls up and Cindy Vredenburg gets out.<br/>
<br/>
All these cheerleaders. Chelsea might be hard to get, but there's others you can probably grab instead.</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221111111222344
author_id: seuzz
title: Stalking Chelsea Cooper
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Would it be wiser to settle for Yumi, or some other cheerleader who is easy to get to? Probably.<br/>
<br/>
But your gut tells you that Chelsea should be your first target. She's in charge of the squad; she knows all the relationships inside of it; once recruited to your coven-Brotherhood, she could tell you which other cheerleaders should be added to it.<br/>
<br/>
You wait until the coast is clear, then wedge yourself into the foot well of your truck and put a blank mask to your face.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You are groggily sealing the mask up and applying a layer of that enslaving paste—and trying to not get too creeped out by the sight of your name embossed to the inside of the mask—when you are startled by a sound like a lawnmower racing past your truck.<br/>
<br/>
It's an orange VW Beetle—a restored classic. You cuss to yourself as it parks in front of you. A minute later, the door opens, and Gordon Black unfolds himself from it.<br/>
<br/>
How he manages to fit into it, you can't guess. It's a small thing, and Gordon is more than six and a half feet tall, with massive shoulders, a barrel-like chest, and legs like tree trunks. To your relief he turns his back on you and lopes up the front walk to Chelsea's door. He doesn't bother to knock or ring, but just shoves himself inside.<br/>
<br/>
You run a nervous tongue over your bottom lip. The person who is going to replace Chelsea is going to have to deal with having him for a boyfriend.<br/>
<br/>
After you're finished with the mask, a nervous boredom sets in. Your leg jogs hard and you twitch all over. How are you going to get to Chelsea? That was supposed to by Sydney's job, and she did get into the house, but Chelsea filled it with extra cheerleaders (Why?) as well as her boyfriend. What excuse will you have to come up with to try getting to her alone again?<br/>
<br/>
Almost you gesture Lin Pol over when she comes out the front door—she would be a good recruit, surely. But it's as well that you hesitate, for a moment later she is joined by Cindy and then by Yumi. The latter squints at you, and for a moment you think she's going to come over to talk, but Lin distracts her, and the three girls walk slowly off to their cars. They still haven't departed when Michelle Estrich and the Garners come out.<br/>
<br/>
So the party is breaking up. Will Sydney be left alone with Chelsea?<br/>
<br/>
No. She comes out with Gloria Rea right behind. She's wearing a very tight expression as she approaches.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that was a fuck up," she snarls as she clambers into the truck with you.<br/>
<br/>
"What happened? What was that all about?"<br/>
<br/>
"It was a fucking ambush. Pardon my language. I told Chelsea— Pfah!"<br/>
<br/>
She has to collect herself before resuming.<br/>
<br/>
"I told Chelsea I wanted to talk to her about the cheerleading squad, that some people suggested I to her, since I'd been on a squad that'd gone to regionals. I didn't expect her to <i>want</i> to talk to me, but I didn't expect her to— Tchah!"<br/>
<br/>
Again she has to collect herself.<br/>
<br/>
"So without warning me first, she has the whole squad there, and she introduces me and plays me up as this <i>expert</i> who <i>captained</i> a squad that went to <i>nationals</i> and then she sits down and asks me to <i>give my presentation</i> on what the Westside squad should be doing."<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus."<br/>
<br/>
"I had to do a freaking tap dance, I'll tell you what. I didn't have anything to say! I wasn't going to talk to her about stuff! I was just going to get you and me alone in a room with her, you know, and— Gah! Freaking humiliating is what it was."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry." You stroke her thigh. "Maybe we shouldn't have tried this. I'm sorry I had the idea, maybe we should go find someone else."<br/>
<br/>
"No, we're <i>definitely</i> doing it to Chelsea now." Sydney crosses her arms. "Move down the street," she orders. "Park where we can watch. When everyone's gone we'll go back in and try again."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's a longish wait. Twenty minutes after Sydney came out, Kendra Saunders leaves; another ten minutes, and Maria Vasquez goes. That's the last of the cheerleaders, but Gordon is still inside.<br/>
<br/>
Another half hour passes before he comes out.<br/>
<br/>
But he's got his arm around Chelsea.<br/>
<br/>
They're a real contrast. The top of her head doesn't even reach the top of his shoulder, so that he looms over her like a megalith. She's small and blonde with pleasing, melon-like bulges at her chest and hips; he's a slab of sun-darkened muscle. Together they get in his Beetle and drive off.<br/>
<br/>
You glance at Sydney. She sighs. "Let's see where they go."<br/>
<br/>
It's a slow drive, all the way across town, but long before they've reached their destination, you have guessed it.<br/>
<br/>
It's the school. Westside. "Oh my God," Sydney mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"You know where they're going?"<br/>
<br/>
"Inside," she says. "Right? The gym?"<br/>
<br/>
"You've heard about that?"<br/>
<br/>
She nods, and her lips curl with distaste.<br/>
<br/>
It's a part of school lore, rarely spoken of but not often far from the mind, and it bubbles like an undercurrent through student gossip: <i>The fuck room.</i> Gordon and Chelsea are on their way up to the fuck room.<br/>
<br/>
It's a loft above the gym—or, that's what you've heard; you've never been up to confirm—with a padlocked door, behind which the top athletes at the school can entertain themselves and each other at any time of day on any day of the week. Does the faculty know about it? Rumor has it that the head coaches actually provide the key, bestowing upon the favored jocks a semi-formal endorsement. <i>You're the best we got,</i> the implication is. <i>Here's your reward.</i><br/>
<br/>
Of course Gordon and Chelsea would have a key. Who else? Probably Steve Patterson, but you can't say for sure.<br/>
<br/>
Gordon pulls into the student lot; you pass on by, then do a U-turn and pass again in time to see Gordon and Chelsea walking up to the gym's side door. Gordon unlocks it, and they go inside.<br/>
<br/>
You park on the other side of the lot from the gym and look over at Sydney. "Let's wait a bit," she says. You shut off the engine and settle in.<br/>
<br/>
But you've not long to wait. To your surprise, Gordon reappears only a few minutes later, his head down, to trudge back to his Beetle. With both hope and puzzlement, you watch as he gets into it, starts it, and backs out of the parking space. "Don't stare," Sydney warns you as he drives slowly past you and turns back onto Borman and back toward town.<br/>
<br/>
You look at each other after he's gone. "He forgot something?" Sydney suggests. "He's going to get something?"<br/>
<br/>
"Condoms?"<br/>
<br/>
She makes a face, then slaps you in the shoulder. "Let's go see what's up."<br/>
<br/>
You start up the truck and roar across the lot to park next to the tennis courts. Your skin itches with fear and anticipation as you and Sydney hop out and run over to the side door. The handle is cool under your palm as you grasp it and pull.<br/>
<br/>
It's open.<br/>
<br/>
Inside, the gym courts are dusky despite the afternoon light pouring in through the windows under the rafters. It's empty, though, when you glance around.<br/>
<br/>
The door behind you shuts with a loud clank, and you jump. Sydney hisses at you, but her hiss is interrupted by a call that echoes through the empty court: "You forget something, pookie?"<br/>
<br/>
Sydney pokes you. "Where's the masks?" she whispers.<br/>
<br/>
"Out in the truck."<br/>
<br/>
"Go get them!" Without waiting for you to move, she runs lightly across the court toward the girls' changing rooms, her sneakers squelching softly on the polished boards.<br/>
<br/>
The court is empty again when you're back with two masks in your hands, and your heart is jackhammering in your chest. There is a faint murmur of voices from the far side of the courts, though, and you sprint across the floor to the girls' changing room.<br/>
<br/>
You're just skittering to a stop when someone comes round the corner. You collide and bounce off each other and fall on your asses. Someone squeals.<br/>
<br/>
It's Chelsea. She she glares up at you. "Watch where you're going!" she snarls.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney steps around the corner now, and her appearance galvanizes you. Hardly conscious of what you're doing—the instructions are coming from somewhere in the back of your skull, it feels like—you thrust one of the masks at Chelsea.<br/>
<br/>
Her head snaps back under the blow, and a shock runs up your arm. For a moment she sprawls on the floor with a slack expression on her face.<br/>
<br/>
Then she folds up and falls onto her side.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Jesus!" Sydney gasps.<br/>
<br/>
"Did I fuck up?"<br/>
<br/>
Sydney covers her mouth as she stares down at Chelsea. Then she says, "No, I don't guess so."<br/>
<br/>
You gape down at Chelsea too. She is curled up on the floor like a heap of discarded clothing.<br/>
<br/>
"Come on," Sydney says. "Help me pull her back inside."<br/>
<br/>
Together, with you taking Chelsea's wrists and Sydney taking her feet, you lug the head cheerleader back into the changing room. She's a dead weight, as heavy and ungainly as a large sack of cement.<br/>
<br/>
"Uff," Sydney says when you drop Chelsea. "Moment of truth, Will. Her boyfriend'll be back in ten, fifteen minutes, tops. What do we do with her?"</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112223441
author_id: seuzz
title: The Skin You'll Live In
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I'll take care of Chelsea," you mutter as you stare boggle-eyed down at the unconscious Chelsea Cooper. "You try to head Gordon off until I'm ready."<br/>
<br/>
Sydney says something, then she says something else, and then she snaps her fingers in your face and says, "Will!" You look up, startled.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you going to be able to handle it?" she asks you with a very serious, very direct look. "She's ... Well, she's a <i>she,</i> and she's a cheerleader, and she's got a boyfriend. That's not anything like what you are."<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself flushing.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll be fine," you say, "as soon as I'm inside the mask. That's what they do, you know, they—" You shrug. "They turn you into—" You gulp. "Inside <i>and</i> out," you conclude in a shaking voice. I'll be fine!" you repeat when her expression remains grave.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay," Sydney says after taking a deep breath. "I'll help you get her ready—"<br/>
<br/>
"No, just go outside and watch out for Gordon."<br/>
<br/>
Her expression grows even more taut. Then with another sigh she jogs from the changing room.<br/>
<br/>
You look back down at Chelsea, and swallow hard.<br/>
<br/>
She is so small, so firm, so perfectly formed that she might have been sculpted for display in a museum or art gallery, over a little plaque that says <i>Cheerleader.</i> She isn't a tiny thing, but she is built close to the ground—perfect for rolling and tumbling—and she has strong calves and thighs, toned arms, and wide, bowl-like hips. Her boobs are round and firm too, like cantaloupes, though smaller. Her hair, though now spread out and disordered on the tile floor, tumbles down to her shoulders in golden curls. Her nose is small and pug-like, her mouth pink and pursed, and her brow and skin clear.<br/>
<br/>
She's also, you suddenly realize, dressed out in her cheerleader uniform. It wraps so tightly to her that she might have been stitched into it.<br/>
<br/>
<i>And this is going to be me,</i> you think with yet another gulp. <i>I'm going to be Chelsea Cooper, head cheerleader.</i><br/>
<br/>
You clasp her by the ankles and drag her into the very back of the changing room—disordering her skirt—then around a corner into the showers. Only then do you kneel beside her and start to peel off her pink tennis shoes; her golden hose; the stiff skirt; the crimson top. You have to roll her over a couple of times to find every stay and zipper, but before the mask is done copying her, you've got her spread out naked on the floor. Her limbs are still a robust golden hue from the summer, but the rest of her has begun to fade to pink again.<br/>
<br/>
You'd squat on the floor and stroke her and pinch her except you're scared that Sydney would come in and surprise you.<br/>
<br/>
Still, you're preoccupied with staring at her tufted bush—it's dark, and it curls up in little flame-like tongues—when the mask comes out of her, so that it takes a moment for you to jerk to life again. Only then do you discover you've been nursing a painful erection.<br/>
<br/>
You pull out the mask you made of yourself; and you hesitate with clenched teeth and clenched eyes before dropping it onto Chelsea's face.<br/>
<br/>
<i>G'yick!</i> Something bony and hairy appears where she was lying. You scramble back as a straw-headed teenage boy snaps his eyes open and does a double-take at you. His own eyes widen, probably mirroring yours. "Holy shit," he says as he sits up on one elbow, and scoots away.<br/>
<br/>
For a long moment neither of you speaks. Your own throat is petrified, and your duplicate only makes faces back at you. Finally, after glancing warily around, he says, "So I guess the thing's started?"<br/>
<br/>
"What thing?" Your voice creaks like an old screen door.<br/>
<br/>
"The, uh, thing with Sydney," he says, looking ill. "Turning people into—" He glances around. "Things."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah."<br/>
<br/>
His eyes fall onto Chelsea's stuff. "What're those?"<br/>
<br/>
"Clothes. Cheerleader clothes." You lick your lips. "Chelsea Cooper's clothes."<br/>
<br/>
His eyes widen. "Chelsea? Chelsea Cooper? You mean she's—? I mean, is she the—?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's the plan."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Right." His gaze goes distant. "Right, we were at her house. Did she—? Where are we?"<br/>
<br/>
"Up at the school. Girls' changing room."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah? And Chelsea is—" <br/>
<br/>
His jaw falls open. "Oh God," he says, and he looks down at himself. Gingerly he puts a fingertip to his chest.<br/>
<br/>
Then he cups his shallow breasts. "She's—?"<br/>
<br/>
Something snaps inside you, and all the nervous energy you've been banking up comes exploding out.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Jesus!" you yell at your double over the roar in your ears. He scrambles back in shock. "Look, we don't have time for this shit," you continue. "I have to get ready. You have to get out of here. Sydney's outside— Gordon's here too, and he's coming back, and I've gotta get ready for when he shows up again. And you need to get out of here before he— Look, just stop laying there all goggly-eyed and get dressed!"<br/>
<br/>
"Into what?" he cries.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Right.</i> You're still in your clothes.<br/>
<br/>
Quickly you strip, hurling everything at him as it comes off.<br/>
<br/>
"You're gonna have to drive off with Sydney, I guess," you babble as shoes and socks and pants and shirt come popping off. "Jesus, don't do anything stupid with her. I mean, be yourself. Be <i>me.</i> Can you do that? Do all the stuff you're supposed to do at home and school, that I'm supposed to do, I mean? You get that?" His head bobs as he catches the clothes. "But don't be stupid with Sydney, okay? She's not your girlfriend, you know, she's mine!"<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, sounds like someone hasn't thought this thing through," he grumbles as he hops about on one foot while pulling on a sock.<br/>
<br/>
"Just be like me! Except, you know, you're only supposed to be keeping things normal for me. Don't go getting stupid ideas." An idea comes to you. "Pretend you're me," you tell your double, "and think about what you'd tell your own, uh, substitute to do. Like, if you were the real me and there was a substitute you running around. Think of what you'd tell the substitute to do, then you do that."<br/>
<br/>
"I'd tell the substitute to go have fun."<br/>
<br/>
"No you wouldn't, 'cos I wouldn't."<br/>
<br/>
He rolls his eyes, and his shoulders sag.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, just be normal," you say for about the hundredth time as you propel the thing that looks like you toward the exit. "And when you're with Sydney, just follow her lead. Don't <i>start</i> anything with her."<br/>
<br/>
It starts to make some reply, but you shove it out of the changing room and scamper back to the showers.<br/>
<br/>
You're shaking hard as you crouch amid the discarded clothing and the magical crap, and you have to force yourself to be calm as you slather a coat of the paste to the inside of Chelsea's mask. It turns the inner surface black, but then you rip out a hank of your own hair and burn it into the mask, and it turns a grayish white. But her name still glows through: CHELSEA COURTNEY COOPER.<br/>
<br/>
<i>That's going to be me,</i> you tell yourself again. But without Chelsea herself there, it hasn't got the same thrill.<br/>
<br/>
But get the shivers again as you lay out on the icy tiles and raise her mask over your face. As you lower it, you get a fast, hard, blood-quickening anticipation of Chelsea's flesh and form pouring out and encasing your own.<br/>
<br/>
All goes dark as the mask settles on your face.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're chilled to the bone when next you're conscious, and a searing throb, like an ice cream headache, tears through your skull as you sit up. You push the hair out of your face and glare at the cold, gray room.<br/>
<br/>
<i>The gym showers? At school? Like, what the hell?</i> You make a face.<br/>
<br/>
Then your heart lurches as you look down to find yourself naked.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh, God! What kind of sick, freaking prank is this? Gordon! If he—</i><br/>
<br/>
At your boyfriend's name, your eye falls onto the pile of clothes by your hand. Something like an avalanche turns loose in your head.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Gordon. The school. Your uniform. Changing and meeting up with Gordon. That Sydney scrunt. A sock in the face. Pulling the clothes off Chelsea. Turning her into your double. Putting on her face.<br/>
<br/>
God!</i> Your bowels loose and you hunch almost double as it hits you.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I'm not Chelsea Cooper!</i> you realize with horror.<br/>
<br/>
At the same time: <i>I'm now Chelsea Cooper!</i> you realize with delight.<br/>
<br/>
You look down again. You've wrapped on arm around your busty bust, the other around your hour-glass waist. Golden hair tumbles again into your face. You push it away again, then freeze as it comes to you how natural the gesture is.<br/>
<br/>
You suck in a deep breath.<br/>
<br/>
A mirror, is there a mirror around? <i>Yes, in your locker!</i> You scamper toward the changing room proper, then wheel back around to scoop up your clothes. With them bundled in your arms, you hurry over to a bank of lockers and whirl the combination lock. <i>I know Chelsea's locker combination!</i> you think. Then, "Come on, you stupid—!" you hiss, and bang a tiny fist on the door when it won't open. Two more tries are needed before you can yank it open. Hanging on the inside of the door is a mirror. You catch your breath at the face that stares open-mouthed back at you from inside it.<br/>
<br/>
It's Chelsea Cooper. Shocked, disheveled, even a little horrified. But it's the captain of the WHS cheerleader squad who stares back at you from it.<br/>
<br/>
The horror slowly fades, to be replaced by a grin. <i>Oh my God, Chelsea, you'd think you'd never been naked in the girls' changing room before!</i><br/>
<br/>
A plinking ringtone jerks you back into the present. What are you going to do now? Sydney probably wants to see and talk to you. But Gordon came up here with you because he was expecting to spend the afternoon with you ... and to spend it in the most sexual way possible.</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111122234411
author_id: seuzz
title: How to Break a Date, by Chelsea Cooper
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>There are lots of reasons for sabotaging Chelsea's Saturday-afternoon date with her boyfriend, and only one good reason to keep it.<br/>
<br/>
And that one reason—if you're going to be Chelsea Cooper, you'd better act in character as her—isn't nearly enough to sway you.<br/>
<br/>
But how to squirm out of it? This "date" was Chelsea's own idea for once: The humiliation she poured out over Sydney McGlynn actually left her horny. You can still feel it, as a dying itch down in your new loins.<br/>
<br/>
And Gordon will be back soon, if he's not back already, so you turn to the clothes. You cluck at the way they're all wadded them up, and shake them out before putting them on: panties, bra, a slip, the corset-like top and the skirt; the hose and the shoes ... Piece by piece you pull them on, enjoying the sense of sexy clothes binding tightly to your sexy body.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe it's getting you deeper into character, too, for as you work you feel a hot and familiar irritation creeping over you. <i>What's keeping Gordon?</i> It's been thirty minutes <i>at least</i> since he left to get some condoms—the upstairs supply having run out—and it's not like him to wait patiently for you. He should be out in the gym hollering for you or slapping a basketball around. <i>Christ, it's the only two things he cares about: jamming his balls into one of two kinds of basket.</i><br/>
<br/>
Once dressed, you push your hair into some kind of shape instead of brushing it out, and make a quick duck face at yourself in the mirror. You pack up the remaining magic supplies into your locker and stride out of the changing room with a frown and a glare.<br/>
<br/>
The court is empty. You cross the gym to the foot of the stairs to the loft and shout up them: "Gordon?"<br/>
<br/>
No answer. <i>"Gordon!"<br/>
<br/>
God damn it. Where the hell is he?</i> You cross over to the side door and step outside.<br/>
<br/>
You freeze at the sight: Sydney McGlynn with her arms folded, chatting easily with your boyfriend.<br/>
<br/>
Inwardly, you grin: <i>Thank you, Sydney, for making it easy.</i><br/>
<br/>
Outwardly, you flush. "Pookie?" you call out in your evenest tone.<br/>
<br/>
Gordon jerks and looks around. Even from thirty feet away, you can see the surprise, confusion, fear, guilt, consternation, anger, and rueful surrender wash over his expression, all in about three seconds flat.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney just turns a blank smile onto you. "Hey Chelsea," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Did we move the party out here?" you ask in a cold, steely voice.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll see you later," Gordon murmurs to Sydney.<br/>
<br/>
You feel your face tightening into a hard mask as he trudges over with hanging head. Sydney frowns at you, but you shoot her a venomous glare and tuck your arm into Gordon's as you accompany him inside. You make sure to dig your fingernails into the muscle of his forearm.<br/>
<br/>
"It sure took you a long time to get back," you observe after the gym door has slammed behind you.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," he sighs. "Traffic was bad, and I, uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"What were you talking to Sydney about?"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Nothing! We weren't even talking, we were just passing each other, and—"<br/>
<br/>
"What's she even doing up here?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. Like I say, we were just passing, we'd just said 'hi' to each other—"<br/>
<br/>
"Gordon. Pookie."<br/>
<br/>
You stop. Inertia carries him another step before he jerks to a stop too. His eyes can't meet yours.<br/>
<br/>
"You know why I wanted to come up here," you tell him.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. You wanted to, uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"I was in the mood. I told you I was in the mood. We had that squad meeting, and it put me in the mood."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah." A slight smile tugs at his lips. "So—"<br/>
<br/>
"It was on account of Sydney that I was in the mood."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh?" There's a flutter at his throat as he swallows.<br/>
<br/>
You put a hand on your hip.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, now I'm not in the mood. I'm not in the mood anymore, Gordon. The mood's totally gone. Like, <i>ffwhhhtt!</i> Do you know how come, on what account, it's gone?"<br/>
<br/>
"I told you traffic was bad—"<br/>
<br/>
<i>"It's on account of </i>her,<i> you fucking asshole!"</i><br/>
<br/>
Gordon cowers.<br/>
<br/>
"God <i>damn</i> it, Gordon!" Tears explode from your eyes. "You fucking <i>stop?</i> And you fucking <i>talk?</i> To that <i>fucking scrunt?</i> While you're on your way back to <i>fuck me? Fuck you, Gordon!</i>" You jab him hard in the breastbone with a sharp finger. "What, were you getting yourself a <i>picture,</i> a picture you could <i>pretend you were fucking</i> while you were fucking <i>me?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Chelsea!"<br/>
<br/>
"Go away! Don't fucking touch me!"<br/>
<br/>
"It's not my fault!"<br/>
<br/>
"Whose fucking fault is it then? What's she doing up here? Did you set it up with her, text her to come up here and—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Chels!"<br/>
<br/>
With a stifled sob you wheel and run into the changing room. The tears are real, and with blurred vision you bang into a wall as run. "Go home, Gordon!" you shriek. "I'll find my own way home! Just go away, I don't want to see you again until—! Until—!"<br/>
<br/>
You gulp and gag. <i>Never</i> would be your preferred time frame for seeing that gorilla again. You loose a short, sharp scream so he'll know he needs to get lost.<br/>
<br/>
After brushing the tears away, you retrieve your cell phone from your locker and scamper back into the toilets. You feel a spurt of hot fury at the sight of Sydney's texts, but the anger sweetens into glee as you tap in a new message to her: <i>Text me when Gordons gone.</i><br/>
<br/>
It's a minute before she texts back, <i>ok</i> and another before she texts, <i>He's gone. What now?<br/>
<br/>
Be out in five min,</i> you reply, then spend a quarter hour carefully repairing your makeup before striding out into the parking lot to meet Sydney with a bright grin.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Your duplicate is with her of course, but you ignore him totally as he drives the two of back to your new house. On the way, you prattle in a gleeful way about how you managed to kill Chelsea's afternoon plans so you could hang out with Sydney instead. She listens with a quizzical silence.<br/>
<br/>
On the way up to your bedroom, with your arm in hers, snuggling up close, you whisper in her ear: "Listen," you say, "if anyone finds out you came back over, we'll have to tell them it was so I could ream you out about coming on to my boyfriend."<br/>
<br/>
"You sure are taking this seriously, Will."<br/>
<br/>
"I have to. Shouldn't I?" You pull her into the bedroom and shut the door with a titter. "God, this is already, like, the best afternoon ever!"<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"What do you <i>think</i> I mean? Dur!" You splay your hands and legs as though you've just come out of a series of backflips and tumbles. "How am I doing? Convincing?"<br/>
<br/>
Her nostrils flare. "I don't know Chelsea, but you seem like you're doing a pretty good impression of ... someone who isn't you, Will."<br/>
<br/>
"I told you the mask would come through. Oh, God, Sydney!" <br/>
<br/>
You fly at her and catch her in your arms. Now she's a little taller than you, and you're easily able to bury your face in the crook of her neck. Her skin is hot and satiny, and you rub your forehead into it.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry Chelsea put you through that shit this afternoon," you murmur. "Tell me how to make it up to you."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think there's anything you do, Will. Or Chelsea, either," she adds after a beat. "It doesn't matter, we got what we wanted. Uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes?"<br/>
<br/>
"You think you could let go of me?"<br/>
<br/>
You're holding her fast, and as you look up, the bridge of your nose brushes the tip of hers, and your lips briefly touch. A shiver runs through you, and it's only with reluctance that you release her.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't get me wrong, Will," she says as you step back. "I just don't want to rush into anything. Besides, like you say, if someone comes up here, we don't want it to look like we're friends."<br/>
<br/>
"So," you say, swallowing a hiccup. "Maybe we should talk about getting a mask for you? So that—" You bounce once on the balls of your feet. "We can hang out?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," she replies. "One of Chelsea's friends? A cheerleader?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, there's plenty there. Or another one of the— Oh!"<br/>
<br/>
"What?" Sydney asks as you sink onto your bed.<br/>
<br/>
You don't reply, not right away.<br/>
<br/>
How can you, when you're thinking of Andrea Varnsworth, the captain of the swim team ... and of the time in your sophomore year when she tried to make out with you—with Chelsea Cooper?</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221111111223
author_id: rugal
title: The Rest, if Not the Best
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Random, huh?" you muse out loud.<br/>
<br/>
"Right," Sydney replies, though you weren't necessarily directing it at her. "Well, okay, maybe not <i>random</i> random but more playing it by ear?"<br/>
<br/>
"Playing it by ear how?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno," she answers. "But like we've just been talking about specific groups -- cheerleaders or this or that sports team or whatever -- that maybe we can think a little more broadly?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," you say though the vagueness of that statement means you're not quite following her.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney must pick up on that because she sits back in her seat and looks somewhat serious; as if she's mulling it over too. "Okay, so, like I said I've got some sophomores in one of my classes... well, actually, not <i>just</i> that class but say we make our coven out of sophomores. Or groups of three from each of the freshmen, sophomores and juniors, or just whoever from the underclassmen."<br/>
<br/>
"So that's what you want to do?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Is that what <i>you</i> want to do?" Sydney retorts, flipping the question back on you. "I'm just spitballing here, it doesn't have to be underclassmen. I mean, there's a whole school right? Like the whole of the female population doesn't begin and end with Chelsea or Catherine."<br/>
<br/>
"Like... hmm... Victoria Rodriguez?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes!" Sydney exclaims excitedly. "Victoria... I mean I don't really know her but I know <i>of</i> her and... she's got her own group of friends right? Like there's this whole level of girls who are higher up but not really at that Chelsea or Catherine level and Victoria kind of seems to be the top dog there doesn't she?"<br/>
<br/>
You have to admit that you don't really know if she is or not. You do know that she's a latina with a pretty face and shaped well with curves and meat distributed in a way that's almost like a visual feast. You also know what you've seen her with plenty of other girls and in the company of a guy from... you want to say the baseball team.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, sure," you say. "They're like... second-tier?"<br/>
<br/>
"Right! They're definitely not unpopular, although..." Sydney trails off and out of the corner of your eye you think you catch sight of a grin spreading on her face. "What about the girls that are? The ones that are lower rungs of the social ladder I mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"What <i>about</i> them?"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean when you think of people who'd want to be witches then it'd probably be girls like that, right?" asks Sydney. "Girls who'd want to use it to make themselves beautiful or make the hunky guy out of their league fall for them. Even to get back at the popular types who shun and belittle them."<br/>
<br/>
"You'd want to make a coven of <i>un</i>popular girls?" you ask as you pull up to a red light. You've tried keeping your own issues with your unpopularity away from her but you're wondering if she's seeing right through you.<br/>
<br/>
"Like I said, Will, I'm just spitballing."<br/>
<br/>
You feel like you want to say something else but are interrupted by some loud whooping from the car that pulls up in the lane next to you. You look over to see two guys and two girls maybe around your age. The guys look like jocks and seem to be on the rowdier side. A large letterman jacket is on one of the girls... maybe the girlfriend of one of the jockish looking guys wearing his?<br/>
<br/>
"Ugh," Sydney rolls her eyes. "Meatheads like that can be such a pain in the ass to deal with. Thank god I don't think I've seen them around school."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think they go to our school," you point out. "That jacket on one of the girls is Eastman's colors so they probably go there."<br/>
<br/>
At that Sydney's face lights up. "Eastman, huh? I know a few girls that go there actually." She smiles at you but you quickly have to turn away as the light turns green. "What about doing that? A coven of Eastman girls."<br/>
<br/>
"And leave Westside behind?" you ask. "I mean, I don't really know that school or anything."<br/>
<br/>
"Well we could do that or take a few Eastman girls and a few Westside girls. Make this coven an interschool deal." You again notice Sydney lean back in her seat. "But I guess I said random, huh? So why even think of it like that. We could just grab whoever from school or, I don't know, wherever. Don't even think about it I guess."<br/>
<br/>
But despite that it does make you want to think. "What's that supposed to mean?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
But Sydney shrugs. "I don't really know. Cheerleaders, underclassmen, unpopular girls, girls from other schools. Hell, maybe a teacher or a girl or two from the college. The middle school? Parents or other adults? The cute girl taking your order at Starbucks?"<br/>
<br/>
"How the hell would we pull that off!?"<br/>
<br/>
"Like I said, Will, spitballing," she shoots back. "But, I mean, the whole school... no, the whole <i>town</i> is basically ours for the taking."<br/>
<br/>
No rhyme or reason? A truly random assortment of people to make up your coven? It's definitely a radical idea, maybe a little too radical. But it's also an intriguing one.</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112234
author_id: rugal
title: Reorienting Yourself
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"How do you have friends that go to Eastman?" you ask. It's a question that's been buzzing in your brain since you'd heard that claim. "I mean, with you being new in town and all..."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, just because I'm new here doesn't mean I don't get out or anything," Sydney retorts. "Plus, I never said that they were my friends. I just said that I knew some girls."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, well then how do you know some Eastman girls?"<br/>
<br/>
"It was a party right after school started," she tells you. "I ran into some girls there and we got to talking and when I told them I'd just moved here they got, like, really curious. They started asking me about where I was from, what school I was going to, what I thought about Westside and Eastman and blah blah blah."<br/>
<br/>
"There's a difference?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe, I don't know. After all, I'm new," Sydney says giving you a playful and teasing smirk as she does. "So, okay, I just talked to them a bit and yeah it turned out they went to Eastman. We're not, like, <i>friends</i> but I keep in touch with them some times. They're always curious about what's happening on the other side of town."<br/>
<br/>
Now that she's said that, you're kind of curious about that yourself. Truth be told, you've never heard much about Eastman yourself and so only know it as the high school, as Sydney just put it, "on the other side of town" so you can't help but wonder about it. What goes on over there? Do they have all the same kind of cliques and things that Westside has? Is there an Eastman Chelsea Cooper dating an Eastman Gordon Black and making life miserable for Eastman Yumi Saito and Eastman Cindy Vredenburg?<br/>
<br/>
Is there an Eastman Will Prescott?<br/>
<br/>
Well, probably not. It's not some kind of alien planet, just a school across town. But all the same, you're now curious about it.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, maybe I wanna know too," you say nonchalantly, trying hard to be cool in front of Sydney.<br/>
<br/>
"Is that so?" asks Sydney with amusement. "Okay, well I can probably put a feeler or two out and get something set up." She takes her phone out and you see her begin to tap at the screen and listen as it dings back a response. You're there for a few minutes as this goes back and forth before Sydney finally puts her phone away. "Alright, I've got something all good to go. They're going to be coming over to my place in a little bit. Mind driving me there?"<br/>
<br/>
So you do... eventually. First, though, she has you stop to get some supplies. This includes making a mask of herself and she laments that it might have been fun if the two of you swapped with each other for a day. You almost pass out at the thought of wearing Sydney's body.  But instead you take a bit of here hair and get the spell ready, coating the inside of the mask with that <i>pedisequos</i> paste.<br/>
<br/>
Then it's driving Sydney to her house.<br/>
<br/>
You're surprised when you start to get into the northwestern area of town. The part of Saratoga Falls where the houses get much bigger and much fancier. The part where you can't help but feel out of place. It makes you self-conscious in a way. Not only is Sydney beautiful and smart but her family's got some serious coin as well to be living out here. You almost want to pinch yourself to make sure you're not dreaming that you've landed someone like this.<br/>
<br/>
But unfortunately, you're dissuaded of seeing the inside of the fancy house you find yourself pulling up to.<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry, Will, but this is where we're going to have to break off for the night," Sydney tells you as you shut the truck off.<br/>
<br/>
"You're not going to need any help?"<br/>
<br/>
"Mmm, no, I think I can manage fine on my own," she tells you. "But more importantly, I want to surprise you."<br/>
<br/>
"What's that mean? I don't even think you've told me who you're becoming."<br/>
<br/>
In response, she leans over and kisses you on the cheek; you start to feel hot. "It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, would it?" she asks. "But don't worry, you'll like it. Trust me."<br/>
<br/>
So she exits and you're left to drive home, spending Friday evening not with friends or even your new girlfriend but occupied with the internet, video games and other stuff. It's not until late at night, some time after ten, that you realize you haven't heard from Sydney and so decide to text her phone to make sure everything's alright.<br/>
<br/>
<i>its fine,</i> comes the text. <i>she'll text you tomorrow.</i><br/>
<br/>
So that means the switch must have gone off and that was the fake-Sydney you'd just had that brief exchange with. You wonder why Sydney didn't just text you herself, though. Maybe whoever she's switched with is busy and so hasn't had the chance? By the time you've gone to sleep you still haven't heard anything. Worry carries over when you wake up the next morning though, it dissipates a bit when you see some messages on your phone from an unknown number.<br/>
<br/>
<i>hey will, its me. evrythings good. meet me here.<br/>
around 11 AM good? i'm here alone right now.</i><br/>
<br/>
The next message is an address -- though one you don't recognize -- and telling you to come there. But obviously this must be from Sydney so you text back that you'll meet her.<br/>
<br/>
It's still early enough that you have time to get eat breakfast and take your time getting ready. As you head out the door, you tell your parents that you're meeting friends for an early lunch. You hop in your truck and, with a sense of excitement and anticipation, head off in the direction of that address that Sydney sent you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You pull up into the driveway of a house a bit north of Fillmore and west of King. It's a house of average size yet looks nice as you can tell that it newer. In fact this whole area -- only a hop, skip and a jump away from the downtown area around Keyserling -- has been built up steadily over the last few years. Not that you're one to pay attention to the housing market or urban planning but even you can remember a time where this area had been mostly older homes.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney, at least you're sure it was Sydney, said she was alone so even though you have to take a breath as you head up the small walkway, you ring the doorbell. It takes about half a minute but the door finally pushes open to reveal a girl standing there.<br/>
<br/>
She's African-American with hair that falls long and thick well past her shoulders. Her arms and thighs have a thickness to them. However it's not thickness of fat but instead of muscle; of someone who gets much use out of every single one in her body.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes?" she asks and her voice, while light, is both smooth and low.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, uh, right. My name is, uh, Will?" you say as you stumble over the words. "I was, uh, told to come out here. To this address." You take your phone out and show her the message on the off chance she doesn't believe you.<br/>
<br/>
"Hmm, I see. Okay, come on in," she says as she steps aside and gestures for you to come inside. She closes the door behind you when she does and gestures again to follow her when she does. "Will... <i>you're</i> the guy that Sydney mentioned? The boyfriend?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I'm--" you want to go but stop dead in your tracks. "Sydney?" you ask tentatively.<br/>
<br/>
The girl stops, stands silently for a few seconds and then spins around. A grin is plastered on her face. "Oh jeez, Will, I kinda wanted to keep this up for a little longer. You shouldn't have guessed so fast," she pouts.<br/>
<br/>
"Who's this?" you ask as you gesture towards her. "Is she the Eastman girl you--"<br/>
<br/>
"Mhm," she interrupts you. "Let's keep going back to my room. I'll tell you <i>all</i> about it."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The girl, it turns out, is named Alyssa Randall: a cheerleader and gossip over at Eastman. But not just <i>a</i> cheerleader and gossip for she's the leader of a sextet of girls who trade in gossip and rumors and since she's also the head of Eastman's cheerleading squad, this makes Alyssa a <i>very</i> powerful person at the school. "Like Chelsea but without the cuntiness," Sydney had mused.<br/>
<br/>
But Alyssa's interest isn't just in Eastman gossip but Westside as well. It was some of her group that Sydney had met so Alyssa has hit Sydney up for gossip, rumors and the like from time to time since then. It's because of Sydney being the hotshot new girl that Alyssa couldn't pass up an opportunity to grill her about this new boyfriend she'd apparently got when Sydney had called her out to her place yesterday.<br/>
<br/>
That's when the switch was made without hassle although, as Sydney tells it, she didn't have any memories at all. Even when you tell her that you've never had that problem, she insists that she indeed did and you see no point in arguing, simply tell her that maybe it's different for different people. But Sydney had Alyssa's stuff so decided to head to Alyssa's house, lock herself in her room and try to learn as much as she could.<br/>
<br/>
But by the time she'd woken up this morning it was pointless because suddenly it was all there. She could think like Alyssa, remember every little detail of her life. Even her crush on... well, she demures from telling you.<br/>
<br/>
"It's not important," she says as she straddles you while you sit on her bed. "Because I'm not interested in being <i>his</i> girlfriend, just yours." She leans in close, her smooth and unblemished hazelnut skin right next to your face, as she speaks softly into your ear. "Besides, we need to think about getting you a new identity too, baby."<br/>
<br/>
Your almost make a mess of your underwear right then and there.<br/>
<br/>
"Alyssa has to meet some of the girls for lunch. It's a Saturday ritual, collating what they picked up at the Friday parties," she explains. "You wanna wait here, though, I can get one of them to come back. It'd be the best place to start with our Brotherhood anyway."<br/>
<br/>
That's very true but you are also feeling very horny right now. Sydney did say there'd need to be a guy as well and if you switched yourself with whoever Alyssa has a crush on... you again almost make a mess of your underwear at the thought.</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111122341
author_id: rugal
title: Switched and Besandwiched
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"What if I, uh, switched with him? The guy you like... uh, <i>she</i> likes I mean?" you ask, deciding to at least broach the subject.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney -- or maybe it's better to think of her as a Alyssa -- pulls back a bit. "If you wanted to, then that's fine I guess," she says. Suddenly, though, a small smile forms on her lips. "Are you worried you wouldn't look good with me or something?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Um, well, no; not that. It's just--"<br/>
<br/>
"Just what?" she asks with a quizzical look. "I told you, Will, I want to be <i>your</i> girl. I don't care if you look like him or not, either," she says, "and it's not gonna change no matter who I look like."<br/>
<br/>
She squeezes you and you're surprised at how tight it is. Alyssa certainly looks like she's not lacking in strength but feeling it firsthand... But then she pulls you in close and kisses you. On the mouth. With tongue. Your brain explodes and your dick almost does the same thing for the gorgeous head of the Eastman cheerleading squad, Eastman's equivalent to Chelsea Cooper, is sitting on your lap and making out with you.<br/>
<br/>
By the time she's stopped and pulled away, you figure that there's no point in even wondering about what to do.<br/>
<br/>
"I guess I don't need to switch with him," you mutter in your dazed state.<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, we can keep him in mind for later," she says, "but after we've built our coven. I'd rather focus on that first."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, sure," you reply. "I guess I should probably get out if it's close to lunch time for you then."<br/>
<br/>
"You can wait here, you know. My parents are out for the day."<br/>
<br/>
"I need to grab stuff from the basement though," you tell her.<br/>
<br/>
Alyssa pushes herself off of you, much to your disappointment. "Give me the key and I'll leave a little early to pick it up," she replies. "Seriously, just wait for me here? I want you to just relax a little, Will."<br/>
<br/>
You take your keys out of your pocket, remove the one for the basement and hand it to your disguised girlfriend. However, you have no intention of just waiting around in the house of a girl who you don't even know for an indeterminate amount of time and you share that sentiment with her. "I can go get lunch or something," you say, "I probably need to clear my head and get ready for this anyway."<br/>
<br/>
"Mhm, fine then," she replies as she leads you back out to the front door. She stops before opening it however and grasps your hands. "I won't be all that long, maybe an hour. Are you sure you don't want to wait here? You can help yourself to whatever's here if you want lunch."<br/>
<br/>
You're not sure why she's insistent on you being here but you figure that it's maybe because she feels a little nervous after not being able to immediately get Alyssa's memories and everything. It could have put a dent in her confidence and perhaps she wants you around for a little bit of security in case she messes something up. But she pulled the switch off last night without your assistance so you know that she'll be fine and likely as she's with Alyssa's friends, those doubts will vanish.<br/>
<br/>
So you insist on doing what you said. "It's fine, really. I'd just be bored here anyway waiting for you," you tell her.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, well, I'll text you once I'm back here. I'll try and keep whoever it is I can get back here entertained until you get here," she says. "Just text me when you're close."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, will do."<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks," she replies before leaning in and kissing you again though on the cheek this time. "I'll see you in an hour, then."<br/>
<br/>
You head out the door and have to stop yourself from throwing your fist up in the air in celebration. It would be enough to be dating a girl like Sydney McGlynn but to share this whole magic thing with her? For her to be willing to be so close and intimate with you under the guise of Alyssa Randall or whoever else? You wonder if Alyssa's friends are as hot as her. You might be with some of them, you might <i>be</i> them.<br/>
<br/>
You almost shudder with excitement as you back out of the driveway, put your truck in gear and head off to get some lunch. For a moment, you wish that you could meet the person who created the book and shake their hand.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're not really sure where to take lunch and, without really thinking, are surprised when you end up at Besandwiched, a small coffee and sandwich shop near the university. With its occult theming and sandwiches with names like "Thelema Turkey" it is certainly the kookiest and most esoteric of them all and one that you generally try to avoid. But maybe it's the fact that everything with this book has you so jazzed up that you feel it only appropriate to stop in.<br/>
<br/>
You place your order at the counter and take a seat, looking at your phone as you do. In light of the excitement from earlier you decide to browse Alyssa's social media pages and are unsurprised that she seems to be quite popular. What does surprise you, though, is the variety of people she seems to be with. You see one from a week ago, a picture with a few other girls captioned <i>lunch w/ the girls!!!</i>, and wonder if this is that group that Sydney was talking about. You look at them, curious as to which of them you'll wind up being.<br/>
<br/>
But there's pictures with cheerleaders, pictures with some basketball players and other athletes, ones with random girls and on and on. Unlike Chelsea, who seems to make due with largely associating with her circle, Alyssa seems to cast a wide net. But you suppose that makes sense for a gossip.<br/>
<br/>
"You had the Hermetic Ham Club?" comes a voice.<br/>
<br/>
You look up from your phone to see a girl -- around your age it looks like but you don't recognize her -- standing over you, a plate in her hand. She doesn't seem to be waiting impatiently but there's a certain look in her eye as she stands there; she's looking at you but it's more like she's looking past you.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, yeah, that's me," you say taking the plate. "Is, uh, there something on my shirt or face or... behind me?" you blurt out, turning around on instinct.<br/>
<br/>
"No. I wasn't staring or anything. Enjoy your sandwich."<br/>
<br/>
"You too," you say absentmindedly before wanting to hit your head against the desk.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh," she snickers before walking away.<br/>
<br/>
You sit there for the next little while eating your sandwich and messing around on your phone before eventually getting a message from Alyssa's number saying she's back. You'd already paid when ordering so you finish off the last of your sandwich and stand up. You're a bit relieved too because you're fairly sure that you caught that girl who served you looking over at you a few times while you sat. Probably to take another look at the idiot who thought she <i>was</i> staring at him and then said something dumb and awkward.<br/>
<br/>
Better to be out of here, then, and make to someone more familiar even if she's in unfamiliar skin.<br/>
<br/>
You intend to text Alyssa when you're close but you somehow manage to avoid hitting any red lights and so wait until you've arrived to tell her that you're there. She responds with a thumbs up emoji and says she'll let you in.<br/>
<br/>
"She's in my room," she whispers as she opens the door and hands you a mask. "We don't have one of you right? Sit on the couch and put it on. I'll chat with her back there while it copies you."<br/>
<br/>
You do as she says and when you come to, she's standing over you. "I'm gonna go back in my room and do the thing with it while it copies here," she says. "I'll call you when it's done."<br/>
<br/>
So you wait and wait and finally receive a text on your phone telling you to come back. You're barely through the door when everything goes dark.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You apply the finishing touches of makeup to make sure that your lips and large, hazel eyes are highlighted well. You're dressed simply but stylishly in dark pants and a dark blouse that you finish with the addition of a snazzy little jean jacket. Your figure is slim though your breasts are a little larger than average. Your hair falls long and straight and its dark chocolate color contrasts strikingly with your light, almost porcelain, skin.<br/>
<br/>
The face that greets you in the mirror walks a fine line between pretty and cute. You reach a hand up to delicately stroke and touch it, hardly believing that its yours.<br/>
<br/>
"So how is it?"<br/>
<br/>
Alyssa's voice snaps you out of your reverie, causing you to quickly turn around, hair flying as you do.<br/>
<br/>
"It's amazing," you reply in a voice that's soft and breathy. "I mean, I know what the masks can do but just actually using it to become, you know, a girl..."<br/>
<br/>
Not just any girl either but Madeline Elena Caron, Maddy to almost everyone. A popular Eastman girl, member of the mock trial club and a close friend of Alyssa Randall as part of her formally informal gathering of gossips. Going from stinky old Will Prescott to this is nothing short of breathtaking, you have to admit.<br/>
<br/>
Alyssa walks over to you and puts an arm around you. You shiver with excitement as she uses that hand to play with your hair while pressed against you.<br/>
<br/>
"Welcome to the Sisterhood, Maddy," she says in a low voice. "Hope you enjoy the experience."</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221111111223411
author_id: rugal
title: Division and Multiplication
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Welcome to the Sisterhood, Maddy. Hope you enjoy the experience."<br/>
<br/>
That's what Alyssa had said right into your ear and you very much want to if that "experience" is being in this room, embraced tightly by someone like her. But like a flash, it hits you and you realize that you'll have to cut this little visit short for Maddy has plans of her own right now. To be sure, Maddy likes Alyssa. Alyssa, after all, is a girl with a strong force of will and yes she likes collecting and disseminating gossip. In a sense, one could say that she runs Eastman insomuch as anyone could.<br/>
<br/>
That's what everyone says, right? That's why they call your little group the Rumorati, the girls who control the school from behind the scenes. They wheel and deal in information and chatter and sitting at the head of the table is Alyssa Randall, the High Queen of Rumors.<br/>
<br/>
But like all rumors, it goes through so many rounds of telephone that it becomes distorted and cartoonishly exaggerated. Oh, Alyssa most certainly holds quite a bit of power in the overall social hierarchy that's as much due to the fact that she's head cheerleader as much as is her being a supposed information broker. In truth there are plenty of others who match or best her in terms of popularity. Jenny Taylor and her boyfriend Kyle Lakewood -- the power couple who combine athletic acumen with good looks and friendly personalities -- have her beat by far.<br/>
<br/>
But Alyssa is shrewd and savvy and she knows how to use information; she'd holds a position on the debate team as well after all. Largely she uses it as a sort of balancing tool. The right positive rumor here or negative one there, knowing which party to show up at to give the host a boost. Eastman is certainly no Westside and in Alyssa's mind that is by design. Not to say that she can make or break someone's popularity with a word but Alyssa likes to think she's played some role in why Eastman isn't run by a menagerie of malcontents like its cross-town rival.<br/>
<br/>
That's why Maddy likes Alyssa. In truth she's not much of a gossip but she respects Alyssa a great deal for wanting a sense of fairness at Eastman. It's even reflected in the makeup of the group itself, pulling from all directions of student culture. Maddy, for instance, is a smart girl involved in the AP scene so while she's not exactly one to ferret out secrets she can still pick up things and Alyssa respects and appreciates it.<br/>
<br/>
But Maddy is also someone who takes things seriously, especially appointments, and though she was more than happy to accept a personal one-on-one with Alyssa, you realize that one of those appointments is coming up and thus you'll be needing to leave.<br/>
<br/>
You inform Alyssa of this as you gently remove her arm from your shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
"That's too bad", she pouts, "because I was hoping we could just right into converting everyone else."<br/>
<br/>
"It might be good to wait a day or two before we get going in earnest," you tell her. "This is a new school after all and with these identities we've thrown ourselves right into the thick of it. So getting settled in and having some time to think about who else to add outside of the group might be the best option for the moment."<br/>
<br/>
"That's true," she says. "But we should work out who gets who, at least. Counting us, there's six members, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Does it matter who gets who?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"In a way. So let's take you for instance. You're Maddy so who would you typically go for next?"<br/>
<br/>
"Probably Tina," you say after a few seconds of thought. "I mean, her and Maddy are best friends."<br/>
<br/>
"Right, which is why <i>I</i> want her," Alyssa tells you. "These girls aren't necessarily hanging out exclusively and even majority with one another in some cases. So if I have Tina then that means the two of us can be around each other easier if need be."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, then what about the rest?"<br/>
<br/>
"It all kind of falls in place from there I think. So next would be an identity for you and I think that should be Lisa."<br/>
<br/>
"You think?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm suggesting," she says. "Because Lisa is trouble and if you're getting the memories faster than I am then it's important that she's quickly stamped out as a potential problem."<br/>
<br/>
"Wouldn't it make more sense for me to be Summer, though, if it's about staying close?" you ask. "I mean, from what Maddy's brain is telling me Alyssa was the one who invited her in and she seems pretty protective of Summer."<br/>
<br/>
"Right, but I'll be taking Summer for myself," Alyssa states. "Because I've already got another identity lined up for you that'll make you glad I took Summer."<br/>
<br/>
That flashes something in your mind and you can't help to smile as you realize what she means by that. "Alright, so then that would leave Mandy and Natalie, right?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Mhm, and I figure that you can have Mandy."<br/>
<br/>
"While you take Natalie," you state. "Wouldn't it make more sense for me to have Natalie though? From what I'm getting she's more into the same kind of stuff I am. Will is, I mean, not Maddy."<br/>
<br/>
"That's <i>why</i> I want her," Alyssa says as she grasps your hands. "I mean if we're going to be going out then maybe it's good if we take people who might help us understand the other a little more. So I can take a nerdy girl into nerdy things Natalie..."<br/>
<br/>
"What, are you saying you're a partier like Mandy?" you laugh.<br/>
<br/>
"Of course not!" she insists. "But Mandy is outgoing and has lots of friends. I'm not going to deny that I'm not a popular girl, Will, so I think it'd be good for you to be able to experience what popularity is like as well. Consider it a riff on walking a mile in each others' shoes."<br/>
<br/>
"Alright, so Alyssa, Tina, Summer and Natalie for you," you say as you tick off your figures, "versus Maddy, Lisa and Mandy for me. Plus <i>whoever</i> you have lined up for me outside of the group. That leaves one more for each of us. Jenny?"<br/>
<br/>
"Mmm, yeah, maybe. She'd be good but so would a lot of others. I need to think about it," she says before catching herself. "<i>We</i> need to think about it. Anyway, you had to do something?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just meeting someone for lunch."<br/>
<br/>
"Right, okay. Yeah, I'll see you later."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The meeting happens to take you right back to Besandwiched, of all places, where even more bizarrely you find yourself in a table near the back and out of the way sitting across from that girl who served you when you'd came in earlier as yourself. Her name, you now know, is Ursula Jensen, a girl with a sort of foggy prettiness and steely gray eyes who, you now know, is also a student at Eastman.<br/>
<br/>
She's also heavily into divination -- tarot and astrology and things of that nature -- which more than a few students find odd and off putting. But not Maddy. Instead, Maddy has a bit of a natural superstitious streak and since last year has been coming to Urusla in regards to mock trials or big tests. The funny thing is that Maddy isn't sure whether she actually <i>believes</i> any of it but it's, instead, something of a way of reinforcing things for her.<br/>
<br/>
Should Ursula's predictions and fortunes be positive, then Maddy feels as if she's on the right track and should keep doing what she's doing. But negative and she instead realizes that something must change: re-examine things to find missed details or study more or whatever. Whether Ursula can truly see into the future or whether Maddy herself is changing fate when the outcome is usually not quite what Urusula predicted she can't say for sure.<br/>
<br/>
But it's a comfort for her all the same and, truth be told, she's come to find Ursula pleasant. Not that they're close friends who hang out but all the same she does enjoy these sessions like the one you're wrapping up now on Ursula's lunch break.<br/>
<br/>
One that causes Ursula to look at you with confusion.<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Normally what I'd see for you when constructing this horoscope is straightforward," she says quietly. "But I can hardly make heads or tales of this one. The conclusions it's leading me too, directions it's taking me... they don't even feel like they belong to you. Like someone else's got mixed up."<br/>
<br/>
"Why would that be the case? That's weird, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes! It's very weird and I don't know why--"<br/>
<br/>
But you're interrupted by your phone buzzing. It's a text from Alyssa asking you to meet her this evening around six if you can and curiosity comes over you once you see where she wants to meet you. In fact, you're about to send a reply when you stop and look up. Ursula's gaze is on you and though she doesn't look upset, she does look serious.<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry, Alyssa business," you say laughing it off. "What's up?"<br/>
<br/>
Ursula continues to study you before she eventually shakes her head. "No, it's just... I'm trying to figure out where I screwed up," she tells you. "I don't want Priscilla to think I'm screwing around," she mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"It's fine, I'll just study like I always have and--"<br/>
<br/>
"I get off of work around six," she cuts you off, seemingly as if she wasn't actually hearing what you were saying. "Do you want to hang out somewhere for a little bit?"<br/>
<br/>
It's an odd, and seemingly random question but she seems serious about it. More serious than Maddy has ever seen her before.</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112234111
author_id: rugal
title: Girls of a Suspicious Sort
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You should wholly dismiss whatever it is that Ursula wants to talk to you about and probably under normal circumstances you would. However, there's a nagging voice in the back of your mind that you can't quite shake; two of them, actually. <i>She seems so serious and while I don't know if I believe all of her fortune telling, the fact she's so put off is in itself kind of off putting,</i> says one of them.<br/>
<br/>
<i>There's something odd about this girl and it's not just the interest in divination,</i> reasons the other. <i>She seemed to be studying me earlier. She was studying me again just now. It could be nothing but something about her is making me uncomfortable.</i><br/>
<br/>
Though the logic is a bit different, the conclusion that each voice reasons is the same: meet up with her. So you resolve to do that, first by sending a text to Alyssa telling her that something came up and you'll have to meet up with her a little later than six. She answers that it's fine and tells you to text her about wen you think you'll be ready so she can do what she needs to do.<br/>
<br/>
With that done, you turn your attention back to Ursula. "Alyssa business, again," you say. "Anyway, you wanted to hang out?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," she nods, "after work. Maybe at my house? It won't take long but it's related to the reading. I just need to clarify some things, that's all."<br/>
<br/>
"That's fine. But I don't actually know where you live."<br/>
<br/>
"Right, yeah, of course you don't. You've never been out to my house," she mutters. She then takes out her own phone and taps away and soon your phone chimes and shows a new message. You look at it to see an address; Ursula's address you figure.<br/>
<br/>
"Anyway, my lunch is just about done," Ursula says as she pushes herself out of her seat. To your surprise, you actually see a bit of excitement showing on her face. "I've never encountered anything like this before," she says quietly. "Don't you think it's thrilling?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't really know what to think," you state truthfully.<br/>
<br/>
"Neither do I," she replies as she looks at you with wide eyes. "I'm kind of shaking just thinking about it. What happened to cause this? I'd be lying if I said I wasn't anxious to try and get some answers. Anyway, I'll see you in a bit."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
With nothing better to do, you head back to Maddy's house for the first time since you've put on her mask. It's a nice though unpretentious house not terribly far from Eastman itself.<br/>
<br/>
The inside is decorated as any other house with nothing that really stands out. Maddy's mother is in the living room, a book in hand and the television on providing background noise and you both acknowledge each other though not much is said. She doesn't even ask you where you were though since Maddy typically doesn't get in trouble and does well in school, she's given a relatively large degree of freedom.<br/>
<br/>
Maddy's room is as low key as the rest of the house, save the large collection of makeup and, as you see in the closet, clothes.<br/>
<br/>
You lay down on the bed and look at your phone to see what's going on. There's the typical wrap ups and fallouts from the parties and gatherings last night but one message on x2z, directed towards you, catches your attention.<br/>
<br/>
<i>austins playing w/ fire &amp; his ass is bout to get roasted lmao</i><br/>
<br/>
It's a message from Audrey Cervantes, one of Maddy's friends and a member of the tennis team. You message her back asking what happened now.<br/>
<br/>
<i>the dumbass brought rose out to the warehouse last night. me &amp; courtney &amp; lorraine were there n saw the two of them.</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>You're going to tell Alyx?</i> you ask.<br/>
<br/>
<i>no way! itll get back to her anyway n i'm not boutta get in the middle of it lol</i><br/>
<br/>
It's probably the one bit of drama and gossip that Maddy reliably provides to Alyssa and the rest of the group. Due to the fact that Maddy herself was a member of the tennis team until stepping back this year to focus more on her studies and getting into a good college, she's managed to maintain her ties to the team.<br/>
<br/>
Thus she's well aware of the current kerfuffle taking place on the team as Rose Willingham, a sophomore and the team's prodigy, has recently started a relationship with Austin Olsen, a member of the soccer team. The issue comes from the fact that Austin is a horn dog who likes to use his position to score more than just goals and seems to have no desire for a long term, committed relationship. So Alyx English, the captain of the girls on the team, is worried that the whole thing will be a distraction for Rose and send her into depression when he inevitably breaks up.<br/>
<br/>
Not helping matters is that Rose's older brother and Austin's teammate, Ryan, is Alyx's boyfriend and neither Ryan or Alyx like him all that much. So if, or when, either of them find out that Austin is taking her to a place like the Warehouse then that's a powder keg waiting to blow up.<br/>
<br/>
If you're going to be Maddy and part of this group she's in, it's something you'll have to deal with.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You spend the rest of the afternoon alternating between your phone and studying for a statistics test coming up next week when you finally get a message from Ursula a little after six stating that she's off of work. You put your study materials away, say goodbye to Maddy's parents (as her dad has now joined her mom in the living room) and drive out to the address you were given earlier.<br/>
<br/>
It's out in Acheson, to your surprise, and you wonder why someone who lives there would be going to Eastman. Probably her family just moved across town after she started high school and didn't find it necessary or prudent to have their daughter switch schools. It's a nice looking house that you pull up to and when Ursula invites you in and takes you to her room, you're surprised at how normal it all is. Maybe because of her interests, you were expecting something weirder.<br/>
<br/>
You engage in some small talk before Ursula, out of nowhere, drops a bomb on you.<br/>
<br/>
"You're Maddy Caron, aren't you?"<br/>
<br/>
You're taken aback by that and give her an odd look. "Yeah?" you say in a tone that indicates you're weirded out by the question. "Who else would I be?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. Maybe you <i>are</i> Maddy, I mean you look like her and everything, but maybe you're... I don't know. Someone who's not Maddy," she mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"Ursula, please hold on. You're kind of weirding me out," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry, I'm weirding <i>myself</i> out," she admits. "I want to believe you're Maddy, but..."<br/>
<br/>
You kind of want to think she's crazy and maybe she is but if she's thinking you're not who you appear to be... "Okay, well, why would you believe I'm not?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"The horoscope I did earlier for you that I said felt like it was for someone else, you remember right?" she answers. "Well, I noticed something afterwards. Your aura, Maddy. It was different."<br/>
<br/>
"My, uh, what?" you ask dumbfounded.<br/>
<br/>
"It's," she falters. "It's something that people have like, I don't know, a scent or a fingerprint. It's theirs and unique to them. I use it in my divination, like the path I follow to navigate inside the forest of fate. Oh god, that sounds lame but... but I don't know how else to explain it."<br/>
<br/>
"So what are you saying?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"I know your aura, Maddy, because I see you often enough," she states. "But the aura I was seeing today... I don't think it belonged to you and I don't know why."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The whole conversation continues for about fifteen minutes and though Ursula doesn't ever outright accuse you of being an impostor -- she seems to always hedge her bets and stay away from declarative statements you notice -- but you come away knowing that she probably does not think you're who you're appearing as though she'd have no clue why, how or who you'd be. For the time being, she at least says that maybe she just doesn't know as much as she thought she did as she's "still learning".<br/>
<br/>
You send a message to Alyssa afterwards telling her that you're done. She says she'll be over at the meeting place -- the Donna Motor Courts -- and asks that you come out of the mask. From Maddy's mask, you know the reputation of the Donna so you know what this likely means so you make a quick stop at Walmart to buy some cheap clothes -- a plain t-shirt, sweatpants and flip-flops -- and head to the Donna. In a far parking space, you slip into the backseat of the car, strip out of the clothes and remove the mask.<br/>
<br/>
By the time you come to, Alyssa's texted you a room number and you head there. When you knock on the door, it's opened and you're greeted by the glorious site of Alyssa clad only on her underwear. She says nothing, simply smiles slyly, grabs your arm and pulls you in. She's strong and practically flings you on the bed but before she can do anything you stop her and explain what's happened today with Ursula.<br/>
<br/>
"Mmm, yeah, that's definitely odd but baby, I don't care about that right now," she says as she sits splayed across your lap and strokes your face. "I mean, she's just eccentric so we can ignore her but I guess if you're worried we can look at people other than the group for our coven. Spread it out, you know?"<br/>
<br/>
"What if we made her into a member of the coven?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe. Hell, we can always talk to her. She's into magic, maybe she'd want to join us," she says. "But we can discuss this afterwards Will, she says as she moves, pushes you down onto your back and straddles you. "We have more important business right now."</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111123
author_id: seuzz
title: The First Step of a Random Walk
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I don't care who we pick or how we do it," you tell Sydney, "as long as that Blake fucker is one of them."<br/>
<br/>
She giggles. "You had fun when you had that mask of him on, didn't you?"<br/>
<br/>
You hesitate, then decide against saying anything about what happened yesterday. If you can swap places with someone—to get you out of the line of fire—that will be enough. And if it's Blake O'Brien, that will be a dividend.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Sydney picks you up very early the next morning—so early that your hair is still plastered down and you've got a cold Pop-Tart between your teeth as you run out the door. Her text telling you she'd be picking you up twenty minutes ahead of schedule came early enough to wake you up, and still you're messy as a scarecrow as you leap into the SUV.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, hon," Sydney says, and leans across to surprise you with a kiss. "Mm, you taste like processed cherry filling. Hope you don't mind me being so early."<br/>
<br/>
"If it means more time with you, it's great."<br/>
<br/>
She gives you a look over her smile. "Sweet but cheesy. We're picking some people up on the way. I hope you don't mind sitting in the back seat."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, no. Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos that way you'll have to talk to them. Well, two of them. I'm picking up three friends and I want to make sure you don't just sit in your corner, which you'll do if you're up front. So sit in the middle when you move to the back."<br/>
<br/>
This sounds like a set up, but you only ask who she's picking up. "Sophia and Maggie and Reagan." Your heart sinks at the last one. "Sophia Van den Berg and Maggie Crenshaw," she explains when you tell her you don't know the first two. You'll like them. I really hope." She pats your knee.<br/>
<br/>
Reagan is the first to be picked up, and you insist on surrendering the front seat to her so you won't get stuck in the back with her. She greets you with a bold look and bluntly asks you if you just got out of the shower. "Your clothes are sticking to you," she explains.<br/>
<br/>
Sophia is the next to be picked up. She lives across the street from the university, in a gingerbread pile that looks like a cross between the Amityville Horror house and the Addams Family mansion. The girl herself is a shy and quiet slip of a thing, with a wide but tentative smile and long brown hair. She hugs her bag to her chest and smiles at you curiously after introductions are made. "Sure I remember you," she says. "We had Mrs. Timmons's math class together in the eighth grade. We sat on opposite sides of the room," she adds when you stare back at her in puzzlement.<br/>
<br/>
The last is Maggie Crenshaw, a bluff girl with corn-colored hair and lungs that could outshout an ocean liner. "God damn it, it's Friday already," she exults as she throws her pack into the back seat, hitting you squarely in the chest. "Fucking hooray, I say! Who are you?" she demands as she bounces onto the seat next to you.<br/>
<br/>
"Will Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes light up. "Oh, you're the one." She rears back and looks you up and down from toes to crown. Then she grabs your bicep and gives it a hard squeeze. You pull away so hard you almost knock Sophia (on the other side of you) in the jaw.<br/>
<br/>
"Sydney!" Maggie bellows. "I love everything about him. Do we have any classes together?" she asks you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You've parted with Sydney in front of the gym—she has a P.E. class first thing—and are nearing your locker when again strong hands are laid on you. You're thrust through the crowd, and a punch to a kidney slams you face first into a locker. Your knees buckle, but the hand supports you as you're wrenched around. You sphincter loosens to find David Kirkham grinning into your face.<br/>
<br/>
Kirkham is a little smaller than you, but he's compact and strong. He rolls the ever-present toothpick about in his mouth beneath the ever-present shades.<br/>
<br/>
He puts his face close to yours so that he can make himself heard without lifting his voice over the mutter of the crowd.<br/>
<br/>
"I hear you're getting fucked these days, Prescott." His voice is soft, but there's a hard rattle in it, like the scales of a serpent sliding over stone. "Wanna tell me about it?"<br/>
<br/>
Your shoulders rise in a weak shrug. It's never a good idea to talk back to David Kirkham—one of the most fearsome bullies at Westside—but it's an even worse idea to say or do nothing when he address you.<br/>
<br/>
"You're not sure?" His grin widens. "What kind of a pussy-sniffer doesn't know if he's getting fucked?"<br/>
<br/>
Now you just swallow. <br/>
<br/>
"I'm going to do you a favor, Prescott," he hisses. "I'm going to <i>ride</i> you." He tightens his grip on your collar. "I've seen that girl that you don't know if you're fucking or not. Oooh! If I was with her, she's know she was getting fucked. I'd fuck her into a coma then fuck her back out of it. But I was saying I'm gonna do you a solid."<br/>
<br/>
He puts his face so close to yours you can smell the cinnamon on his breath. <br/>
<br/>
"Starting Monday I'm gonna fuck you up every day, in front of her. Give you a chance to prove to her that you got balls big enough for her. You got balls big enough for her, don't you? She <i>inspires</i> you, doesn't she?" He punches you again. "So I'm gonna let you <i>show</i> her how much she inspires you. And as an <i>extra</i> favor, 'cos I like you so much, I won't pull any my punches."<br/>
<br/>
He drops you, and sniggers as he pats your chest. "So get ready for a good show on Monday, Prescott. Play it like your life depends on it." With another hissing laugh, he melts back into the crowd.<br/>
<br/>
You run into the nearest bathroom and throw up.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You can't say anything to Caleb in first period about your run-in with Kirkham. Not that Caleb could do anything about it except grumble sympathetically. But telling him would involve telling him about your new relationship with Sydney, and you've yet to figure out a way of breaking that to him.<br/>
<br/>
But you don't even get to have a normal conversation with him. He is very white in the face, and when you greet him he just folds his arms and stares at the front of the room with glittering eyes. "Caleb," you say. "Caleb, man, come on!" Even when you wave your hand in front of his face he just turns the color of Antarctica and stares straight ahead.<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck is the matter with Johansson?" you ask Keith when you fall into the desk in front of his in second period. "The son of a bitch went all last period ignoring me."<br/>
<br/>
"It's pro'ly on account of your being such a backstabbing asshole," Tilley replies. He leans back, turns his cap brim-side front, and pulls it down over his eyes. "Can't say I blame him," he adds as he lifts his cell phone to block his view of you.<br/>
<br/>
"What are you talking about?" But with a sinking heart you can make a pretty good guess.<br/>
<br/>
"What you think I'm a'talk about? What's her name? Girl wanted to get to know Caleb only you got to her first?"<br/>
<br/>
You grip your desk and glare. "What are you talking about?" you repeat.<br/>
<br/>
"You know exactly what I'm'a talk about, motherfucker. Girl comes on to Caleb, you sling a lot of shit at him so he don't come back at her, you pick her up and walk off with her instead. Not fucking cool, man." He shakes his head and clucks his tongue. "Not fucking cool."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, first of all, who told you some girl was coming on to Caleb? And second, what makes you think I'm—"<br/>
<br/>
But the words falter and die. You've never been good at bluffing. Obviously Caleb would have told Keith about Sydney, and about how you talked him into ignoring her; and just as obviously word must have spread back to the two of them that you and her had started going out.<br/>
<br/>
"I tell you one more thing," Keith says, "and then I start talkin' to you like you was a wall. As in, I ain't talkin' to you ever again." You can't help rolling your eyes at Keith's attempt to sound "ghetto." "You better go lookin' for some new friends, 'cos you ain't findin' none where you been findin' 'em b'fore. An' that includes Carson and James." He whistles. "Ain't no one cool wit' what you done to Caleb. You gonna find 'em all <i>cold.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Troubles, they say, always come in threes, and the ride to school was uncomfortable enough to count as the first in the day's trio of mounting horrors. When you catch up to Sydney again at the end of the day you say nothing about Caleb and Keith, or about Kirkham, and only ask why she wanted you to ride out with her friends. "If we're gonna swap with people," you tell her, "why do I need to know any of your friends?"<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos you might get to know one of them a lot better," Sydney explains. "You told me to pick out a face for myself. I'm thinking one of them."<br/>
<br/>
"One of your friends?" you gasp. "You'd—" You gulp. "You'd steal the face of one of your friends?"<br/>
<br/>
"Borrow, Will," she corrects you. "There's going to be ten of them, which is five for each of us, and we'll be shuttling between them, probably. Anyway, I was thinking once we were, you know, in the driver's seat of one of them and Blake, they could start going out!"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Blake?</i> you think. <i>Why not saddle one of them with Kirkham for a boyfriend?</i></span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221111111234
author_id: seuzz
title: A Trap for Blake O'Brien
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You weren't super-impressed any of the girls you rode to school with. <br/>
<br/>
On the other hand, maybe Blake would like them. <br/>
<br/>
So it seems more diplomatic to tell Sydney that you want to start things off by turning Blake into one of your robot cultists.<br/>
<br/>
"That's easy to do," she says. "I'll just call him up for another study date." You clench your fists as she picks up her phone. "I better text him quick, though, if we're gonna catch him tonight. What do we need if we're gonna get it done?"<br/>
<br/>
"I need to finish up making a mask," you reply through gritted teeth, "if I'm going to change places with him." Your heart beats rapidly. "It might take a couple of hours."<br/>
<br/>
"What about the stuff to put inside the mask? It goes inside the mask, doesn't it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. I've got some of that stuff left over, what I already made." You feel your eyes watering as Sydney taps away at her phone. "Where are you going to meet him?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. We'll see what he says. How about you get to work?" She gives you a quick smile between thumb-strokes.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Blake shoots her a fast reply, before you're even done casting the mask.<br/>
<br/>
"There's a game tonight," Sydney reports. "That's gonna make it tough to get to him. Wait, he's still typing." She sucks on her lip. "Oh, he says he'll be going out to the Warehouse at ten. Okay," she muses, "if I can figure out a place to meet him alone—"<br/>
<br/>
She lays the phone down and stares at the back wall. You wait for her to continue, and when she doesn't you return to your work.<br/>
<br/>
"This stuff that goes in the mask," she says a minute later, "it makes the <i>pedisequos</i> obey you, right? But which one of us does it obey?"<br/>
<br/>
You blink at her. "Whoever's hair you burn into it." You're pretty sure that's right.<br/>
<br/>
"Could we use mine?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. I guess. Why are you asking?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'm just remembering what happened when we put your friend Caleb's mask on that thing over there." She points at the golem. "I couldn't control it. I don't want to turn Blake into a <i>pedisequos</i> if I can't control him."<br/>
<br/>
"Are you planning on meeting him alone?" The thought of her alone with Blake fills you with insane jealousy.<br/>
<br/>
"Will, sweetie," she says. "He would wonder how come I was meeting up with him if <i>you</i> there too."<br/>
<br/>
<i>But he </i>knows<i> I'm your boyfriend!</i> you want to shout. <i>That's how come his friends dragged me out to the portables!</i><br/>
<br/>
Sydney regards you through narrowed eyes. "Don't you trust me to do it right?"<br/>
<br/>
That's not it. But if she burns the hair inside a mask of Blake, then only <i>she</i> will be able to wear it and you won't be able to use him as an alias. But if you insist on going with her, she'll want to know why, and then you'll have to tell her about your afternoon at the portables—and probably about Kirkham too.</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112341
author_id: seuzz
title: Girl Meets Boy
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You decide that it's less important that <i>you</i> get to be Blake O'Brien than that you get him out of your hair.<br/>
<br/>
"It's not a problem," you tell Sydney. You glance down at the mask that you're polishing.<br/>
<br/>
"I can take over for you there," she says, and scoots over to join you. You relinquish the buffer, and start putting together the stuff you need to make a memory strip.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Sydney isn't meeting Blake until nine-thirty, which gives you plenty of time to get everything ready for her. "Make sure you cover up all the inside of his mask with that stuff," you remind her as you follow her out to her SUV, "and don't forget to burn some of your hair in it when you're done. Do you want me to write down the words you have to use to take a mask off a person?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, and I think I've got everything, Will." Sydney's voice is haggard with stress.<br/>
<br/>
"Have you got the—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Stop trying to babysit me, sweetheart!" She clambers into the SUV, and rolls the window down after turning on the motor. <br/>
<br/>
"I love it that you worry about me," she says, and leans out to give you a brief, wet kiss on the mouth. "But I got lots of experience back home in Kansas keeping horny guys off me."<br/>
<br/>
You know she said it to make you feel better. Only she didn't succeed, and now you're wondering just how far and with how many guys she went, her technical virginity notwithstanding. You watch her roar off into the night, and remain staring into the street for several minutes after she's gone.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So here it is, Friday night, and none of your friends are talking to you and your girlfriend is off on a date with another guy. You pack stuff up and take it home, and spend the evening flipping between YouTube videos while finishing up a second (and, until you get some more materials, a last) memory strip.<br/>
<br/>
You also check your texts. Not that you're getting any. (And not that you're finding any interesting YouTube videos, either.) <i>Jenny Ashton,</i> you find yourself thinking. <i>Maybe I should call Jenny, text Jenny, get together with Jenny, at least </i>talk<i> to Jenny.</i> She's friends with your other friends—your ex-friends—but she wouldn't hold a grudge against you so bad that she won't talk to you. <br/>
<br/>
But you hesitate to text her, for another thought wedges itself in: <i>And if I took a mask out with me to meet her, I could add her to the cult.</i><br/>
<br/>
Would you do that? Would you do that to a friend, or to a former friend? She'd be useful, a way of keeping tabs on Carson and Caleb and them. You could use her to spread some mischief. <br/>
<br/>
You don't make any decisions, though. It's like you don't <i>want</i> to make a decision there, either for or against the idea of making a mask of Jenny, and you distract yourself by linking fancy unto fancy. What other girls would be likely recruits? Lin Pol and Yumi Saito sometimes hang out with Carson and them; so do Jessica and Eva Garner. They're sort of friends, but not nearly so much that you'd feel the same guilt at using them the way you're thinking about using Jenny. And they'd be a good fit with Blake, them being cheerleaders.<br/>
<br/>
Somewhere along the way, while you're thinking of other girls who could be captured and converted into cultists, you realize with a start that you're thinking of them as possible masks for yourself. Until this moment—even after Sydney had walked off with a plastic container filled with a goop that will turn Blake into a <i>pedisequos</i>—you'd been assuming that the male cultists would be your aliases and the female cultists would be Sydney's. But she's going to have at least one male mask—Blake's—for herself, which means (if the numbers of boys and girls is to be even) that you'll have one female mask for yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Well, that wouldn't be a problem, you decide. It would be kind of fun. In fact ...<br/>
<br/>
You gulp, and a slight sweat breaks out over your scalp. <br/>
<br/>
In fact, most of your masks, or even all of them, could be female!<br/>
<br/>
Would that be so bad, either?<br/>
<br/>
You wonder what Sydney would have to say to that. <br/>
<br/>
Ah, but if you hogged all the girls for yourself, she'd have to take all the guys, and there's no way she'd like that.<br/>
<br/>
You glance back at your phone and do a double-take when you see that it's nearly ten. <i>Where are her texts?</i> you wonder. <i>Shouldn't she have texted that everything went off okay?</i><br/>
<br/>
A sudden fear grips you: What if she screwed up?<br/>
<br/>
So you text her: <i>hey hows things?<br/>
<br/>
Things are great,</i> she replies less than a minute later. But what does that mean?<br/>
<br/>
<i>did the thing go off okay?<br/>
<br/>
I think so. We'll talk about it tomorrow.</i><br/>
<br/>
Why is she putting you off?<br/>
<br/>
<i>no problems?<br/>
<br/>
We'll talk about it tomorrow, okay? You're sweet to worry but don't.</i><br/>
<br/>
Her words almost send you into a panic, but you force yourself to let it go. <i>Call me early i ll be up early.<br/>
<br/>
Will do luv u,</i> she texts back, and adds some hearts and kissing emojis.<br/>
<br/>
You allow yourself to feel a little relief. If she's sending texts like that, then Blake must not be with her.<br/>
<br/>
Or he's no longer himself.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Despite your intentions, you're not up early the next morning. It's nearly eleven before you pry your eyes open, and even after that you lie petrified atop your bed, your limbs feeling like you've been run hard and beaten harder. Your muscles strain and crack when finally push yourself onto your elbows, and you stumble and bump into the walls on your way to the shower.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe you dreamed about getting chased and beaten up by Blake.<br/>
<br/>
The shower at least wakes you up, though you still feel dead on your feet as you dress. You check your cell phone with a frown, and find no texts from Sydney, so you text her yourself.<br/>
<br/>
It's fifteen minutes before she replies, and then it's just to say that she'll meet you for lunch over at the elementary school around one.<br/>
<br/>
The weather is starting to turn, and the school basement is filled with a chilly, grimy miasma when you arrive, smelling of grease and cold metal. You do a little straightening up, then cut up some cardboard boxes that Sydney bought, and position them against the windows so that no one can see in. That also shuts out all the natural light, but she also brought an electric lantern.<br/>
<br/>
A little after one the door bangs open, and you whirl at the sound of a heavy tread on the wooden steps. "Hey man," Blake O'Brien says. He's hauling a couple of plastic sacks. "Got some stuff here for the project, and there's food out in the car."<br/>
<br/>
You swallow the blockage in your throat. <i>It's not really Blake,</i> you remind yourself. <i>It's the pedisequos.</i> "Did Sydney send you out shopping?"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Oh yeah." He drops the sacks on a table, and looks around the basement with his hands on his hips. "I remember this place now."<br/>
<br/>
He's dressed out like you'd expect him to be dressed out in fall weather, in shorts and a hoodie and a ball cap, which he pulls off his head and flaps out against the side of his brown and brawny leg. "Wha'd you do last night?" he asks as he pops the cap back on.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing. Goofed off. What, uh—?" You gulp. "What did you do?"<br/>
<br/>
"Had a date. You know." He cocks his head, and amusement shows in his dark eyes. "Fuck, man. You don't gotta be jealous. It's all over between her and me. She explained it all."<br/>
<br/>
A shiver runs through you. "Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
"Of course." His lips twitch.<br/>
<br/>
Then he steps forward, takes your face between his hands, and covers your mouth with his. "Glmph!" you shout at his tonsils.<br/>
<br/>
He releases you with a harsh laugh. "Oh, sweet Jesus, Will! If you could see your face! You are <i>adorable!</i>" He grins, and reaches for you. "Come on, you know it's coming now, let's try it again."<br/>
<br/>
"Glack!" You scramble over the table, putting it between you and him.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, come on! Don't you love me like this?" He leans across the table, a demonic smile enwreathing his face.<br/>
<br/>
It takes you a stupidly long time to make the deduction. "Gurk! Sydney?"<br/>
<br/>
"Took you long enough." He climbs onto the table. "Come on, let me convince you." He paws at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Stop it! What the fuck?"<br/>
<br/>
He stretches cat-like across the table, a come-hither expression on his face. "You're not getting past me, Will, not without—" He kisses his fingertips, and pushes them at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Just stop it! Jesus!" You try catching your breath. "When did—? Last night?" you gulp. "Did you <i>fucking switch places</i> with him when you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why do you keep asking me dumb questions, Will, when we could be making out?" He unzips his hoodie and rubs a meaty man-tittie.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You finally force Sydney to back off, and she tells you about her night. She was curious to try out Blake's mask, but as with Caleb's she found she couldn't get any memories from it. "So I just hung out with, well, me. Yeah, I was already dressed up like this when we texted."<br/>
<br/>
You gag at the thought of Blake O'Brien sending you hearts-and-kisses emojis.<br/>
<br/>
"Anyway, I went home when I figured it was safe to sneak in, and when I woke up this morning I had his memories, personality, everything. So here we are, step one."<br/>
<br/>
You suffer her to put strong arms around you, and to nuzzle your neck. "Now, who are going to get for you, Will?" she murmurs.<br/>
<br/>
Okay, so maybe she would go along with having mostly boys on her team.</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111123412
author_id: seuzz
title: Submerged Identities
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Sydney looks vastly amused when you ask if she's okay with letting Blake be one of her five.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, I'm actually digging this," she says as she stretches the limbs and back of her new body. "I went to the gym this morning and did Blake's workout." She flexes a hard bicep. "And fuck me, I actually got a boner while scoping myself out." She scoops you into the crook of her arm and smooches the side of your head; you nearly gag as the rangy sweat of teenage jock envelops you. "Now how about let's go get you a girl so we can go someplace and—" She nuzzles you hard.<br/>
<br/>
You twist inside her embrace. "So let's go <i>get</i> one," you gasp.<br/>
<br/>
"Cool. I was hoping you'd be up for a little sex swapping." She slaps your butt. "And I know just who I want you to be. Just let me, uh, get <i>me</i> out here"—she pulls out a cell phone while keeping you locked in an iron embrace—"and we'll set it up."<br/>
<br/>
"Do I get a say in who it's going to be?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, but you'll like her. Andrea Varnsworth."<br/>
<br/>
You freeze.<br/>
<br/>
Andrea Varnsworth is the captain of the swim team, a cool, aloof brunette with a body that's been sculpted by thousands of laps in the water. Her face is a little hard—and in the slant of her eyes one can almost glimpse a Cossack—but from the neck down she is probably the sexiest girl in the school. She flaunts it, too, without seeming to care or notice, by frequently attending school in short-shorts and halter tops.<br/>
<br/>
"Andrea, huh?" you croak. "Is she someone that Blake, uh ...?"<br/>
<br/>
"That Blake, uh, what?" Sydney gruffly demands as she concentrates on the phone.<br/>
<br/>
"Has he gone out with her before?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, but he'd love to. Fuck, wouldn't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, um, yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"Then you're gonna like being her. Right? Come on. Let's get the stuff made up, whatever we need so we can get out of here." She pulls at her nose. "Ol' Blakey doesn't mind the stink so much, but we're gonna get caught one of these days."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
A quick assembly line is all it takes. Cut the ingredients, mix them in a bowl, fire them over the sigil, pour it over the convex mirror. Repeat nine times. Another assembly line provides the basic memory strips; and you make up a bunch of sealant and golem goop. She whips you through the process, and she's already breaking things down and packing them up while you're still making up sealant.<br/>
<br/>
And she has time to do all that while checking her cell phone for messages from the fake-Sydney she left to occupy her place.<br/>
<br/>
"She's set up to meet Andrea out at the school at three," she reports at the end of a series of back-and-forth texts. "Shit, that doesn't give us much time. Especially with the other guys showing up."<br/>
<br/>
"What guys?"<br/>
<br/>
"The other swimmers."<br/>
<br/>
"A practice?"<br/>
<br/>
"I 'unno. But we need to meet her early, before they show up. Put some fuckin' hustle in it, Prescott!"<br/>
<br/>
You grimace. The stutter at her name now seems all that's left of Sydney herself; the rest is buried under Blake's personality.<br/>
<br/>
But his swaggering mastery is useful at the other end.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You drive out with her in a gigantic red pick-up truck that makes yours look like a toy, and park in the corner of the student lot near the gym. Blake points at a VW bug and a sedan. "Fuck, lookit that. Black and Patterson up in that loft of theirs, sucking each other off, I betcha. You know, we oughta look into getting access up there."<br/>
<br/>
"With masks?"<br/>
<br/>
"Whadj'a think I meant?"<br/>
<br/>
Your lips twist. "You wanna be Gordon?"<br/>
<br/>
"You wanna be Chelsea?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll settle for Andrea right now." <br/>
<br/>
Blake claps your thigh. "You're gonna like it, man. There's something, I dunno, <i>freeing</i> ... about getting into someone else's life." He stretches and grunts. "You can let loose stuff you didn't know you had in you."<br/>
<br/>
You give her a sidelong look. With her arms thrown over the back of the bench and her knees spread, it's like she's releasing a funk of testosterone into the truck cab. Originally you were worried that Sydney wouldn't want a mostly-boys lineup for her half of the Brotherhood. Then you were worried that she was being overwhelmed by Blake O'Brien's personality. Now you're starting to think that she <i>maneuvered</i> you into letting her take Blake's mask—and that she <i>wanted</i> Blake for one of her aliases all along.<br/>
<br/>
Because being a jock is letting her release "stuff she didn't know she had in her." But maybe she suspected she did.<br/>
<br/>
What will you find out about yourself when you're inside Andrea?<br/>
<br/>
The chance to find out comes almost before you're ready for it. "Hey, here she comes," Blake says, craning to watch something in the rearview mirror.<br/>
<br/>
You glance back. An old compact is prowling across the lot in your direction. "How do you know it's her?"<br/>
<br/>
"I know her car, man. Don't you? You don't ever lurk back here, scope out what cars which girls are driving?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sounds stalker-ish. Ow!" You nurse the spot on your thigh where Blake struck you.<br/>
<br/>
"She got here before Sydney," your very masculine girlfriend says, "but that's okay, 'cos we beat <i>her</i> here. Come on." He grabs up a plastic bag. "But let me take the lead. You hang back. Story is we're up here to shoot hoops or something, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"Or something," you mutter as you hop from the cab.<br/>
<br/>
You follow several paces behind as with a panther-like swagger Blake crosses over to Andrea's car and leans on it to tap at the window. "Hey, 'chuptoo?" he asks as the window comes down, and drops to his haunches. "Yeah, I heard there was some kind of party happening up here." The plastic bag rattles as he pulls the mask from it. "Thinking maybe you might wanna—"<br/>
<br/>
The mask flashes in the sunlight as he thrusts it through the window. The moment hangs, and then he beckons you to join him. <br/>
<br/>
"Go 'round and get in the passenger side," he says as he hands you the plastic sack. It contains a mask, a paint brush and a container of golem-making goop.<br/>
<br/>
You gulp, and on trembling knees scramble to the other side of the car. A musty smell envelops you as you slide in, and you are struck with the unaccountable thought that its owner doesn't keep her car vacuumed out.<br/>
<br/>
Andrea Varnsworth is slumped in the drivers' side seat, her face turned from you. She's wearing a purple, button-up shirt, open at the front to disclose a black, Lycra swimsuit, and lime-green short-shorts. Her long, brown legs are bare and unshod except for flip-flops. Blake ducks his head through the window and twitches back Andrea's collar to leer at her bust. Then he winks at you.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh Jesus,</i> you think as you look Andrea up and down. <i>In a few minutes that's going to be me!</i> You pull back her shirt for a closer look. A dragon's head—the Westside mascot—is emblazoned over the right breast of her one-piece swimsuit.<br/>
<br/>
Andrea is tall, almost as tall as most guys, but she's proportional as a girl throughout. Her hips, though slim, bulge outward; her stomach curves inward; her breasts would fit comfortably inside a loosely-cupped hand. Her neck is long and smooth, and her fingers—which are curled up in her lap—are tapering.<br/>
<br/>
"So there's the other me," Blake says, glancing over his shoulder. "I need to go talk to her. We'll keep watch out here, try to keep people off you until you've made the switch."<br/>
<br/>
You nod, and reach across Andrea's prone form to raise the driver's side window.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It seems to take forever for the mask to copy her; and yet you're surprised when it reappears on her face and falls into her lap. She gasps. Fortunately, you've already got the mask prepped—the one that contains a copy of yourself—and you quickly slam it onto her.<br/>
<br/>
The change registers instantly. Then you're looking not at Andrea, but at a straw-headed teenage boy with bony limbs. He sits up and does a double-take at you. "The fuck?" he says, staring.<br/>
<br/>
"Andrea?"<br/>
<br/>
"Andrea?" he echoes with a furrowed brow. Then he looks down. "Oh, fuck!"<br/>
<br/>
He scrambles backward but hits his head on the roof of the car. He gapes a moment, then gingerly touches himself. A glint shows in his eye when he looks back up at you, and his voice is filled with a hushed awe. "Andrea?" he says. "Are you telling me we got <i>Andrea Varnsworth</i> for the, uh—?" He swallows.<br/>
<br/>
You nod. "You're in her things. She's—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck!" He gropes himself. "You're saying that under here I'm—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, get out of her stuff." You're already kicking off your own shoes. "Before someone comes."<br/>
<br/>
Without seeming to notice what he's doing, he starts to strip. "Who's coming? Where are we?"<br/>
<br/>
"The school. There's a swim party."<br/>
<br/>
"Whoa! Do I get to come?"<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have a swimsuit."<br/>
<br/>
His face falls. "How come?"<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos I didn't think to bring one."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, if I run home and get it, can I—"<br/>
<br/>
"Strip!" you bark. <br/>
<br/>
He complies, then as he's putting your clothes on, you bend over Andrea's mask and apply a layer of golem-making goop to it. From your head you twitch a little hair and burn it into the blackened inner surface, turning it gray.<br/>
<br/>
That last step takes a minute or so to complete. When fake-Will whines again about joining the swim party, you tell him to go join Sydney and Blake. Then, after you've got the car to yourself, you slide over behind the wheel and pull Andrea's swimsuit over your legs and up and around your hips, torso and shoulders. It's a bad fit. But—<br/>
<br/>
You cradle her mask in your hand; her name floats in blue letters over the inner surface.<br/>
<br/>
—in a minute it will fit much better.</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221111111234121
author_id: seuzz
title: Swimming with Andrea
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You wake into consciousness as though breaching the surface of a pool. Light fills your mind, and the shadows of sleep run off you like rivulets. You draw down a deep breath and look around. You have the vague impression that you're not alone.<br/>
<br/>
The air of the cabin is musty and warm—the sun is beating down through the windshield—and you feel like you've woken from a very deep sleep. You grip the wheel and press back into the seat, stretching your legs. You frown at your hands: they seem small, and the wrists look delicate. You release the wheel and study your fingernails. They shine with a translucent polish. This strikes you as odd, for some reason.<br/>
<br/>
Then you notice that you're half-undressed. When did you take off your shirt and shorts? When did you kick off your flip-flops? You see that you're at the school, but you always wait until you're inside the natatorium before stripping down to your swimsuit.<br/>
<br/>
A movement outside catches your eye, and you flinch all over when you see Blake O'Brien swaggering toward you. There's a memory there, off to the side, behind your left eye, and if you can just find it—<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh God!</i><br/>
<br/>
Blake taps at the window. You dig the heels of your hands into your eyes, then drop them and push the button the sends the window down.<br/>
<br/>
"How's it goin' in there?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus." Your voice surprises you with its softness. "It's a mess, that's what it is."<br/>
<br/>
He frowns. "Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, you're gonna have to give me a minute to get used to this. It's like me and someone else in here and we're arguing about who we are."<br/>
<br/>
A faint light of alarm shows in Blake's eyes. "What do you mean? What's going on?"<br/>
<br/>
"What I said! It's like I'm still trying to figure out who I am. I mean, don't worry," you hastily add, "I know who I really am, uh, Sydney. But sorting stuff out, figuring out whose shit belongs to—"<br/>
<br/>
You feel a click of fear in your throat. <i>He's the one who did this to me!</i> you think as you stare at him. <br/>
<br/>
<i>No!</i> you remind yourself, <i>he's the one who </i>gave<i> this to me! And it's not even "him"!</i> You shiver with the aftershocks of the panic attack. "I'm trying to figure out which memories and stuff go with which person," you mumble.<br/>
<br/>
Blake's brow furrows. "You're already getting them? Whoa, that's great!"<br/>
<br/>
"I guess. But it's like getting kicked in the head." You glance over at Andrea's discarded clothes. "Maybe if I get back into the rest of my things—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, and maybe you should hurry up doing it." He glances over his shoulder. "Here's some more people showing up."<br/>
<br/>
You look past him, at the sedan that's flying toward you. That'll be Olivia. She'll have Jamie and a maybe a few other people with her.<br/>
<br/>
"You bring a swimsuit?" you ask Blake.<br/>
<br/>
"You know I didn't."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, take Will and Sydney and go home, or something. You can't hang out with us if you're not in the pool."<br/>
<br/>
Blake grunts. "Am I gonna see you tonight?"<br/>
<br/>
"I thought you had to work at the Warehouse."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. But I've seen Andrea out there."<br/>
<br/>
"Mm. We'll have to see. Who's playing?"<br/>
<br/>
"Los Scorchicos." He makes a face.<br/>
<br/>
Your heart is still beating hard, though it's slowing down. "Well, we'll see. I have to get back into my things. I'll talk to you later. Look for my text."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't worry about that, babe." He leans in through the window, but you push him back, and he makes a wry face as you roll the window back up.<br/>
<br/>
It takes maybe ten seconds for you to get back into the rest of Andrea's things, but even then you sit and watch in the rearview mirror as Blake saunters over to the just-arrived sedan. He holds open the passenger-side door for Jamie Bornholm. She flashes him a wide smile.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Yeah,</i> you think a little sulkily, <i>she's totally the type who'd be into him.</i><br/>
<br/>
Then you think, <i>That could be useful.</i> You study Jamie. She has a big nose on a long face—she's been compared unkindly to a sea horse—and straight brunette hair that falls directly to the top of her shoulders. Would you like to be her? Maybe Sydney would. She's very silly, but she's popular, and gossip has it she's been with lots of guys.<br/>
<br/>
You flinch, and with a start you realize it is you and Andrea both flinching. And who has Andrea been with? You tense as you fall back into her memories, letting them run over you like a waterfall.<br/>
<br/>
None that count.<br/>
<br/>
Before you can skim more deeply into her memories, you catch Jamie smiling over at you. <i>Time to see if you can do this,</i> you tell yourself. You pull the keys from the ignition, tuck them into your workout bag, and get out of the car.<br/>
<br/>
Sunlight drenches your naked limbs.<br/>
<br/>
"Come on!" you call to the girls—Olivia and Jamie and Christine Coolidge. Also Matthew Adams, who is a sophomore member of the swim team, and who is soft enough and pretty enough to count as a girl, and who flirts hard with them.<br/>
<br/>
Jamie dimples up at Blake and says something. He shrugs. She giggles at him, and glances over at you. "Can Blake get in the pool with us?" she calls. "He doesn't have swimsuit."<br/>
<br/>
"Then no he can't," you call back.<br/>
<br/>
"Can he come in and hang out?"<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head and turn away, but not before you see the pinched look in her eyes. "See you guys later," Blake calls out, but you ignore him, even though he's probably waving at you.<br/>
<br/>
It's what Andrea would do.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But you put aside all thoughts of Sydney and the Brotherhood once you're inside the natatorium, in order to <i>more fully be</i> Andrea Varnsworth. It's not all that hard, not with the members of the swim team she captains. Mostly it involves keeping your mouth shut, speaking only when directly spoken to (which isn't very often), and quietly directing them on what you expect of them—orders which are followed with all apparent meekness.<br/>
<br/>
These Saturday afternoon swim sessions are not part of regular practice, and not everyone turns out for them. Not even the best swimmers on the team, like Nathan Cruz, turn out for them. They simply started out as something Andrea did alone, for herself. She has a key to the natatorium—all the squad captains have a key to whatever building is germane to their sport—and from the end of summer she would come up to the school on weekend mornings to swim by herself. Word got out that that's what she was doing, and first one girl—Olivia—and then others, and then some of the guys and even some of the underclassmen, began to join her.<br/>
<br/>
You're first into the water, and after ten laps you pause to watch the crowd that's gathered at the other end. Then you dive back under, to smother their echoing babble. You'd love to tell them all to get the hell out, and leave the pool to you, the way it was at the start of the semester.<br/>
<br/>
And it's not even the good members of the team who show up. It's the partygoers (Jamie and Christine) and the suck-ups (Olivia and Rachel Burton and Heaven Granberry) and the guys who like to hang out with the partygoers and the suck-ups (Matthew and Isaiah Lee). No wonder Jamie thought she could talk you into letting Blake hang out poolside. As far as she's concerned, it <i>is</i> a Saturday-afternoon pool party.<br/>
<br/>
The only one who seems to take it as seriously as Andrea—who does as many laps and who steers clear of the others—is Ethan Brown, who is probably the best swimmer on the team only after Andrea herself. Here's not here today, though, which is lucky, for he usually arrives before Andrea and is waiting for her, so you were running a real risk in trying to ambush Andrea when you did.<br/>
<br/>
The others have noticed his absence, too. "Where's Ethan this morning?" Christine asks when you're resting nearby, clutching the side of the pool. You made the mistake of surfacing near where she's sitting with her phone in her hands. It takes you a moment to realize she's talking to you. You shrug.<br/>
<br/>
"I thought maybe you'd know," she says. "He didn't text you, tell you he wouldn't be here?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Why would he?"<br/>
<br/>
"I just thought he'd like to keep you posted." Her lips twist into a mockery of a smile. "You're both always up here early together." Her eyes glint with meaning.<br/>
<br/>
You push away, flip backwards to dive to the bottom of the pool, then swim to the furthest corner before breaching the surface again. Your limbs are sore and a little numb, but you throw yourself back into another lap.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Yes, Andrea is always up at the pool early, and she stays late as well. So you swim for another hour after everyone else has gone, exhausting and delighting yourself, and you sprawl out poolside when you're finally done. You're still at the school when you get a text from Blake: <i>can i stop by ur house?</i><br/>
<br/>
That would be great, except Andrea's mom will be home, and Andrea herself tends to get drop-by company, so it wouldn't be the two of you alone. You explain this when you counter with a proposal to meet someplace else.<br/>
<br/>
<i>is ur mom a milf?</i> he texts back. <i>maybe copy her n sm of ur frends?</i><br/>
<br/>
Centering the Brotherhood on Andrea's friends? That is an idea. <br/>
<br/>
And yes, Andrea's mom is a MILF.</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112341211
author_id: seuzz
title: Green Meanies
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Blake is waiting for you out front when you arrive at Freezin' Squeeze, the juice bar you suggested as a meeting place. His eyes crinkle up when he sees you, and he puts out his hand to catch you around the waist.<br/>
<br/>
But you squirm away. "I wish you wouldn't do that," you tell him as you dance around him to the door.<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong?" he asks, sounding hurt. "I thought when we got these masks it was so we could—"<br/>
<br/>
"We can, but not here, not out where anyone can see us." Anxiously, you glance up and down the street. Not that you'd be able to spot anyone. They'd be in a car, and they'd be gone now. "We're going to order separately when we get inside," you tell him as you pull the door open, "and when we sit down, it's going to be like we just, you know, casually ran into each other."<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't bother to hide his disappointment.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Once you've got your drinks you take a seat in a corner away from the plate glass windows. Blake swallows half of his blueberry smoothie with a satisfied pant, then smirks as you sip demurely from your "Green Meanie" (a blend of kale, spinach, romaine, parsley, cucumber, celery and lime).<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus," he groans, "I'm having a blast imagining you pretending to like that shit. It's gotta be like drinking grass clippings."<br/>
<br/>
"Who says I'm pretending to like it?" In actuality, it is a bit much to swallow. You suppose you've got Andrea's palate now, so you don't choke; but you are conscious that it's a weird choice for someone who is still "Will Prescott" somewhere down inside. "But what's the plan? You sound like you've got a real hard-on for one of my friends."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I've got a hard-on for someone, alright. You know I've got work tonight. You coming out?" His Adam's apple bobbles. "Love to see you out there."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll think about it."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, come on out with me when we get done here. We can go upstairs and—" A dark flush runs up the side of his neck, and he stares at you hungrily.<br/>
<br/>
"I said I'd think about it. But right now," you continue as he groans, "you want to talk about who we're going to add next?"<br/>
<br/>
He makes a face and falls back in his chair. "Don't you want to have some fun with Andrea and ol' Blakey first?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. I'm in no hurry." You sip your juice. "But it sounded like you were."<br/>
<br/>
"When did it sound like I was in a hurry to add more people? If anything, I'm in a hurry to—"<br/>
<br/>
"Will you stop talking about the raging boner I'm giving you under the table? Jesus. You might as well take it out and wave it in my face."<br/>
<br/>
His grimace deepens. "If you don't like it, help me get rid of it. We need to go to your place anyway."<br/>
<br/>
"I told you to stop it. And we can't—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not talking about that!" he hollers, then catches himself. "We need to go to your place so we can open a portal."<br/>
<br/>
"A portal?" you echo.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes." He looks around, then leans over the table. "For the Brotherhood," he murmurs. "Every brother needs to have a portal inside their house. For—" He glances around again. "For Baphomet."<br/>
<br/>
A shiver runs through you. "What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll explain as I make it. In your bedroom, preferably. In your closet or someplace like that," he adds with ill-humor. "I brought the tools we need."<br/>
<br/>
You regard him doubtfully. "And what happens when we make it? Does, uh, something come through it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that's a question, isn't it?" He sits back. "I mean, it's not going to actually open a hole in the wall and let a bunch of screaming meemies or whatever out. But you have to make a portal if you're gonna <i>open yourself</i> to the influence."<br/>
<br/>
You take a long, deep drink from your cup.<br/>
<br/>
"You're not chickening out on me, are you, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
"No." <i>Maybe,</i> you inwardly confess. A sick feeling is spreading out from your gut and into your limbs.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I need to come over so I can—"<br/>
<br/>
"It can't be tonight. My mom's home right now, and a bunch of people will probably be showing up later. Besides—" You rub your arm. "Can I have a day and a night at least to get used to this ... new situation?"<br/>
<br/>
His mouth twitches into half a smile. "Sure. But if I can't come over to your place to help you get used to it, can you at least come out to the Warehouse to see me tonight?"<br/>
<br/>
You already know that the answer is going to be no. Apparently the answer is easy to read in your expression when you reply, "I told you, we'll see," because his expression falls.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
If she didn't have Blake's work to cover for, you'd go off with Sydney in a heartbeat, and as you part outside Freezin' Squeeze, you almost scamper off after her, to grab her by the arm and tell her that you will come out to see her tonight.<br/>
<br/>
But he works at the Warehouse, and there are two people pretty close to you who wouldn't want to go out there: Andrea Varnsworth and Will Prescott.<br/>
<br/>
Andrea's got friends who go out there all the time, and two of them—Jelena Petrovic and Sienna Goldman—play in bands that perform there, and when they're playing she will allow herself to be taken out. But she prefers to stay backstage when she's there, and she hardly ever goes out unless it's to see and hang out with her friends. The Warehouse—the city's most dangerous party spot; it's an unlicensed dance and music club where only high school students get to hang out—reeks of alcohol, weed, sweat, and semen, and everyone who goes there is either looking to get laid or assumes that everyone else there is looking to get laid between vodka shots, fist fights, and dance sets. Andrea gets enough of that kind of attention at school.<br/>
<br/>
And Will Prescott has never been out there. If he's too chicken-shit to go out in his own skin, he's even more reluctant to go out in Andrea's.<br/>
<br/>
So you go home.<br/>
<br/>
Andrea lives in a part of town that hovers just between being cheap and being "government lower-class housing." The house is small and huddles up close to its neighbors; the porch is warped; but it is freshly painted and the front yard is tidy, for Andrea and her mom make a point of keeping up appearances as best they can.<br/>
<br/>
Her mom is on her way out the door as you walk in. "I left a frozen meal out for you, hon," she says as finishes packing her purse. You nod and study her quietly while trying not to stare. She's like a slightly older and bouncier version of her daughter. She is dressed in a crisp white blouse and black trousers; her brunette hair is pulled back in a braid and she wears a red bow tie. It's the uniform of the chief waitress and co-manager of Restaurante Locarno, the highest-class eatery in the city. "You gonna have friends over?" she asks, and looks up with a harried expression.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. Someone might show up."<br/>
<br/>
"No boys," she says. "You know the rules. No boys, unless they're really cute and will give me beautiful grandchildren." She gives you a quick, mischievous smile as she strides past you and out the door.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Not likely,</i> you think as you lock the door behind her. Andrea's mother was only sixteen when she gave birth to Andrea; her father dropped out and disappeared while Andrea was still a baby; growing up with a single mother has not instilled in Andrea a desire to follow that path.<br/>
<br/>
You kick off your flip-flops and pad into the kitchen. The frozen dinner is an organic Thai meal of soy, basil, and vegetables. You sniff as you look at it: Andrea's mother taught her to eat local, organic, and healthy, and she taught Andrea to be better at it than she was. But she left it out for you, so you soak the box a sink of warm water to hasten its defrosting. Then you return to the living room, where you do your best to lose yourself in one of the fantasy paperbacks that Andrea's mom buys, reads, and sells back to the used bookstore.<br/>
<br/>
You hardly see the words.<br/>
<br/>
Instead, you worry over the talk that you and Sydney had before parting:<br/>
<br/>
<i>How about Andrea's friends?</i> she'd said. <i>If I can't come over because they'll be at her place, how about we turn them into our Brotherhood, turn her house into our headquarters? Then I, then Blake, can come out whenever he wants.<br/>
<br/>
Or how about the swim team? If they're up at the school every weekend, how about we turn them into our Brotherhood? If we turned the swim team, or even just most of them, into our Brotherhood, they could all hang out and it wouldn't look weird.<br/>
<br/>
Even if we don't turn the whole swim team into the Brotherhood, we could probably find some good candidates there. Tell me who you like on the team.<br/>
<br/>
That kid with the frosted hair, what's his name? Really, he's a sophomore? Hey, what about making our Brotherhood down there, in the sophomore or freshman class? No one would expect kids like that to be organized into a Brotherhood.<br/>
<br/>
Okay, sure, I guess no one expects any high schools kids to be a Brotherhood. And between Blake and Andrea, I bet we could get anyone!</i></span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111124
author_id: seuzz
title: Revenge Play
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I don't care," you tell Sydney. "Random guys, I don't care who. As long as we get it done this weekend. Tomorrow would be soon enough."<br/>
<br/>
There's a pause. "What's wrong, Will?" Sydney asks.<br/>
<br/>
You fight to hold it back. But your heart will burst if you don't tell her, so you let it spill out. "Some of Blake's friends hauled me out to the portables today, during sixth period."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
And you tell her what happened. What got said, why it happened, and how it's probably not going to stop. <i>Oh Jesus,</i> she gasps a couple of times. <i>Oh God. Oh Will!</i> "It'll be okay," you tell her when you're done, "just as long as I get someplace else. Someplace they won't know who I am."<br/>
<br/>
"So where do you want to hide?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't want to hide," you growl through gritted teeth.<br/>
<br/>
"So don't hide," she says. "Fuck 'em over, like we did to Nicholas."<br/>
<br/>
"You mean—?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's obvious, Will. The best way to fuck 'em over, to get back at them, is <i>as</i> one of them."<br/>
<br/>
You talk it over a little more, but she doesn't have to explain it further. You had the same thought. You even explain to her that you wouldn't have to replace all of them with doppelgangers, as she suggests. ("We need to fill out the Brotherhood anyway.") Just turn yourself into one of them ... and start tearing at friendships from the inside.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Sydney picks you up early the next morning. You tell her you've thought some more about what you talked about, and you want to do it. But you want to start by making just one replacement, and see how things go from there. She tells you that the decision is totally up to you, but she does ask for the names of the guys who hauled you outside. "I want to know who they are."<br/>
<br/>
You've parted with Sydney in front of the gym—she has a P.E. class first thing—and are nearing your locker when again strong hands are laid on you. You're thrust through the crowd, and a punch to a kidney slams you face first into a locker. Your knees buckle, but the hand supports you as you're wrenched around. You sphincter loosens to find David Kirkham grinning into your face.<br/>
<br/>
Kirkham is a little smaller than you, but he's compact and strong. He rolls the ever-present toothpick about in his mouth beneath the ever-present shades.<br/>
<br/>
He puts his face close to yours so that he can make himself heard without lifting his voice over the mutter of the crowd.<br/>
<br/>
"I hear you're getting fucked these days, Prescott." His voice is soft, but there's a hard rattle in it, like the scales of a serpent sliding over stone. "Wanna tell me about it?"<br/>
<br/>
Your shoulders rise in a weak shrug. It's never a good idea to talk back to David Kirkham—one of the most fearsome bullies at Westside—but it's an even worse idea to say or do nothing when he address you.<br/>
<br/>
"You're not sure?" His grin widens. "What kind of a pussy-sniffer doesn't know if he's getting fucked?"<br/>
<br/>
Now you just swallow. <br/>
<br/>
"I'm going to do you a favor, Prescott," he hisses. "I'm going to <i>ride</i> you." He tightens his grip on your collar. "I've seen that girl that you don't know if you're fucking or not. Oooh! If I was with her, she's know she was getting fucked. I'd fuck her into a coma then fuck her back out of it. But I was saying I'm gonna do you a solid."<br/>
<br/>
He puts his face so close to yours you can smell the cinnamon on his breath. <br/>
<br/>
"Starting Monday I'm gonna fuck you up every day, in front of her. Give you a chance to prove to her that you got balls big enough for her. You got balls big enough for her, don't you? She <i>inspires</i> you, doesn't she?" He punches you again. "So I'm gonna let you <i>show</i> her how much she inspires you. And as an <i>extra</i> favor, 'cos I like you so much, I won't pull any my punches."<br/>
<br/>
He drops you, and sniggers as he pats your chest. "So get ready for a good show on Monday, Prescott. Play it like your life depends on it." With another hissing laugh, he melts back into the crowd.<br/>
<br/>
You run into the nearest bathroom and throw up.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You can't say anything to Caleb in first period about your run-in with Kirkham. Not that Caleb could do anything about it except grumble sympathetically. But telling him would involve telling him about your new relationship with Sydney, and you've yet to figure out a way of breaking that to him.<br/>
<br/>
But you don't even get to have a normal conversation with him. He is very white in the face, and when you greet him he just folds his arms and stares at the front of the room with glittering eyes. "Caleb," you say. "Caleb, man, come on!" Even when you wave your hand in front of his face he just turns the color of Antarctica and stares straight ahead.<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck is the matter with Johansson?" you ask Keith when you fall into the desk in front of his in second period. "The son of a bitch went all last period ignoring me."<br/>
<br/>
"It's pro'ly on account of your being such a backstabbing asshole," Tilley replies. He leans back, turns his cap brim-side front, and pulls it down over his eyes. "Can't say I blame him," he adds as he lifts his cell phone to block his view of you.<br/>
<br/>
"What are you talking about?" But with a sinking heart you can make a pretty good guess.<br/>
<br/>
"What you think I'm a'talk about? What's her name? Girl wanted to get to know Caleb only you got to her first?"<br/>
<br/>
You grip your desk and glare. "What are you talking about?" you repeat.<br/>
<br/>
"You know exactly what I'm'a talk about, motherfucker. Girl comes on to Caleb, you sling a lot of shit at him so he don't come back at her, you pick her up and walk off with her instead. Not fucking cool, man." He shakes his head and clucks his tongue. "Not fucking cool."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, first of all, who told you some girl was coming on to Caleb? And second, what makes you think I'm—"<br/>
<br/>
But the words falter and die. You've never been good at bluffing. Obviously Caleb would have told Keith about Sydney, and about how you talked him into ignoring her; and just as obviously word must have spread back to the two of them that you and her had started going out.<br/>
<br/>
"I tell you one more thing," Keith says, "and then I start talkin' to you like you was a wall. As in, I ain't talkin' to you ever again." You can't help rolling your eyes at Keith's attempt to sound "ghetto." "You better go lookin' for some new friends, 'cos you ain't findin' none where you been findin' 'em b'fore. An' that includes Carson and James." He whistles. "Ain't no one cool wit' what you done to Caleb. You gonna find 'em all <i>cold.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Well, who gives a shit about Caleb and Keith and the rest of those jackwads anyway? You were going to swap places with someone else at school and then they weren't going to be your friends anymore anyway.<br/>
<br/>
And who gives a shit about David Kirkham? Let him torment the <i>pedisequos</i> you leave behind. With a new body—and with a "Brotherhood of Baphomet" behind you—you can fuck him up good.<br/>
<br/>
You spend the rest of the day—which is at least free of any more drama; even James Bridges, who has fourth period with you, ignores you—pondering which of the assholes to make your bitch. By the time Sydney appears at the end of her post-class gymnastics class, you've narrowed it down to four choices.<br/>
<br/>
The first is James Bridges, who appears to be one of Blake's friends. That would be the best spot to strike at O'Brien from. The second is Dylan Lloyd, the grinning psycho who took the lead humiliating you yesterday.<br/>
<br/>
Your third and fourth choices, though, are a little eccentric. One is Steve Patterson, the guy who sort of rescued you. Steve is the alphaest of the alpha bullies, and probably second only to the hulking Gordon Black in the school's pecking order. All by himself, after all, he daunted six guys into letting you go. As Patterson, you'd have nothing to fear, and you'd be able to give O'Brien's friends plenty to worry about, especially Lloyd and Shuler, who are on the basketball team with him. Patterson also has a reputation as a Triple-A poon hound.<br/>
<br/>
The last is a kind of Patterson equivalent: Erik Carstairs. Erik is on the football squad with O'Brien and Bridges, and he seems to be the alpha on the team. At least, the impression you have from talk is that he basically runs the team even though he's not team captain. Just as Patterson could terrorize Lloyd and Shuler, Carstairs (maybe) could terrorize O'Brien, Bridges, Nelson, and their friends.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not going to tell you who you should pick," Sydney says as you drive off together. "But I'm going to give you four names, and you think about who would go good with whoever you're picking." She rattles off some names, but you're too confused to pay close attention. <i>Say again what I'm supposed to do?</i> you ask her.<br/>
<br/>
"Kelsey Blankenship. Kim Walsh. Catherine Muskov. Deanna Showalter," she says. "I want to put one of them together with each of the guys you pick. You know, for—" She tickles your thigh. "So, think about who would go good with who. But it's totally your decision."</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122112
author_id: seuzz
id: QC785WWFW
title: Picking a Warlock
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>Sydney still has gymnastics practice to attend, so after going off campus for a bite to eat you return to wait for her in the parking lot. She smiles at you when she comes out, all the way over on her long trek from the gym to your truck. "Are we doing something now?" she asks when she's at your window.<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe. Braydon Delp? You remember me asking you about him?" She shakes her head. "Guy who's into the occult?"<br/>
<br/>
She gives a little shrug. "Yeah, what about him?"<br/>
<br/>
"I was thinking that if we want an extra mask around, we could get a mask of him."<br/>
<br/>
Now she winces. <br/>
<br/>
"That's a little on the nose, isn't it, Will?" she says. In a teasing voice, she adds, "You're not worrying about the 'muscle' I was telling you about, are you? Not feeling a little jealous?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Because I haven't been encouraging him."<br/>
<br/>
"Encouraging him?" you echo, and your heart moves sideways in your chest. "This guy's been <i>chasing</i> you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. Since the start of school. You're not shocked, are you?" She steps back from the truck to give you a full view of her figure. You groan inwardly.<br/>
<br/>
Her face glows with health. Her blonde hair cascades in golden sheets. Her pedestal-like neck is taut and graceful. Her skimpy t-shirt drapes over her shelf-like bust and her short-shorts show off long, strong, bronzed legs baer from mid-thigh to her ankles.<br/>
<br/>
"Well—" You gulp down the squeak that has infected your voice. "I was thinking Delp because, sure, he's on the nose but, you know, he seems to know something about this stuff, and even if he's not— not the expert that your, uh, dad was— that you are— Um." You chew your lip as you stare her up and down with watering eyes. "Every little bit he knows could help?"<br/>
<br/>
She shrugs. "Whatever, Will. Just don't ask me to flirt with him. Because I don't even like flirting with <i>Blake.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>I don't even like flirting with Blake.</i> You didn't query the confession, but you gnaw on it all the way home. Was that the guy she wasn't "encouraging"? And did she mean that she was flirting with him, only she didn't like it? Or was it just a clumsy way of saying that she didn't like the idea of flirting with him so she hadn't been?<br/>
<br/>
And why are you feeling so jealous?<br/>
<br/>
<i>Because I want Sydney to be my girlfriend. Dur!</i> you chide yourself.<br/>
<br/>
But you put it out of your mind (as best you can, which isn't very successful) after you're home and laying plans for Braydon.<br/>
<br/>
He's not very helpful in arranging his ambush. After texting around to various acquaintances, and acquaintances of acquaintances, to get his contact info, you reach him by text only to learn that he's hip deep in adventuringing. <i>Lol,</i> he informs you, <i>i just killed a quest mate.</i> He's at King Kong Komics, he goes on to inform you, RPGing with Christian and his friends. When you ask if you can meet later, he only says, <i>talk later.</i><br/>
<br/>
You're done with your homework and are eating dinner when you get another reply from him: <i>meet besandwitched at 7?</i> It's nearly that hour now, but he agrees to linger till eight, and you hustle down to meet him after helping clean up. <br/>
<br/>
You stop short in the doorway of the sandwich shop, though, when you spot him, for he isn't alone. There's a girl with him, sitting on his side of the booth and pressed up close to him. Her coffee-dark hair is cut back in a short bob, and she glints at you with bright eyes and a chipmunk smile as you approach. Braydon himself looks very tired even as he slurps from a coffee cup.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Will," he sighs, and his eyes droop with disappointment as you drop into seat opposite him. "So what's up?"<br/>
<br/>
"Um," you say, and look at the girl. She only smiles toothily at you while Braydon leans his hand in his chin and shows you big eyes filled with boredom and pain.<br/>
<br/>
"I, uh, wanted to talk to you some more about the, uh, stuff we were talking about earlier today."<br/>
<br/>
He cringes. "Baphomet?" He breathes out the word as though it's covered in thorns and so is painful even to say.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, kind of. I was asking about it because of these." You push drop the notebooks you brought in front of him, and he wrinkles his nose as you open up one of them. "They seem like notes and, uh, stuff from a secret society that's into it. Baphomet, I mean. A 'brotherhood of Baphomet'."<br/>
<br/>
He peers down at the page. "Uh huh?"<br/>
<br/>
"So I was wondering if maybe it was legit."<br/>
<br/>
The girl rest her own chin in her hand, hiding a smile behind her fist, and glances between Braydon, the open notebook, and you. Mostly she seems to be staring at you, and the longer she stares the more embarrassed you feel. She's also dressed in dark clothes, like Braydon, but her eye is so bright and her skin so clear that the clothes only accent the luminous glow that comes off her. <i>She's like the quarter Moon,</i> you decide. Mostly eclipsed but naturally bright; clothed in black to accentuate her brightness, not to cloak it.<br/>
<br/>
Braydon sighs a couple of times as he flips pages. "Handwriting's hard to read," he grunts. Then, a few minutes later. "It's all just stuff someone jotted down, isn't it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah." That was the impression you got: Sydney's dad, while still learning his occult stuff, was writing notes to himself, which he would go back and add onto when he learned some more.<br/>
<br/>
"Where'd you get them?"<br/>
<br/>
"Um ... A friend showed them to me."<br/>
<br/>
"Who? Johansson?"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? No!"<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos I heard he's gone off the deep end."<br/>
<br/>
Firmly: "It's not Caleb. Just somebody I met recently."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God," the girl says. Her voice is low, but it bubbles with mischief. "It's not Sydney McGlynn, is it?"<br/>
<br/>
You almost fall out of the booth. "What?" you ask with boggling eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"Is it?" Her eyes glint, and her teeth show behind her knuckles.<br/>
<br/>
"I—! What makes you think it's Sydney?"<br/>
<br/>
"It is, Will!" she exclaims, and her eyes pop. "The new girl you've started hanging out with!"<br/>
<br/>
You don't know which is more shocking, that this girl knows you've been hanging out with Sydney, that she's guessed who gave you the notebooks, or that she knows your name when you don't even know hers. Your jaw hangs open for what feels like a couple of years before you summon up the strength to faintly stammer, "What have you, been watching me?"<br/>
<br/>
She bursts into giggles, and Braydon gives her a look. "I've just noticed," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Noticed what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Is there anything going on between you?" she asks. "Anything except—" She bites down hard on her lower lip, to suppress a laugh. "Except Baphomet?"<br/>
<br/>
"We're just studying together!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not Baphomet stuff!" Your face is burning.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, what classes do you have together?"<br/>
<br/>
"Um ... Okay, none. But she's tutoring me in math! In calculus," you add in a stammer.<br/>
<br/>
The twinkle in her eye deepens.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, don't let her get away with thinking that's all your interested in, Will!" she says. "Her mad math skillz. You need to re— reciprocate. Reciprocate, right?" She nudges Braydon. "That's a math thing, isn't it? Reciprocate?"<br/>
<br/>
"Reciprocals," he murmurs back, then looks up at you. "Where did your friend find these?"<br/>
<br/>
"Um ... I don't know? They just gave them to me, thought maybe I'd be, uh, interested."<br/>
<br/>
Braydon's eyebrows go up. "Why would <i>you</i> be interested in them?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," you mumble. "I guess maybe I was saying something to them about—" You duck your head so you won't notice the way the girl scrunches up her nose in amusement every time you say "they" instead of "she." "About doing an RPG thing. You know." You shrug. "Material for a campaign."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, if you're not interested in them, I'll take them off you."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Shit!</i> "Uh, they're not mine to— What I mean is, she— They—" You glare at the girl, who has burst into giggles. "They loaned them to me, that's all."<br/>
<br/>
"You can say 'she', Will," Braydon sighs. "Gillian's not going to stop laughing until you do."<br/>
<br/>
"Fine. She— <i>And I'll let you think it's Sydney, okay?"</i> you shout at the girl. "That way you won't guess who it really is!"<br/>
<br/>
Gillian almost falls under the table with breathless laughter.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, she didn't <i>give</i> them to me, she only lent them. But—"<br/>
<br/>
You've been wondering all this time how you'd get Braydon off alone to copy into a mask, and now that you see it, you seize it. "But if you want to talk to he, we can go see her right now." You start to get up. "I'm supposed to meet up with her anyway."<br/>
<br/>
Braydon stares, then with a shrug gets up too. Gillian hops up excitedly to join him.<br/>
<br/>
But you glare at her with your hands on your hips. When it finally dawns on her that you're trying to shake her off, her smile turns to a frown. "Will!"<br/>
<br/>
"It's kind of a private thing, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"Will!"<br/>
<br/>
"Gillian," Braydon says. He turns and puts his face into hers. He murmurs while she glowers, and after an awkward moment you mutter something about "waiting outside" and stalk out the door.<br/>
<br/>
Braydon joins you a minute later. "I wish you wouldn't make my life so hard, man," he sighs. "You'll have to take me home now. Gillian was driving."<br/>
<br/>
But that just makes it all kinds of convenient, doesn't it?<span class="fngigffkflk3610"></span></span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122113
author_id: seuzz
id: QW92YKK7X
title: The Wicked Stepfather
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span><i>dont need musle for tnite,</i> you text Sydney back.<br/>
<br/>
She replies: <i>What if we need more dirt?</i><br/>
<br/>
You make a face. <i>talk after school.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Sydney has gymnastics practice after school, and you text her to say you'll wait for her in the library. You try to concentrate on your homework, but you're distracted by a group of kids huddled at a nearby table.<br/>
<br/>
They look like freshmen or sophomores—fresh faces and squirrel-bright eyes. The guys are in hoodies and distressed jeans; the girls in skimpy tops and shorts. Most of them have their cell phones out, and they're not making a lot of noise, except occasionally to lean over to whisper at a neighbor. A couple of times a girl will gasp aloud and roll her eyes before bending over her phone to tap at it furiously. Only once does a real conversation break out, but the three girls hiss it so furiously at each other that you can only make out a few words: <i>bitch</i> and <i>party</i> and <i>tear her face off.</i><br/>
<br/>
You're not sure why they fascinate you, except for the sense that they are existing in two unconnected worlds: the physical space of the library, and whatever secret online spaces they are actually talking to and through.<br/>
<br/>
<i>There's what's here in front of me, and there's the world inside their phones. Here they're students in a school library. But in there, what are they?</i><br/>
<br/>
Undoubtedly they're just teenagers doing the same kind of teenage things as you. But your recent experience with fakes has given you a kind of second-sight. Or, at least, the knowledge that a second-sight might reveal unsuspected layers of reality.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Those kids might not even be kids. Just as who they are online might be different from who they are here, who they are here—in the library—might be very different from who they are ... really.</i><br/>
<br/>
It gives you a cold shiver.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div> <br/>
So you're not too deep into your homework when Sydney, glowing with a healthy exuberance, bursts into the library. "Hey babe," she says, and leans over to kiss you on the cheek.<br/>
<br/>
You jump back a little, and she grins.  "Did I surprise you?"<br/>
<br/>
"<i>G'yung?"</i><br/>
<br/>
"Didn't you like the way I said hello?" Sydney drops into a chair and seizes your knee. "I've been dying to try it out on you!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oof!" is all you can say as your hair rises on its ends. She titters.<br/>
<br/>
"You got something to say to me?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Um?" <br/>
<br/>
"About the 'muscle' we were talking about."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Um—"<br/>
<br/>
"Because I'm wide open for anything."<br/>
<br/>
Your guts freeze. Her eyes are bright and her grin wide, and she looks like she's just begging to be flirted with. <i>Flirted with?</i> She looks like she's dying for you to push her over, pry her open, and go to town on her.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not trying to put you on the spot, Will. I'm just asking about your 'muscle' idea."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh." You wince as disappointment rises to swallow your guts. "That's all you want to talk about?"<br/>
<br/>
She puts her face next to yours. <br/>
<br/>
"You are so adorable, Will, and I will talk about anything you want to talk about."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
After all that, the actual talk is pretty anticlimactic. Basically, you tell her that you like her idea for ambushing her stepdad with pretended car trouble, and if you do it that way you won't need "muscle," and if you need to dig up dirt, you've got that mask of Caleb you can put on the golem.<br/>
<br/>
She says she's fine with that, and she's really glad that you stayed behind after school to explain your thinking, and that if you've got the stuff to copy her stepdad already is there any reason not to do it tonight? You feel yourself in a dream-trance as you tell her that would be fine, and that you've got a fresh mask at home. She's already got the mind-band that she used on him.<br/>
<br/>
You walk out of the school together, touching hips but nothing more, and after she drives away you spend a couple of minutes gathering up your attention so you won't distractedly throw your truck through any storefronts on the drive home.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>That night.</i> You and Sydney are waiting at the old elementary school, leaning against her SUV, when headlamps sweep up and a luxury sedan pulls up next to you. <br/>
<br/>
A man gets out. "So what happened?" he brusquely demands.<br/>
<br/>
You cast a startled look at Sydney: Even in the dark, the guy is far from the middle-aged "Dad" that you were expecting.<br/>
<br/>
His hair is long and thick, for a start, and hangs to his shoulders. He sports a scruffy beard. Though you can't make out his features, your first guess is that he can't be more than twenty-eight years old.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," Sydney tells him. "We can't get it to start." She gestures at the hood, which is already propped open. The engine is illuminated by a flashlight balanced on the edge of the compartment.<br/>
<br/>
Nicholas Lawhorn grunts and walks over to it. "Try turning it over," he orders Sydney. <br/>
<br/>
She hands you the mask, then clambers into the SUV cab. "Ready?" she calls as he bends over the engine.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, any time," he growls back.<br/>
<br/>
The motor churns for half a second, then catches. You walk up beside Lawhorn as Sydney races it. Her stepdad straightens up. "So what's the—?"<br/>
<br/>
It's like an out-of-body experience. Your arms and hands are numb as you smash the mask into the side of his face. He wheels and topples, flopping onto the ground. You hunch over him. The mask has vanished, and he lays before you unmoving.<br/>
<br/>
A car door opens and slams. You look up into Sydney's face. "Did you get him?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"It's working on him now."<br/>
<br/>
She glances around. "Maybe we should move him down into the basement."<br/>
<br/>
"Get his feet," you reply.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Nicholas Tyler Lawhorn crouches with a bestial snarl on his face. With his long, tousled hair and beard, he looks like the Wolfman. Only an order from Sydney, it is clear, keeps him from springing. "So how old is he, anyway?" you ask your girlfriend.<br/>
<br/>
"Nicholas," she says. "How old are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Thirty-eight!" he spits.<br/>
<br/>
You'd have pegged him at closer to thirty, but the confession is believable, at least in the dim basement light.<br/>
<br/>
After getting him downstairs and undressed—he came in t-shirt and jeans but with a sports coat and boots; <i>California office casual</i>—and after retrieving the mask when it came out of him, you dumped him, the dirt, the powders, the liquids, and a few strands of Sydney's hair onto the book and set him on fire. Not until the purple flames shot out did you stop to think, <i>What if this spell takes a week to finish like the last one?</i><br/>
<br/>
It didn't, thank God, it lasted only a minute, and when the fire went out it left a petrified version of Nicholas Lawhorn behind.<br/>
<br/>
Really. He lay on the table looking completely unharmed save for the unnatural pallor of his skin. And when you pressed a fingertip to him, you found that except for a slight "give" he was as stiff all over as concrete. Even the hairs had turned to something like stone. But he was so perfectly detailed that you could even see the pores.<br/>
<br/>
You wondered if he would wake up, and what would happen then, until you pried at his eyes and found the lids frozen shut. That's when the word "petrified" suggested itself. And when Sydney pointed out the similarity of color between him and the unmasked golem nearby, you deduced almost simultaneously that the spell had turned him into a golem.<br/>
<br/>
The test came when you dropped Caleb's mask on him. Caleb appeared and woke up, and under a little questioning showed that he had no idea who or where "Nicholas Lawhorn" was. He also refused to obey your orders, though he did obey Sydney's.<br/>
<br/>
The second, and more dangerous, test came when you sealed up Lawhorn's mask and put it on him. His skin instantly turned flesh colored, and his hair softened, and he woke. But now he obeys Sydney: not only telling her his age, sign, and Social Security number while pounding himself in the balls, but even confessing with his own mouth to the murder of her father.<br/>
<br/>
You wince as she grips your arm, the nails digging into your flesh. <br/>
<br/>
"We did it!" she says in a haggard whisper. "Oh, God, Will, we did it!"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh. Can you tell him to calm down? Can you tell him to get dressed?<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," she says. There's a feverish light in her eye as she turns toward her stepfather. "And I know a lot of other things I can tell him to do!"<br/>
<br/>
You quail, worrying that she'll tell him to drown himself or steer his car at seventy miles per hour into a wall. But she's a lot more restrained than that. She only tells him to leave her alone, to not speak to her unless she speaks to him first, and to tell no one about what has happened that evening.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You are shaking with adrenaline when you get home, and make an early night of it. But you are wakened at a little after eleven by a phone call from Sydney.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," she says in a low voice. "Just wanted you to know it's all good. I— I spent the evening talking to ... him. Got him to confirm everything." Her voice starts to shake. "I got him confess everything, in his own voice, what he did and why! Oh, Jesus!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry," you tell her.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be." Her voice is coming in gasps. "I had to hear it— From him— For myself."<br/>
<br/>
You hang fire while she seems to gather herself.<br/>
<br/>
"Anyway, thanks for everything, Will," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Glad to help," you say.<br/>
<br/>
There's a pause.<br/>
<br/>
Then she says, "Would you be up for helping me do the same thing to <i>all the other motherfuckers</i> in the Brotherhood? Do the same thing to them that we just did to him?"<span class="fngigffkgfk3610"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112212
author_id: rugal
title: Mental Kudzu
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"You... you want to," you stutter in shock as you look at her, "to share your... your stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
"Everything, Will," she says with breathy, barely contained excitement. "There's so much amazing stuff that my dad knew; that I'm learning about. I'd love to learn about it together."<br/>
<br/>
"With me?" you ask dumbfounded.<br/>
<br/>
"Of course! Especially once you--" she cuts herself off and leans forward, inches from your face. "Once you help me get revenge on that son of a bitch the world'll be our oyster. Think about it, Will! Imagine it!"<br/>
<br/>
You can scarcely do so. You and Sydney, together, exploring the occult. Learning of strange rituals and symbols, saying strange chants. Summoning, you gulp, demons like Baphomet. Is that what you would be doing? It's frightening... no, frightening is too minor a word for it. It's paralyzing. You've had fun with the book, you've liked sharing its secrets with this girl and having her interested in you because of it. But that's what it's all been right? Just harmless -- well mostly harmless -- fun. This, what she's proposing, is on another level entirely.<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong?" Sydney says and you realize that, unconsciously, you've pulled back and pulled your hand away.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, nothing. It's just..."<br/>
<br/>
But it's not "nothing". No it's a very real something and you feel as if it's best to be honest about it.<br/>
<br/>
"Sydney, don't you think that's going a little too far?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Too far?" she asks, her face showing a confused expression like she's unable to really understand what you just said.<br/>
<br/>
"The ley lines and, you know, whatnot it's all well and good," you start. "But this whole Baphomet thing is just... it's out there. Doesn't it seem a bit, I don't know, wrong?"<br/>
<br/>
"Should it?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't kn--no, I do know. Yes! It should!" you exclaim. "You're saying that we should make a bunch of these things, control people into making some devil worshiping cult! What seems right about that?!"<br/>
<br/>
Sydney regards you coolly for a few seconds before she speaks. "Are you a Christian, Will?" she finally asks.<br/>
<br/>
"What?" you reply dumbly. "I mean, yeah, sure. I go to church on Sundays."<br/>
<br/>
"How serious are you? Is the idea of demons and the occult just, like, complete anathema to you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not to that extent," you admit. "But the morality of the whole thing just seems so... off."<br/>
<br/>
"Will, you're going to help me kill that bastard Nicholas and you're worried about morality?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"But we're not killing him!" you insist. "We're just... I don't really know what we're doing but it's not the same as just murdering him."<br/>
<br/>
"Will, we're killing him," she says sternly. "No matter what happens the end result is, for all practical purposes, the same. Nicholas Lawhorn will be dead and it'll be our fingers that pulled the trigger."<br/>
<br/>
In a way she's definitely got you but you've now started to entrench yourself in your opposition and you don't want to give in. "Yeah but he already killed your father. He's a murderer. Taking care of a murderer isn't the same thing as just creating a cult."<br/>
<br/>
"Killing is killing. And it's not a cult, Will, it's a brotherhood," she says though she follows it up with a sigh. "But I can guess you're not really going to be swayed by an argument like that are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I know that means a lot to you," you say, "maybe because it's like you're continuing your father's work or something? I don't know. But we're just kids and it's like we're operating on a level far beyond our understanding. Messing with things, maybe creatures, that we shouldn't be touching to do things that we shouldn't be doing. I just can't get over that hurdle, I'm sorry."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have to be sorry," she says as she clasps your hands once more. "It's a lot to take in all at once but just don't dismiss it all out of hand. Think about it a little bit, look over the notebooks and see if you change your mind?"<br/>
<br/>
You realize that this might be the most leeway you'll get with her about this topic so you decide to take what you can get. "Sure, give me a day or two and I'll see how I feel," you tell her. Much as she's undoubtedly hoping you change your mind you're hoping that the little break will prove to be a wet blanket for her own enthusiasm. "What about your stepdad?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't call him that," she snaps, "But yeah I might have been coming on too strong because of everything so we'll do it when you're ready since it's your book. I really want to do it as soon as possible but I guess taking it one step at a time can't hurt either."<br/>
<br/>
She gives you a quick kiss on the cheek and then she's off, back to her home. You linger for a few minutes pondering the evening's events before you too head home.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Even once you're home and eating dinner and doing homework you can't take your mind off of what's happened up to this point or what Sydney's proposed. You want to help her, really you do. She's been through so much and she deserves to give a little payback against a man who deserves to receive a little payback.<br/>
<br/>
Right?<br/>
<br/>
Nicholas Lawhorn killed Sydney's father to steal his spot in the Brotherhood, to steal his family, to steal what he had in his possession... didn't he?<br/>
<br/>
A funny thought begins to worm its way into your head as you're finishing up the (creepy) notebooks: you never actually put on Nicholas' memory strip yourself. Sydney told you that she used it on him and through it all of her suspicions were confirmed. That was awesome, you'd thought, and convenient that it went off without a hitch.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe a little too convenient.<br/>
<br/>
Because it's funny that she was able to do everything needed with no issue and separate the wheat from the chaff, as it were, with no issue. That's what she did right? She would've had to have put the band on herself afterwards. She seemed to have trouble recalling anything from Caleb's mind you now remember so it's convenient, then, that whatever issues she had with that she managed to get over fairly quickly with her stepfather's memory strip.<br/>
<br/>
A strip that she never actually showed you. You never saw it. She never handed it to you. Did she forget it was in her bag? Did she leave it at home? Was she actually wearing it the entire time you were talking to her?<br/>
<br/>
Did she actually use it at all?<br/>
<br/>
You don't want to think the worst of Sydney, really you don't. But the root has implanted itself into your brain and throughout the night and school the next day it grows like a vine. It fails to abate itself when you see Keith. It only gets stronger when Caleb refuses to talk to you and you pretty sure you know why. It fails to be soothed when you talk with Braydon Delp and his tabletop gaming buddies at lunch to try and get a read on this Baphomet character and receive nothing more than snobbish jeering from the preening goth.<br/>
<br/>
It's a tension that reaches a boiling point when you receive a text from Sydney after school.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Have you made up your mind?</i> she asks. When you don't immediately respond she follows it up. <i>Hello?</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>i might have,</i> you text back. <i>can we meet up at the place?</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>Ooh sure! When?</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>i need to get things in order,</i> you send her. <i>i'll head over and do that and text when i'm done. we can talk then.</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>Okay! I'll make time then. See you when I see you!</i><br/>
<br/>
Immediately you race over to the basement and make sure everything is in order. The masks and bands and other things you've made, the graveyard dirt. You pull the book out of your backpack and set it down on an unused desk. From your backpack you also pull out a pair of scissors -- something you've had in your locker -- and snip off a bit of hair. The fuel is there and so are the matches.<br/>
<br/>
Everything you need for the spell is right here which is good because you're going to use Sydney for it. You don't want to because you like Sydney very much and you like that she seems to like you. But as those thoughts continued to get stronger you began to have doubts.<br/>
<br/>
What if she was lying about Nicholas and using the band? What if she's merely using you to further her own goals, whatever they may be? Controlling this Brotherhood of Baphomet for herself perhaps?<br/>
<br/>
You don't want to think that way about her. You want to believe that you're being too paranoid. That Sydney is being up front and honest with you and holds no motives save the ones she's revealed to you. That way you're working on the book together with her, helping her get revenge against murderer... even having your own secret group to control sounds tempting and a little fun you hate to admit.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe you should take her at her word then. Just stomp those paranoid thoughts down and continue on as normal with what she'd suggested. But you can't give her that much leeway right? You can go along with her sure but you can do it cautiously, make sure everything's done one step at a time like she'd said yesterday. That way you're a little more in control and if things suddenly go from in control to out of control then you can act in whatever would be the most appropriate way.<br/>
<br/>
Yet despite all of that, despite what you may want, the idea is becoming harder and harder to suppress. With her interest in the occult, in the Brotherhood, with the casualness she approaches the potential murder of her stepfather you're struck by a very heavy feeling deep in the pit of your stomach. Sydney has told you that her stepfather is a very dangerous man and that may be the case. But whatever danger he may pose, you can't help but feel that the biggest danger of all may come not from Nicholas Lawhorn but from Sydney McGlynn.</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122123
author_id: rugal
title: The Real Danger
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>With some hesitance you send the text telling Sydney that you're ready to talk to her about what you're going to do. She sends one of her back, excitedly (there's a lot of exclamation points at least) telling you that she'll be there as soon as possible. You steel yourself. You don't want to do what you plan on doing but feel that you have to do it. You've allowed your paranoid thoughts to snowball and you can't stop thinking that there's a darkness to Sydney. Warning bells that should've gone off when she even introduced you to all of this Baphomet stuff.<br/>
<br/>
Or when she asked you to help her kill her stepfather. Not find evidence of his wrongdoing or get a confession out of him and turn him over to the police. She wants to commit murder and wants you to help her commit it. She wants you to do it with only her word to go off of and then she wants to create a new version of this Baphomet cult for... what? Well for no good. You don't create cults dedicated to the worship of devils and demons with the intent of giving everyone a puppy. You sacrifice the puppy to goat-headed demon lords for power or revenge or whatever.<br/>
<br/>
That's why, despite any misgivings, you're convinced that you need to use Sydney in this new spell. Because what if you tell her you don't want to go along with her? Would she turn on you and would you then find yourself victim to this spell? But she knows how to sweet talk you. She's a femme fatale of the highest order and she may just reel you back in to her world doing what she wants you to.<br/>
<br/>
But not if you deal with her first. You've even got a story cooked up as you take out Caleb's mask. Because, though she's a girl, she's in much better shape than you. She's more agile for a start and is probably even stronger. If you just shoved a mask onto her face she'd probably have the means of slipping out of your grasp. Then you'd really be in trouble. But you've got a plan and it seems like a fairly good one. You're thinking about it when you hear a knock on the door. You open it and jump a bit when you see Sydney.<br/>
<br/>
"You seem nervous," she says with amusement as you lead her down the stairs. Once you're at the bottom she wastes no time. "So are you ready to help me with the Brotherhood?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Well about that, I still haven't made a decision," you admit. "But I'll definitely help you with your stepfa--with Nicholas," you say in a bit of self-correction. "In fact I've got an idea for that."<br/>
<br/>
"What's this for?" she asks when you present her with a blank mask.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we'll need to use one on him so after we've used the spell," you motion over to where the book, open to the spell's page, lays on the ground, "he'll be able to come back under your control."<br/>
<br/>
"Do we really need to bring him back?" Sydney asks in a flat manner that gives you chills.<br/>
<br/>
"There'd be trouble if he just disappeared, yeah," you respond. "Besides, you know, he'd have to listen to everything you say; do what you tell him to do."<br/>
<br/>
"Like jump in front of a train," she adds. "So we get him out here..."<br/>
<br/>
"Right, but that's the second part. The first part involves you putting on that mask," you tell her.<br/>
<br/>
"Will, why would I need to put on a mask?"<br/>
<br/>
Now it's time for the explanation you've been rehearsing up until the moment she'd arrived. You can only hope she buys it. "Well Nicholas is a dangerous guy right? I mean he'd... he'd kill but is he physically dangerous?"<br/>
<br/>
"He keeps himself in shape," Sydney says.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay but even someone like that wouldn't be able to do anything three-on-one," you explain. "I was thinking that we use Caleb's mask to help us out. You can put it on, when we put your mask on the--"<br/>
<br/>
"The <i>pedisequos</i>?" she asks. "Why? Couldn't we just put Caleb's mask on it?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's because," you take a deep breath both to give what you're about to say the emotional legitimacy needed but also to reaffirm yourself about what you're going to do. "It's because I want to protect you. If something goes wrong -- he suspects something or we're not quick enough with the mask or whatever -- Nicholas will probably target you right? But if he does something, grabs you, or whatever..."<br/>
<br/>
"It'd be the <i>pedisequos</i> while I'm safely hidden away."<br/>
<br/>
"Right. It's an insurance policy. I mean we might not need it but," you pause, "look, I'm doing this for you Sydney. I just want to do the right thing and I've thought long and hard about this and what the right way to do it would be."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not doubting that, Will, but it seems so... complicated," she states.<br/>
<br/>
"I know but it's the only thing I could think of to make sure that you're out of his grasp, at least long enough for us to think of something else, if everything goes south." With only a small amount of hesitation you pull Sydney in close to you. "I'm just looking out for you. You trust me right?"<br/>
<br/>
Sydney regards you for a moment. Then she gives you a smile and a nod. "Yeah, of course. You've already promised to do so much for me so I'll show you a little faith in return," she states.<br/>
<br/>
She backs up a bit and you watch as, taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes and raises the mask to her face.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"You know what's going on right?" you ask in a soft voice as you finish putting on the last bit of clothing.<br/>
<br/>
The boy, reedy and jumpy, fidgets nervously as he adjusts his baseball cap. "That I'm you and you're me and that I've got you, uh, her, underneath me right?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Something like that. You know that you have to do whatever I tell you right?"<br/>
<br/>
His expression dampens at that. "Yeah, I guess I do," he says with less enthusiasm though he perks up again. "Maybe you can ask me to--"<br/>
<br/>
But you hold up a hand and tell him to be quiet. "No. Maybe later you and her can... but no, not now. I've got important stuff I've got to do. In fact I'd rather do it alone so go home or do whatever and I'll see you tomorrow," you order him.<br/>
<br/>
He lingers for a moment before finally leaving and with a sight you get to work on making up a new mask and band. You've still got some of your hair, your real hair, on the table next to you. It's a good thing too because after reading the new spell and getting into this new mask you'd tried snipping off a little bit only to find that the hair, unlike your real hair, had disappeared within a few minutes and deduced that it must be something with how the masks work. Maybe the hair isn't technically real and, separated from everything, the illusion breaks down?<br/>
<br/>
You'll have to study it further because for now you've got more pressing issues. Issues like the sickness you feel deep in the pit of your stomach and the vertigo feeling that's swirling around your head and not just because of the massive change in physical makeup you've experienced since putting on the mask.<br/>
<br/>
Rather it's the mental aspect and what you learned from it that's making you sick. Because Sydney hadn't been lying to you at all. She hadn't been playing you or using you as a tool. She <i>had</i> put the mind strip onto her stepfather and put it on herself. She had learned about every terrible thing he'd done or been involved with, including the murder (and there's no doubt about it, it <i>was</i> murder) of her father. The real danger had never been Sydney, it had always been her stepfather.<br/>
<br/>
She was so excited when she learned about the book and what it could do. So grateful for the help you'd offered to her. She really wanted that Brotherhood of Baphomet but was serious about wanting to run it together and was willing to take things slow, ease you into the idea of it. She was giddy at the chance to get revenge for her father.<br/>
<br/>
But it's all for naught. Sydney won't be able to experience the satisfaction of dealing with her father's killer. She'll never be able to plunge deeper into the world of the mystical and the occult that fascinates her -- and fascinated her father -- so much. She'll never be able to share it with the scrawny, twitchy but cute boy who she really liked.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney McGlynn will never experience anything again and it's all your fault. Your own twitchiness, your own disbelief that a girl like her could be genuinely into someone like you, your own paranoia got the better of you. You'd tricked her, played on her trust, to get that mask on her. Then you'd dragged her on top of the book, piled the dirt on her and lit the pile. You'd turned Sydney from a vibrant and colorful girl into a cold, alabaster statue.<br/>
<br/>
A <i>pedisequos</i> cast in her own image. The same <i>pedisequos</i> that the mask of yourself that you'd made after the fact rests on.<br/>
<br/>
You killed Sydney McGlynn. Yet it's Sydney's hands that create and buff the mask and carve the sigils into the metal strip. It's Sydney's hair that falls in your face as you lean over the book and double check the next spell. It's Sydney's thoughts and emotions that influence and guide you.<br/>
<br/>
If only for a night Sydney McGlynn lives on through you and it's through you that she'll obtain restitution from Nicholas Lawhorn.</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221231
author_id: rugal
title: A Girl's Final Act
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Sydney lives in a house -- far nicer than your own -- in a part of town that the ritzier set seem to have congregated. Though you're not sure who you'd bet that some of the snobs from school, Kelsey and them, live in the area. It surprises you that Sydney would live here too given that she comes off as fairly unpretentious but appearances, as you know, can be deceiving.<br/>
<br/>
Take Sydney's stepfather for one. He's a normal looking and, loathe as Sydney would be to admit it, handsome guy living a normal life in a nice house in a new town with his new family. Yet underneath the normal, upper-middle class facade lies a man so ruthless in his pursuit of what he feels should be his that he has quite literally killed to obtain it.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney herself is another example. A pretty blonde cheerleader like an ersatz Chelsea Cooper. One would expect her to be as vacuous as the stereotype would portray. Yet underneath her appearance lies a fascination with the occult and a ruthlessness that might well, when directed at the wrong target, match her stepfather's. Adding another layer to it is the fact that, right now, all of that is being guided by a skinny boy. When you breathe, it's her chest that heaves. When you step out of the car it's her well-sculpted legs that move. When you reach for the front door it's her slim hand that grasps and turns the knob.<br/>
<br/>
When you think, for the next little while, it will be with her mind. You won't be Will Prescott playing the role of Sydney McGlynn. You <i>will</i> be Sydney McGlynn. Because only she would have the will to go through with his. So you close your eyes, steel yourself, and step through the doorway. When you open them you see things differently.<br/>
<br/>
The house doesn't feel right. It's not your home after all, your home is back in Kansas City. This is just a place where you live in a city you feel no connection to. A city you only moved to because... you stop. You see him coming down the stairs. His hair is long, his beard scruffy. He spots you soon after you spot him and his brown eyes look at you with a hungriness. You shiver. They're the eyes of a predator but what kind you're not sure. Does he intend to do to you what he did to your father?<br/>
<br/>
Or does he have something else in mind? Because there are these little looks he'll throw you and you can't help but wonder if that might be something else of your father's he'd like steal. His position at their company, his life, his wife... his daughter.<br/>
<br/>
"Is mom here?" you ask tensely as he reaches the bottom of the stairs.<br/>
<br/>
"Stepped out to pick up something to eat," he replies in a manner so calm, so casual that it unnerves you. "It's just us here right now," he adds which only amplifies the way that you're feeling and you tense up as he walks past you.<br/>
<br/>
His back is now to you and your heart is pounding. You don't want to delay this any longer. This is what you'd been looking forward to, anticipating with barely contained excitement. Now there's nobody around. Your hand goes into your bag and feel the smooth mask. You grip it. Though it seems much longer it's not more than a few seconds from when he's passed you that you take the mask out and, with the agility provided by a body sculpted from a lifetime of gymnastics and cheerleading, you move forward, reach your hand around and smash the mask onto his face.<br/>
<br/>
Nicholas Lawhorn crashes to the ground with a thud. You don't even bother making an attempt to break his fall.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
In the basement lays another statue much like the one you'd made of Sydney earlier. It's the same cold alabaster color and though it looks stone when you press it there's just the slightest amount of give much like the previous one. The difference, though, is that this one is bigger as it's a man nearing forty, not a girl in the last days of high school. You feel a sense of satisfaction when looking it because you know that Nicholas Lawhorn won't be a threat to anyone ever again.<br/>
<br/>
It was the new spell unlocked after what you'd done to Sydney that allowed you to get here. It was incredibly simple and you wonder why the two harder spells -- especially the previous one -- were before it. All it required was essentially a miniaturized version of the same set up you'd use to make a person into a <i>pedisequos</i> only used on a mask instead of a person. The end result was a mask that, when placed on a person, would turn them into whoever was copied into the mask though under the total control of whoever's hair was used.<br/>
<br/>
It was a gamble if placing Nicholas' own mask on himself would work but it was a gamble that rewarded you handsomely. You could've left it there of course, Nicholas under a mask and under your control, but that wouldn't have been good enough. You were still thinking like Sydney and for her that would've been like getting off with probation. What if the mask was somehow removed or something otherwise happened? The risk was always there of him coming back. No, this was just the first step to a more permanent answer to the Nicholas question.<br/>
<br/>
That answer, naturally, turned out to be ordering the now under your control Nicholas to follow you out to the elementary school and into the basement. In there you set everything up ordering him to lay on the book. Some dirt, fuel, a removed mask (both his and your's in order to grab more hair) and a lit match later and Nicholas Lawhorn was well and truly dealt with.<br/>
<br/>
You'd leaned back against the wall with a sigh of relief once the deed was done.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're alone in the basement. The mask of Nicholas had been placed on the statue baring his image and after some basic experimenting on what you could get him to do you'd ordered him back home. If Sydney's mother was back and wondering where he was you'd told him to simply tell her that Sydney's car needed a jump. He was gone after that and you were then left by yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Well, not completely by yourself. You grab Sydney's mask off of the table and look at it. It stars back at you lifelessly, the image of the girl barely visible like some kind of magical hologram. It makes you want to cry and you almost do.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry," you say quietly to the mask. "I'm so sorry. I was able to get revenge for you but it should've been you getting it. I took that from you the same way I took,' you pause and gulp, "the same I took your life from you. But the job's finished. Nicholas will never hurt anyone ever again. I hope that's enough for you to forgive me."<br/>
<br/>
With a sigh you sit back onto the cold floor. Everything is done. Through you Sydney has gotten her final revenge on her stepfather. But it doesn't feel like an ending because you're still left with a feeling of "now what".<br/>
<br/>
Well the obvious thing, probably the most prudent thing, would be to just try and put everything back in its place. Call your double out here, get the mask off, throw Sydney's mask onto it and work to fix things. Largely what would need mending would be your relationship with Caleb and you wonder if showing him the book might be a mea culpa. Maybe if he'd have access to girls via masks, either masks of them or masks of guys who could get girls, that'd be enough to make him forget about Sydney. Then the two of you could go back to getting into mischief the way you always would. Just mischief fueled by the book and the masks.<br/>
<br/>
No more revenge killings. No more occult stuff. No more talk of freaky devil worshipping cults like the Brotherhood of Baphomet. Just light fun to wile away the days as the clock counts down on your senior year.<br/>
<br/>
The Brotherhood of Baphomet. You want to curse that name. Sydney's gone because of it. Because you were too scared of what may just be a lot of empty hocus pocus to go with her. Because you thought a girl like her, even one into freaky magic, would have no genuine interest in you. But Sydney wouldn't be gone of course, not when you put the mask onto the <i>pedisequos</i>. But it wouldn't be the real Sydney, it'd just be a <i>thing</i> parading around in her skin. Like a spirit possessing and animating her, acting as her.<br/>
<br/>
But you... you can think like her and unlike the statue you're a creature of flesh and blood. You'd hope that dealing with Nicholas would be enough to earn Sydney's forgiveness but you begin to wonder if maybe you can earn it by following her plans and her desires to their ultimate conclusion: create that Brotherhood of Baphomet she was so looking forward to running with you.<br/>
<br/>
Yet there's one other thing that's bugging you as well. You'd learned about it when you were in Sydney's mask. She'd learned about it when she'd had Nicholas' mind strip. Stuff like this can fade but it was something so shocking that it burned itself clear into her mind, much as it had for you when you'd learned about it.<br/>
<br/>
Because everything about Nicholas Lawhorn was a lie. Not his name, that's real enough, but the job at Parsons Collegiate Media? It was a cover for his real work for the owners of that company. Those owners were the real reason he decided to pack up and move "his" family to Saratoga Falls. Because they're involved in stuff that's not just shady, it's dangerous. The same stuff that Sydney's father was involved in. The same group that had played off of Nicholas' avarice and offered substantial rewards and promotions to him should Sydney's father meet a rather unfortunate accident.<br/>
<br/>
It might be dangerous, extremely dangerous even, but you wonder if your ultimate gift to Sydney might be investigating the truth behind her father's death and the one name that seems deeply tied to it: Fane.</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112212312
author_id: seuzz
title: A Kind of Professional Consultation
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Knuckles rap against the study door. <i>Bamp bamp bamp.</i> Instinctively you cover the papers you're reading with a folder. "Come in," you call.<br/>
<br/>
But the handle is already turning. The door falls open and Jessica sags against the door jamb. She's holding a glass of white wine. It's filled almost to the lip.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Christ,</i> you think. <i>Is it going to be one of those nights? And which kind, the sloppy, weepy kind or the spitting, angry kind?</i><br/>
<br/>
"I have book club tomorrow night," your wife of a year announces with arch brittleness. "Will you be barricading yourself in here? Or"—the wine sloshes as she tries making air quotes—"will you be 'working late'? Because, Nicholas," she continues shrilly, before you can answer, "I'm sure neither of us would want to see you helping me by trying to play host."<br/>
<br/>
"It's your book club, Jessica," you reply.<br/>
<br/>
She snorts. "And we both know you're so <i>scrupulous</i> about not dirtying your fingers in anything that belongs to me."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Damn. That's probably her third glass, and she can still declaim like she's on the debate stage at Mount Holyoke.</i><br/>
<br/>
"If I can get home from work early, I'll help you set up. Then I'll come back here so I can be out of your way. I'm trying to give you what you want, Jessica," you add.<br/>
<br/>
She sniffs, and the tendons in her neck work. She gives you a sidelong glare, then totters out. Before you can sigh with relief, though, she looks around the corner at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Six inches," she hisses at you. "That's what you thought I wanted. Six inches, and that would be enough." A sneer distends her lip. "And you couldn't even muster <i>that</i> much!" She disappears again.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Her fourth glass,</i> you grimly correct yourself, and sit back in your chair to tug at your beard. A spot in your gullet begins to burn. <i>Acid reflux,</i> Nicholas Lawhorn has told himself, and you tell it to yourself now.<br/>
<br/>
For at the moment, that is who you are.<br/>
<br/>
It was with a sense of loathing that you—still in Sydney's mask—summoned Lawhorn to your bedroom, to unmask him and take his place while the pedisequos took hers. He's a killer, an adulterer, a seducer, and a cultist. But as you pulled on his jeans and sweatshirt, and brushed aside long hanks of hair as you studied yourself in the mirror, you saw other upsides to the (temporary) change of impersonation. A strong, trim body; handsome (if slightly wolfish) features; the advantages of being a legal adult with a large house, a fast car, and plenty of spending money.<br/>
<br/>
And inside knowledge of the local Brotherhood of Baphomet. That, of course, was your reason for making the switch.<br/>
<br/>
Are you going to fulfill Sydney's ambition of fashioning a Brotherhood of her own to control? It seemed wisest to do some research before deciding.<br/>
<br/>
And how better to conduct research than by turning yourself into someone who is already a Brother?<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're in the office break room, putting the cream back in the refrigerator, when Matt Jenkins finds you. "Boss wants to see you." He grins. "He's got a vice-president with him."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Fucker,</i> you think. Jenkins has had it in for you—Nicholas Lawhorn—from your first day on the job. Turns out he was in line to be senior editor on the <i>Macroeconomics</i> team before you transferred in and took the position. So anytime it looks like you're in trouble, Jenkins perches nearby like a vulture.<br/>
<br/>
"Close the door, Nick," Anthony Reid says as you step into his office. Gregory Williams, Parsons Collegiate Media's vice-president of personnel, looms in the corner with the sun glaring in over his shoulder. "Take a seat."<br/>
<br/>
"We've run into a problem with your transfer," Williams says as you settle into a well-padded chair. He shifts on his feet, and his great girth rolls about, like a hillside slipping into an avalanche. The man is almost as wide as he is tall, and his figure isn't flattered by the tight, scratchy sweater vests he favors, or by the brambly beard—brown with streaks of gray—that defaces his jowls. "The man who currently has the job just signed up for another year."<br/>
<br/>
You glance between your boss and his. "So I keep on trucking around here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Is that a bad thing?" Reid asks. He's a contrast with his superior: slender and smooth, as though carved from cold bone. His frosty blonde hair is neatly coiffed, and his eyes are an Arctic blue.<br/>
<br/>
"I thought my transfer was a priority."<br/>
<br/>
"It is," Williams says. "It's only—"<br/>
<br/>
"Have you talked to Seabury about using a malefictus?"<br/>
<br/>
The vice-president of personnel and the <i>Macroeconomics</i> project manager—<br/>
<br/>
—or, to use their more pertinent titles, the Sovereign Chancellor and the Temporal Commander of the Brotherhood of Baphomet (Van Dief Temple)—<br/>
<br/>
—turn very stony. <br/>
<br/>
"That sort of thing is a last resort," Reid says.<br/>
<br/>
"In Kansas City—"<br/>
<br/>
"This isn't Kansas City, Lawhorn," Reid snaps. "This is the big leagues. It's only a Temporal Magistry in Kansas City. This is the seat of a Sovereign court. Also—" He leans across his desk, hands folded, his lips twisted up into a cold, malicious smile. "There's a lot more <i>potentia</i> here than in Kansas City. You wouldn't light a match in a fireworks factory, would you?" He sits back. "Don't go carelessly casting any maledictuses around here unless you <i>want</i> to send your head and your guts into separate dimensions."<br/>
<br/>
You glance over at the Chancellor. He smiles inside his wiry beard. His beady eyes are like those of a badger, or some other feral creature, peeping out of the bushes.<br/>
<br/>
You shrug with your hands. "Then I guess I stick around here. Except—"<br/>
<br/>
"Except what?" Reid asks sharply.<br/>
<br/>
"Except nothing, I guess. Except it seems like a waste of a year."<br/>
<br/>
Reid holds your eye in a long stare before stretching his mouth into a cold smile.<br/>
<br/>
"You must learn to take the long view, Lawhorn," he says. "We serve Baphomet, and he measures progress in aeons, not days or even years."<br/>
<br/>
You stifle a sigh. "We serve Baphomet," you mutter back, when what you want to say is, <i>I'm in it for myself, motherfuckers, and if Baphomet won't deliver then back to Hell with him.<br/>
<br/>
We serve Baphomet.</i> The formula—the conventional salutation between Brothers—seems to surprise Reid, and after a startled moment he indicates that you can leave.<br/>
<br/>
"You can do one thing for me," you tell him from the door. "You can call Jenkins in and yell at him about his subpar work around here."<br/>
<br/>
"Is it subpar?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, but it would make me feel better if you yelled at him."<br/>
<br/>
Reid only clenches his jaw. The asshole, you sometimes think, takes his job as project manager more seriously than his commandery in the Brotherhood.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But maybe you shouldn't have kicked so much at that meeting, because you get a call while driving home. "Hello, Nicholas," the caller says, his voice slithering like an insinuating snake into your ear. "I hear you're unhappy. I'm unhappy too. I thought we could meet and commiserate."<br/>
<br/>
It's the voice of the Sovereign Vicegerent. Is it some technique of his that makes your brain stem feel like it is going numb every time you talk to him, leaving you without the will to resist? "Yes sir," you reply.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm at my office. Everyone else has gone home. We won't be disturbed."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."<br/>
<br/>
You make it in ten.<br/>
<br/>
The sharp stench of creosote fills your nostrils as you enter the old Saratoga Falls Railroad Depot. It is now a museum, and it also houses the offices of the Saratoga Falls Arts Council. The president of the Council, Aidan Seabury, is waiting in the gift shop, and he smiles as he gestures you to follow him into the back. <br/>
<br/>
He looks like a young man, hardly older than Nicholas, but his large, staring eyes are luminous in a way that suggests they have seen more than is possible in only thirty years, and his smooth, pale skin is transparent the way an old men's skin is. But he is lithe and he moves soundlessly. His long, white fingers flutter as he spreads his hands over his desk.<br/>
<br/>
"You want that teaching job, don't you?" he says without preamble.<br/>
<br/>
"I thought that's why you recruited me from Kansas City." After a moment's hesitation, you take the chair before him.<br/>
<br/>
"We accepted you because you came highly recommended." Seabury's eyes seem to glow and he smiles hungrily. Again you have Nicholas's wondering thought that Seabury might be a vampire. "But yes, there is that vacancy."<br/>
<br/>
"And now you're stuck with that vacancy for another year. Maybe longer, if the asshole whose job I was supposed to take—"<br/>
 "Now now." Seabury's grin widens in a way that makes you shiver. "You've already been cautioned against casual maledictuses. We'll just have to find another way of filling that position. As for you—"<br/>
<br/>
He pauses to show you his canines.<br/>
<br/>
"I know you're greedy, Nicholas. But suppose I offered you something almost as good as the high school?"<br/>
<br/>
"Like?"<br/>
<br/>
He taps his desk, and you are startled to see that there's a city map unfurled across it. Three red lines, intersecting to form a squat triangle, are drawn on it. <i>Ley lines,</i> you think. The intersections are points of great occult power.<br/>
<br/>
Just the thought of accessing one makes you horny.<br/>
<br/>
One of those intersections marks this very building—the old depot. The second marks the building where the Sovereign Seneschal has established his pool cleaning business. And the third—<br/>
<br/>
You could hardly believe it last night when you got Nicholas's memories.<br/>
<br/>
Westside High School sits on the third intersection.</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122123122
author_id: seuzz
title: An Intersection of Interests
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Knuckles rap against your bedroom door. You shove the notes you're studying under the bed covers and hop over to the door.<br/>
<br/>
Your mother is standing there when you open it. Her eyes are puffy and red. You freeze at the sight.<br/>
<br/>
"Nicholas and I are going out for a bit," she says in a husky voice. "I don't know when we'll be back."<br/>
<br/>
Ice encloses your heart. "You are going to come back, aren't you?" you gasp.<br/>
<br/>
Your mother starts, then laughs. <br/>
<br/>
"Yes, we'll be back, sweetheart. I just don't know what time. Anyway, I'm telling you in case you come looking for us and can't find us."<br/>
<br/>
She turns to go. "Mom," you call. She glances back, her eyebrows up. You swallow.<br/>
<br/>
You want to run up to hug her, to tell her that everything is okay, and that everything will be okay from here on out. You want to tell her that Nicholas is a changed man.<br/>
<br/>
Hell, you want to tell her that you killed him and replaced him with a magical robot who will be her and your slave.<br/>
<br/>
Of course, that would be a foolish thing to do.<br/>
<br/>
But it would be equally foolish to tell her anything else. Twenty-four hours inside the mind and skin of Nicholas Lawhorn has shown you that. As patient as you were with Sydney's mother last night and today while playing her second husband, it didn't and couldn't change anything for them. There is just too much poison now between them for that.<br/>
<br/>
So instead of telling her <i>Everything will be alright,</i> you say, "I thought you had book club tonight."<br/>
<br/>
"I cancelled it."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. I'm sorry."<br/>
<br/>
She shrugs. "We'll be back before you go to bed. And there's leftovers in the fridge."<br/>
<br/>
You nod, and softly close the door after she's moved off.<br/>
<br/>
As you settle back on the bed, you wonder how Sydney herself would have handled her mother and her relations with the <i>pedisequos.</i><br/>
<br/>
But of course, you have to wryly remember as you clasp your strong, smooth, brown legs in your arms, you <i>are</i> Sydney now.<br/>
<br/>
And she would press on with her plan to establish a Brotherhood of Baphomet inside Westside.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"I mean, I already knew it because, dur, that's why they brought Nicholas out here," you tell your <i>pedisequos</i> on the drive out to school the next morning. You texted him right after getting up, asking for a ride. "But to see it on the map in front of me! Whoa!"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh," Will mutters while glaring straight ahead, and you're tempted to slap him for not paying attention. But when he adds, "I always knew there was something really witchy about the school," you realize he was just concentrating on the road. The truck jounces and creaks as he navigates the crush of cars flowing toward the high school.<br/>
<br/>
"What I want to know now is," you continue, "where exactly the intersection is. I mean, the school's a pretty big place. You don't have to get exactly on top of one of these spots in order to use them, but you need to get within at least ten feet of them. Oh, jeez! Wouldn't it just figure if it was inside the principal's office!"<br/>
<br/>
Will gives you a sidelong glance. "Couldn't we use one of the other spots? Didn't you say there were three of them? Making a triangle?"<br/>
<br/>
"The intersections? Yes, but the other two are already taken. I thought I told you. The Sovereign Vicegerent—"<br/>
<br/>
"That's the big boss?"<br/>
<br/>
"Right. He's got his office in the old railroad museum, which is where the most powerful of those intersections is. The other two, one's at school and the other's where the Sovereign Seneschal has his pool cleaning service."<br/>
<br/>
"What's a seneschal?" Will stumbles over the word, even though you just pronounced it for him.<br/>
<br/>
"It's like a sheriff. In a Temple, the Sovereign Seneschal is basically the cop."<br/>
<br/>
"So he's this cop they're talking about bringing out to the school?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, that's the Temporal Marshal."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh Jesus." Will pinches the bridge of his nose.<br/>
<br/>
<i>It's very simple,</i> you want to tell him. Except you already told him all this and apparently it went in one ear and out the other. Now you know why your mother sometimes gives you those looks. <br/>
<br/>
<i>The Van Dief Temple is divided into two 'courts'. The Sovereign Court has five members, and is the court that runs things. The lower court, which Nicholas is a member of, also has five members, and is called the "Temporal Court." Each court has offices that are equivalent to each other. So the equivalent of the Sovereign Vicegerent is the Temporal Commander, and the equivalent of the Sovereign Seneschal is the Temporal Marshal.<br/>
<br/>
And because Mr. Walberg has signed on for another year of teaching at Westside, the Temple can't follow through on its plan to re-infiltrate Westside by getting Nicholas hired as a social studies teacher. ("Re-infiltrate," because until last year, when he died, Mr. Sloan of the English department was the Temple's agent inside the school.) So instead they are going to try to get Rick Chandler, the Temporal Marshal, who is on the city police force, hired as a security guard at the high school. As for Nicholas, the Vicegerent wants to give him—</i><br/>
<br/>
"Oh hey, this is something you'll find interesting." You poke Will in the thigh as he turns into the student parking lot. "I told you— Well," you stammer, "Sydney told us." Briefly you lose your voice. "But ley lines need two anchor points to establish them, right? Well, one of the three ley lines that run through town goes right alongside the railroad tracks. And one of the anchors is at the old depot, and the other, get this—" You clutch his arm. "Is under the Warehouse."<br/>
<br/>
You grin, but Will only blinks. "The party spot?" he asks, sounding confused.<br/>
<br/>
"Exactly! So all the stuff that goes on out there? That permanent rave? It frigging powers that ley line! I mean, my goodness! All those hormones, all that dancing, all those kids going upstairs or backstairs and fucking each other blind, it all pours into that anchor point and sluices like floodwater along the—! Oh hey, there's Reagan! Honk at her, will you?" Will leans on the horn; Reagan Hackett looks around, and smiles when you wave at her. "Anyway, the Vicegerent wants Nicholas to take over as one of the suppliers out at the Warehouse. You know, as one of the adult dealers who keeps the high school suppliers, uh, supplied. That way he could get access to the anchor point out there, which isn't as good as having an intersection, but at least it's something for him." You make a face and add, "Nicholas is sure scuzzy enough to be a drug dealer."<br/>
<br/>
Will pulls into a slot, and you start to gather up your stuff. There's a tap at your window, and you swing around to beam at Reagan. "Hey, girl!" the two of you exclaim in unison as you clamber out. <br/>
<br/>
Reagan is a big girl, but fit (she's on the volleyball squad), with all her mass concentrated in leg, butt, and shoulder muscles. With her wide hips and great bust she looks like she could litter a dozen kids at a go, and with her bold nose and even bolder stare she could chase off any predator smaller than a T-Rex.<br/>
<br/>
She's also one of your candidates to act as a "scout" inside Westside.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God, Josie's study party!" she laughs as you and she and Will walk toward the school. "The gift that keeps on giving!"<br/>
<br/>
"Like how?"<br/>
<br/>
"The dog that didn't bark?" Reagan grins and rolls her eyes so hard the whites show. "Raymond wasn't there."<br/>
<br/>
"Which Raymond?"<br/>
<br/>
"Koepp. The band guy I pointed out to you yesterday?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah yeah. So he wasn't—"<br/>
<br/>
"But Haley <i>was,</i> and now—"<br/>
<br/>
Reagan breaks off to look past you. At first you think she's giving Will a hard stare, but when she waves you see she's beckoning someone over.<br/>
<br/>
Make that two someones. A tall, cheerful Chinese-American kid (who you recognize but can't place firmly) and a short, round-faced kid with short, frosted blonde hair, elfin eyes, and a stud in his left ear. Reagan squeals as she gives the Chinese kid a squeeze around the waist. "Oh my God, I was just telling Sydney about Raymond and Haley!" she exclaims as you all meet up next to the gym. "You gotta make sure I tell it right!"<br/>
<br/>
So it turns out that the Chinese guy—Jack Li is his name—is the source of Reagan's story, the short version of which is that Raymond and Haley Flanagan are supposedly going out together, but Raymond skipped going to Josie Holden's with her on account of he had a study group to meet with, but Jack was part of that study group and Raymond never showed up, so just where the hell was he?<br/>
<br/>
"Fucker." The frosted-hair kid laughs and punches Jack in the arm. "You were supposed to cover for him while he was off with—"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't know he was supposed to be studying with us!" Jack protests. "So when Stephanie comes over and asks me about him—"<br/>
<br/>
Everyone starts talking at once, and not until the frosted-hair kid jogs off to join some girls headed for the natatorium do you notice that Will has slipped away. It gives you a hard pang to find him gone without saying goodbye.<br/>
<br/>
You cover for yourself by asking Reagan who the frosted-hair kid was. "Matthew Adams," she tells you with a distracted sniff. "He's on the swim team." She giggles. "He'll find out what the girls on the swim team are saying about Raymond and Haley."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, he doesn't give a shit," Jack says. "He's a sophomore," he explains to you.<br/>
<br/>
You've decided you need a "scout," a face you can use to find likely converts to your cult, given that you yourself aren't in the social swim, and Sydney is still new to school. Besides Reagan, you were leaning toward using party girl Catherine Muskov, or gossip Deanna Showalter. But as a result of this conversation, Jack Li has just volunteered himself.<br/>
<br/>
And it occurs to you that the sophomore class might be an even better hunting ground than the senior class.</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221231224
author_id: seuzz
title: Through Another's Eyes
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>After Jack splits for his locker, you ask Reagan about him. She gives you a quizzical look. "You don't know Jack?"<br/>
<br/>
"He's in my history class, but I just moved to town," you remind her. "So I don't <i>know</i> him."<br/>
<br/>
She tosses her head. "Well, you should know who he is at least. We'll get together with him sometime. He's totally worth knowing." <br/>
<br/>
"How come?"<br/>
<br/>
Her lips twitch, and she leans in close. "Because he knows <i>everything</i> that goes on at school." A gleeful grin spreads across her face.<br/>
<br/>
"Really?" You can't help arching your eyebrows skeptically.<br/>
<br/>
Reagan rolls her eyes and assures you that anything Jack Li doesn't know about isn't worth knowing. "It's too bad he doesn't spill about any of it," she adds.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Then what's the point of getting to know him?</i> you almost ask. But instead you just nod, and make a private note to talk to Jack third period.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"He's going to meet us up at my house tomorrow after school," you inform Will after school. You're still hot and blown from gymnastics, and you slouch in the passenger seat of his truck with your bright white tennies propped up on the console. "House'll be empty, so we won't have any trouble getting a mask on him."<br/>
<br/>
Will only returns you a sidelong look. He's been mulishly silent all afternoon, offering no comment or question about your plan to turn Jack Li into a catspaw. With a twinge you wonder if he's jealous. Though of what? You can't imagine yourself being jealous of Jack Li. But he's not you, he's just a copy of you, a <i>pedisequos.</i> So is he jealous that you're making another one of those things? Can one <i>pedisequos</i> be jealous of another?<br/>
<br/>
Suddenly, as you're staring at the side of his unshaven face, a wave of tenderness washes over you. Your fingers flex, and almost you throw yourself at him, to squeeze and rub his thigh, to put your nose and lips into the crook of his neck, to press upon him how much you love him, how devoted you are to him, how he is the pole star of your existence.<br/>
<br/>
That surge of passion is followed by an equally sudden fright. <i>But that's me over there!</i> you squeal to yourself. <i>Making out with myself? Eww!</i> But the desire still burns, and an itch—like being touched with a smoldering match—flares between your legs<br/>
<br/>
You tear your eyes off Will. <i>This isn't me feeling this way,</i> you tell yourself. <i>I'm not hot for myself. Am I? No, this is Sydney, it's her and her instincts. She's the one who—</i><br/>
<br/>
Then it hits you like a hammer stroke. <i>You are the pole star of my existence,</i> you almost blurted out to Will Prescott.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney had a thing for you. A really—<i>really</i>— serious thing for you.<br/>
<br/>
And look what you did to her.<br/>
<br/>
"Let's hit the greenhouse first," you tell Will as you try to thrust the churning horror behind you. You tug the shopping list from your jeans pocket and flatten it across your knee. "Then the art supply store, and the—"<br/>
<br/>
You break off before you can lose your shit entirely. The tears are starting to well up behind your eyes, and you have to touch your nose to stop the sniffles.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, is something wrong?" Will asks. You glance over to find him looking at you. <br/>
<br/>
<i>He's such a puppy,</i> you think. <i>So sweet and adorable. And he likes me so much and he can't believe he's with me. But I'm the one who can't believe I'm with him. He's so sweet and he's so generous—</i><br/>
<br/>
You jam the heels of your hands into your eyes. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Except I'm not sweet. Because look what I did to Sydney. I couldn't believe she was for real.<br/>
<br/>
And now she isn't for real anymore.</i><br/>
<br/>
"I'm just being silly and emotional," you reply, and suck back the tears with a hard gulp. "I"ll be okay when we get out to the place. I'll have to be if I'm going to go in with you."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have to go in."<br/>
<br/>
"I want to. Else I'll just wind up sitting in the parking lot being stupidly emotional." You gulp again.<br/>
<br/>
Then you smile at him through the tears, and pat his thigh.<br/>
<br/>
Again, like a slap, strikes the urge to pull off his pants and stroke him all over. <br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It takes all afternoon out at the old elementary school—as you anticipated—to fashion a mask to use on Jack. Will works the buffer while you carve runes into a metal band, and when he's done he sits back with his cell phone to silently cruise the internet. You'd like to fuss at him for kindof-sortof-mostly ignoring you. But you'd prefer to concentrate on the brain thing anyway. If you spared him any more attention, you might wind up getting physical with him. And that would just be too weird in too many ways.<br/>
<br/>
The next day—a Friday—you remind Jack that he's coming out to your place after school to talk in a general way about planning a party. He assures you he hasn't forgotten. And, even better, he flatters you by coming into the Gym Annex after last bell to languidly watch you and the other girls do gymnastics. You blush with pleasure under his smile.<br/>
<br/>
But Deanna Showalter beats you over to the sidelines to gush at him after Coach Coles has called an end to practice. "Oh my God, Jack, what are you doing here?"<br/>
<br/>
"I came out to watch and feel jealous."<br/>
<br/>
"You used to do gymnastics too! I remember back in middle school—" Deanna does a double-take as you join them. "We all thought you were going to state," she concludes, but there's an uncertain note in her voice as she looks between you and Jack.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, just let me get cleaned up and we'll go," you tell him. You pat your neck with a towel. "You mind following me and Will out to my place?"<br/>
<br/>
"You could give me the address anyway," he says. You nod and turn toward the changing room. Deanna resumes chattering at Jack, but you can hear the edge in her voice. <i>She's going to try to invite herself along,</i> you think with gritted teeth.<br/>
<br/>
But she's gone by the time you join Jack again. "So Will doesn't come here to watch you?" he asks as he strides along beside you to the door.<br/>
<br/>
"He doesn't know he can. Besides, he uses the time when he's waiting for me to do his homework in the library."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh," Jack says. You wonder what he means by that grunt, but refrain from asking.<br/>
<br/>
You part in the parking lot, and you watch as Jack strolls over to a cherry-red minivan. He's built pretty nice, you can't help noticing, and he has great legs. He's pretty tall, too—you could barely touch his shoulder with your nose.<br/>
<br/>
"That's him in the minivan," you tell Will after joining him in the truck. Then: "You got the mask out and stuff here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah." Will pats his bag.<br/>
<br/>
"Good." You study the minivan out the back window of the truck. "We won't bother taking him inside. We'll do it in the driveway when we get there, right in his car."<br/>
<br/>
"You're the boss."<br/>
<br/>
You give the <i>pedisequos</i> a quick, sharp look. He's being quiet again, and there's a hardness about the eyes. Again, you have that darting suspicion that he's acting jealous.<br/>
<br/>
But this time, with the scent of prey in your nostrils, you keep your emotions under control.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Jack Li has just enough time to look surprised before his eyes go out of focus and his jaw goes slack. He slumps sideways in the driver's seat, and you rush around to the passenger-side door; once inside the cabin, you push him upright behind the wheel.<br/>
<br/>
The side door slides open, and Will climbs in. "So," he says as he wedges himself between the two front seats and studies the side of Jack's head. "This is our first recruit, huh? First brother in our temple thing?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," you confess. "Maybe."<br/>
<br/>
"Then how come we're making a mask of him if he's not—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because right I need someone to help me look around. Reagan says he knows, like, everyone at school."<br/>
<br/>
"He doesn't know me."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't know anybody," you retort. "There's a pretty good chance he knows you, though." You nibble a thumbnail while studying Jack's face.<br/>
<br/>
Will shrugs. And you're too preoccupied to say anything yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Because last night Nicholas quietly asked you into his study for a conference. With the door closed, and in a hushed voice, he told you he had been out to the Warehouse to look around. In one of the sub-basements he found a focal point for the ley line that runs alongside the railroad tracks, but when he performed a Rite of Opening over it, nothing happened.<br/>
<br/>
It would be a bitch and a half if it turned out that the <i>pedisequoses</i> are incapable of performing any of the rites. Especially if—as you were planning—you make five of them for a Temporal Court of your own before trying any of the rites.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you going to turn yourself into him after you make the mask?" Will asks after several minutes of silence.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. Probably. But you can hang out with us."<br/>
<br/>
Will winces. <br/>
<br/>
You grasp him by the arm.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't mean it to sound like that, sweetie," you tell him, then flinch at the easy way the endearment slipped out. "I mean, we're all going to be on the same team, at least. But it's always going to be a special thing between you and me, you know. Because," you hurriedly add after he turns his head fractionally toward you, "you and me, we're basically the same person. Right?"<br/>
<br/>
The <i>pedisequos</i> grunts.<br/>
<br/>
<i>And because,</i> you add to yourself, though the thought is like strychnine, <i>Sydney wanted a special thing between her and you.</i></span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112212312241
author_id: seuzz
title: Jack of All Trades
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>But you can't waste time daydreaming. You need to be ready to subdue Jack after the mask finishes copying him. You move into the back of the minivan with Will.<br/>
<br/>
"After the mask is done with Jack, seal it up and move it onto me," you order him as you kick off your shoes and unbutton your jeans. "And put Sydney's mask onto him.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," he says. His eyes are locked on your chest as you unbutton your blouse.<br/>
<br/>
"Will, honey." He looks up, startled at the endearment. "I know you're fascinated, and they are glorious. But as soon as I pull the mask off, it's not gonna be anything you don't see in the bathroom mirror every morning."<br/>
<br/>
His lips twitch into something halfway between a smirk and a grimace. "So do you have to take the mask off right away?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes I do," you reply as you peel off the last of your things. You cover your face with your hands, position your fingers, and pull while muttering some arcane words under your breath.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The sun is warm in your face, and you squeeze your eyes shut against its rays. The back of your eyeballs throb, and you feel a headache coming on behind your temples. With a groan you open your eyes.<br/>
<br/>
It takes only a second to figure out where you are. The musty, dusty stink of old-car fabrics and rugs places you instantly in the middle seat of the minivan.<br/>
<br/>
You're less certain why you're naked. But a vague memory, niggling like a worm at the back of your brain, tells you there's a good explanation.<br/>
<br/>
Through the glare of sun against glass you see that someone is perched on the hood of the minivan, their back to you. You rub your eyes, and when you blink them open again you see it's two people, seated very close. One of them turns to the other, and you recognize Sydney McGlynn. Then the other one turns, and you recognize Will Prescott.<br/>
<br/>
You grunt as it all comes back to you. Your own memories breach the surface of your consciousness, and absorb those of Jack Li. You squeeze your temples between the heels of your hands, and the headache vanishes. You stretch, roll your head and shoulders, and look for your clothes.<br/>
<br/>
But you also watch Will and Sydney as you pull on underwear and shorts, the v-neck t-shirt, and the billowy Hawaiian shirt.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Will and Sydney.</i> There was a mystery there. But not anymore.<br/>
<br/>
They were friends, partners. Almost lovers? For awhile one of them was a master and the other a kind of slave. <br/>
<br/>
But now they are on the same level again. Both of them are fakes.<br/>
<br/>
You ponder the remembered feelings of yesterday, and this afternoon, when you, playing Sydney, spent time with the fake you. The tenderness that came with thinking of him, and the happiness that came with looking at him. The desire to brush his skin and to feel his nose beside your nose, his whiskers against your cheek, the scent of his skin in your nostrils. The desire to grip him by the back of his jeans and to clench the fabric of his shirt between your teeth. <br/>
<br/>
Does the fake-Sydney have those feelings for the fake-Will? Do the fakes have feelings at all, or is it all just a magical pretense?<br/>
<br/>
But even if it's just magical-pretense, won't it at least look on the outside like it's real?<br/>
<br/>
So after you've pulled canvas Converse sneakers onto sockless feet, you settle back to watch them. You can't hear them of course. But they smile at each other—Sydney with that wide, confident grin; Will with his shy, rabbity one—and at one point Will rubs his face as though embarrassed by what she's told him. They don't touch, let alone kiss. But watching them, you can't help but feel the pang of being cut off from a world that could have been yours—Will Prescott and Sydney McGlynn, partners against the world—if you hadn't been so stupidly paranoid.<br/>
<br/>
Your cell phone goes off, and you jump. The two outside must have heard, for they look back through the windshield, and as you clamber forward to retrieve your phone from the front seat, they slide off t and amble over to the passenger-side doors.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey boss," Will says as he and Sydney lean into the minivan. "Nice legs."<br/>
<br/>
You make a face at him. Yes, Jack has nice legs—strong and smooth—as would anyone who worked a StairMaster as long and as often as he does. Plus the aerobics, plus the dance classes, plus the hangover from when he did gymnastics ... Jack Li is definitely trim and fit without being bunched all over with muscles.<br/>
<br/>
"Any problems?" Sydney asks. "Did, uh, I pick a good guy for the job?"<br/>
<br/>
"Pretty good, I guess." It embarrasses you (now) to know what Reagan said about "you" knowing all the school secrets. "It'll take me awhile to sort through things, get some ideas about what to do next." You scramble for the door, and Sydney and Will step back to let you out. You stretch again and let the sun warm your skin as you gaze up at the broad, stony facade of Sydney's house. <br/>
<br/>
"You really should have a party out here or something," you tell her. "You could fit half the senior class." You glance around. All the neighboring houses are screened by trees, and the wide street curves away, empty of traffic, in both directions. "Plenty of room to park."<br/>
<br/>
Her lips twitch. "You wanna go inside and start planning something? Like we were supposed to do?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nah, I got someplace I have to be." You glance again at the message on your phone before slipping it into your shirt pocket. But you shade your eyes to stare back up at the house. "You really need to do something with this place, though. An ass-kicking party out here, well—" You break off before you can blurt it out: <i>It would really turn things around for you at school.</i><br/>
<br/>
"For Halloween, maybe?"<br/>
<br/>
"Mmm. Probably not, there's too many other things already planned. Middle of November, though, in time for fall break?" you muse. You look around again. "Could you set up a hayride, maybe? Well, I dunno," you hastily add. "I should go anyway, if I've got a job to do."<br/>
<br/>
"You're taking it pretty seriously." Fake-Sydney grins.<br/>
<br/>
Then, to your astonishment, she steps up to kiss you lightly on the cheek. "Thanks, Will," she says. "I appreciate it."<br/>
<br/>
Before you can react, she turns to the other <i>pedisequos,</i> who is staring, and takes him by the hand. For a moment they fumble with each other. Then, stiffly, Fake-Will puts his arm around her waist, and she puts her arm around his, and they walk toward the house. They're at the door before you can uproot yourself from the driveway pavement.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You take the drive back into town slowly, texting with one hand until you hit the busier thoroughfares. You ask Philippa if you can meet someplace else, but she says that she and the others are already on their way. You come real close to inventing an excuse to break the date, but wind up gritting your teeth and pressing on with it. For, as you told Fake-Sydney, you've got a job to do: Scoping out potential recruits for the Brotherhood.<br/>
<br/>
So that's how you wind up at one of Jack Li's least favorite places: The Panda Garden Chinese Buffet.<br/>
<br/>
You're very conscious of how underdressed you are as you enter. You're showing a lot of leg, and your skin prickles hard in the Arctic air that whooshes out to enfold you. You search out the mostly empty dining room without turning your head, and it's with relief that you quickly spot the party you're supposed to meet: Philippa Hosford, Randy Hodges, Alex Sheehan, Leah Simmons. They've already got their plates, and the guys' are almost scraped clean as you join them at a big, round table. You keep your eyes locked on them, and affect not to notice the hunched figure in the knit cap who glowers from a table in the corner.<br/>
<br/>
The girls squeal and smile as you saunter up. Alex—<i>asshole</i>—jerks his chin at you from behind his empty plate. "Yo, man, so what's good here?" he says.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno, I never come here." You slide into a chair and turn to Philippa. "I told Stephanie to go piss up a rope so—"<br/>
<br/>
"No! You didn't!" Philippa gasps.<br/>
<br/>
Alex beckons to the figure in the corner. "Hey man!" he calls, and points to the empty chair next to you. "Come join us!" You stiffen all over.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not even friends with Raymond," you tell Philippa. "I mean," you correct yourself with a glance at Randy, "I don't hang out with him, you know, I didn't set things up to be his alibi the other night. That's what I told Stephanie."<br/>
<br/>
Philippa's answer is lost in the roar of blood rushing into your ears as Gary Chen levers himself to his feet and swaggers over. He doesn't sit, but you do feel him looming over your shoulder. Still, you try to ignore him. <br/>
<br/>
Too late you realize that's the worst thing you can do. Ignoring a guy like Chen is the same as running up a white flag. It shows fear.<br/>
<br/>
"Take a chair," Alex offers him. "We're talking about Raymond and Haley."<br/>
<br/>
"Who the fuck's that?" Chen says. His voice is low and even.<br/>
<br/>
"Guy and his girlfriend. 'Cept he's cheating on her, we think. Jack's in charge of figuring out what to do about it."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't even—" you start to protest, but the words die in your throat. Even worse, you feel a tremble coming on.<br/>
<br/>
And worst of all, you feel Chen's eyes on you. "The fuck does Jack here know about making a lady happy?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
Even still, you can't bring yourself to look up into his face.<br/>
<br/>
You wince as he grips your shoulder. "But the peewee football team," he says. "He'd get on his knees for them in a heartbeat."<br/>
<br/>
The table is silent, except for a long, loud, bubbly giggle from Alex.</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122123122411
author_id: seuzz
title: The Genesis of a Plan
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Alex Sheehan giggles. No one else makes a sound. You feel a fire in your cheeks and forehead. The moment hangs.<br/>
<br/>
But Chen doesn't follow up. After a long pause, he pads back over to his table. You stare at the wall behind Philippa's head, but out of the corner of your eye you watch Chen pack up the books spread out at his table. Then, with his pack slung over his shoulders he carries his plates into the back.<br/>
<br/>
"We should'a called the managers over or something," Leah mutters. She is as flushed as you feel.<br/>
<br/>
"What'd you invite him over here?" Philippa snaps at Alex.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, I thought'd be fun! No offense, man," he snickers at you.<br/>
<br/>
"It wouldn't've made a difference," you tell Leah. "His family owns this place."<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes pop. "No! I didn't know that!" She swings toward Philippa. "Did you know that—?"<br/>
<br/>
The two girls gabble at each other. You tilt your head to give Alex a long, steady look. He returns it with a light, unblinking smirk of his own.<br/>
<br/>
Alex Sheehan is a real shithead. There's a lot of shithead at Westside, but he's one of the worst. He's not a bully, like Chen or Seth Javits, or an asshole-loser like the smokers and skateboarders who hang out at the portables. But he's a shit-stirrer, someone who makes trouble (as he just said) for fun. And he think he's cool, too, dressing in retro-70s threads and wearing his blonde, curly hair in a faux-fro.<br/>
<br/>
Randy kicks you under the table, and asks a question about history class. But a better distraction flies through the door a few minutes later.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God," Genesis Lee (no relation; her family comes from Tennessee) groans as she collapses into the chair that Alex offered to Chen. "Can someone please get Frau Kohl a boyfriend? Or a chew toy to distract her? A chew toy that isn't me?" She dumps her bag on the table in front of her. "She dropped like a friggin' months of homework on us for this weekend, and I've got plans!" <br/>
<br/>
She mimes dancing in her seat, then freezes. "Did we have to come here?" she asks in a whine. "They got anything that's like low calorie or no carbs? I'm trying to lose five pounds by Halloween, and I'm never going to make it!" She turns to give you a pleading smile, as though you've got the answers.<br/>
<br/>
"It's Chinese, Genesis," Philippa says. "What were you expecting?"<br/>
<br/>
"And you knew we were coming here," Leah adds. "And you came out anyway."<br/>
<br/>
"Come on," you tell Genesis before she can start whining again. "I'll walk you through the buffet." Genesis frowns at you, then hops up to follow.<br/>
<br/>
"You're babying her, Jack," Leah calls out. You grab Genesis by the elbow so she won't run back and start arguing.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, you're not going to find anything low calorie," you tell her as you pick up a plate and guide her between the offerings. "But you can stay away from the fried stuff, and you can go low carb by sticking to the—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh I don't care," Genesis says. She yanks the plate from you and seizes an egg roll with her bare hands. "Now I'm pissed off. But as long as we're over here—" She darts a glance back at the others. "What happened out at Sydney McGlynn's?" She pinches you in the side.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing happened. What did you think was going to happen?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't mean like <i>that.</i> I mean, what did she want to talk to you about?"<br/>
<br/>
You give her a look. "You were sitting there when she came over to talk." You pull Genesis's plate from her, and scoop some pepper steak onto it. "She wanted to talk about throwing a party."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, bullshit. If she wanted to have a party she'd've had one by now. But what's it like out at her place? Does live in a trailer park? Is that why she doesn't want anyone coming out to see where she lives?"<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, Genesis!" You scoop some kung pao chicken onto her plate, and block her as she darts a hand out toward the fried rice. "She lives in a really nice place northwest of town. It's big, no other houses around. She could have half the senior class out there."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, so she's just stuck up and doesn't want to have people out."<br/>
<br/>
"Will you stop it? She wants to have a big Halloween party, is what she wants. I told her she should do something for fall break instead." There's nothing else in the buffet line that would be good for Genesis, so you lead her back to the table.<br/>
<br/>
Thank God the conversation there has moved on. Alex has fallen back into his cell phone, while the others are laying plans for the night. Leah is noodling around with the idea of a "board game" night with some of her friends from the Trivial Pursuit Club, and Randy reminds the table that Maggie Crenshaw is having a party out at her place, but—<br/>
<br/>
"Warehouse," Genesis declares. Everyone looks at her, a little startled. Randy gets a lopsided grin. "Cool," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm serious," Genesis insists. "After Maggie's, let's go out to the Warehouse!"<br/>
<br/>
"Who's playing?" Philippa asks.<br/>
<br/>
"No one," Alex says. "It's dee-jay night."<br/>
<br/>
"Who's the dee-jay?"<br/>
<br/>
"Let's go out there early!" Genesis exclaims, her eyes brightening. She squirms in her seat. "Like, after we're done here?"<br/>
<br/>
"They're not gonna be done setting up!" Leah protests. "Nothing gets started out there 'til eleven, at least."<br/>
<br/>
"Gives us more time with the guys doing the setting up!" Genesis is now squirming so hard it looks like she's trying to bore a hole in the chair with her butt. "Lots of people go out early to— We could help them set up!"<br/>
<br/>
Randy winces. "That's not my idea of—" he starts to say.<br/>
<br/>
But Philippa interrupts him. "Who's working out there tonight?" she demands of Genesis in a hard voice. Genesis only grins. Her eyes are wet. "Blake?" Philippa asks.<br/>
<br/>
Genesis squeaks.<br/>
<br/>
"God damn it, Genesis," Leah mutters. "Sometimes I think you'd sell your soul just to get Blake to look at you."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Jack Li doesn't smoke, at least not often, and then only when he's got something really serious to chew over or if he's trying to be sociable.<br/>
<br/>
It's the former case now, though you had to spend some little time chatting with Randy behind the Panda Garden. As the supper party was breaking up—Philippa and Genesis driving off together in one direction; Leah and Alex separately in another—you followed Randy outside for a smoke and, cadging one cigarette off him as you talked about marching band matters, and then a second as he left. But  you stayed behind, leaning against the building, pondering furiously.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I think you'd sell your soul just to get Blake to look at you.</i><br/>
<br/>
Genesis had giggled at Leah's accusation. Then she asked if anyone knew where the devil hangs out so she could sign a contract.<br/>
<br/>
You didn't volunteer that one of his emissaries was sitting next to her.<br/>
<br/>
The "Blake" in question is Blake O'Brien, one of the football players. Genesis has been crushing on him hard since the start of the school year.<br/>
<br/>
Your first thought is the obvious, simple one. Make that deal with Genesis. Offer her Blake as a boyfriend in return for joining the cult that you're setting up. It would be child's play on your end to set it up. You'd just have to get a mind-controlling mask onto Blake.<br/>
<br/>
But instinctively you know that simple plan wouldn't work. Even if you made the offer to Genesis, she'd just laugh at it, and even if you got her to take it seriously, she'd never accept it.<br/>
<br/>
But what if you didn't make her an offer? What if you simply granted her wish, without warning, and then demanded payment? What if you gave her Blake O'Brien as a boyfriend, and then demanded that she join the Brotherhood?<br/>
<br/>
That was a more promising idea, though a complicated one, and Leah nudged you to ask what was wrong as you fell silent at the table while contemplating it.<br/>
<br/>
And now here you are, behind the Panda Garden, furiously sucking down a cigarette while trying to figure out how to accomplish it.<br/>
<br/>
Because you've only one trick you can use for bullying people into joining your Brotherhood: body swapping with a mask.<br/>
<br/>
You finish the cigarette and hurl the butt away before you come up with any solutions. But as you climb into the minivan, two related thoughts click against each other, like billiard balls.<br/>
<br/>
If you body-swapped people who didn't want to be body-swapped, you could hold them hostage, and force them to do what you wanted them to. Like, force them to join your Brotherhood.<br/>
<br/>
Or you could body-swap people into better positions, and threaten to un-swap them if they didn't help the Brotherhood out.<br/>
<br/>
You mull these ideas for awhile in the parking lot of the Panda Garden. Gary Chen and Alex Sheehan—those are two assholes you could hurt with a body swap. Genesis Lee—she'd sell her soul (she joked) to get close to Blake. Your old friend Keith, it occurs to you, is someone else who might pay a pretty good price to get out from under the thumb of the bullies who harass him. <br/>
<br/>
And there are probably others. Maybe dozens. Maybe <i>everyone</i> at school could be sorted into one of the two categories: people who'd pay any price to get their bodies back, and people who'd pay any price to keep an upgrade.<br/>
<br/>
The challenge, of course, is controlling the people you recruit. If you don't turn them into a bunch of <i>pedisequoses,</i> they might be too hard to control. But if what Fake-Nicholas told you is true about not being able to execute a rite, maybe you need to try it with real people anyway.</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221231224112
author_id: seuzz
title: Candor and Candidate
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>Can I come out to your place now?</i> you text Sydney, as though you are the polite and thoughtful Jack Li and not Fake-Sydney's boss. <i>Is Nicholas there?<br/>
<br/>
Nicholas is working late,</i> Sydney texts back a few minutes later, <i>but you can still come out.</i> As you're putting the minivan in gear, she adds, <i>Will says I need to call you 'boss'</i> followed by an emoji with its tongue sticking out.<br/>
<br/>
You're glad the fakes seem to have most of their original personalities, but it does make them a little bit of a chore to deal with.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Even before you took his place, Jack had texted his mom to tell her he'd probably be out with friends until his curfew, but you stop by his house to change clothes, for it's turning chilly and will only get colder.<br/>
<br/>
The Lis live on the western edge of town, not far from the country club, in a modest-sized home in a tidy cul-de-sac with broken, open fields on the other side of their back fence. In Jack's equally tidy bedroom—bed made, dresser clear, work desk cluttered only with two laptops, some ear buds, and a small French press and coffee mug—you change into fresh jeans, a green polo shirt, and white sneakers. You judge the effect in the mirror that hangs inside the closet door. Dimples deepen your cheeks as you grin at your reflection; your curved lids themselves resemble tiny smiles. <br/>
<br/>
All in all, a cheerful face. A trustworthy face. <br/>
<br/>
A face from behind which no one would see the curveball coming.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's almost eight o'clock when you park under the blazing mercury lamps of the Monte Viso Mini-Golf and Go-Kart complex, up by the mall. You're late, because you lingered to plot and plan with Sydney even as you fielded a barrage of texts from friends trying to set up some Friday night fun. But Nicholas never showed up, so  after talking things over with Fake-Sydney, you decided to gamble on using "live" recruits, not <i>pedisequoses,</i> to populate your Brotherhood.<br/>
<br/>
If things go well tonight, you'll have picked out some more candidates for the scheme that you and Fake-Sydney have tentatively cooked up.<br/>
<br/>
The rest of the party should already have arrived, but when you stride into the games room you find only two girls waiting. Genesis and Brianna Kirschke are perched at one of ancient, picnic-style tables, heads bent, thumbing away on their cell phones while vintage video game machines roar and rumble in the background. (Monte Viso is nothing if not retro.) You suppress a smile as Genesis grabs a fistful of popcorn from the tub at her wrist.<br/>
<br/>
Brianna, who is sitting next to her, does a double take as you saunter up. She nudges Genesis. "Wendy and them are already back there," she says, jerking her head at the putting course on the other side of the bay windows.<br/>
<br/>
"So why are you two hanging out here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Waiting for you." Brianna dimples. "And Susie. Oh, and when I say Wendy and them—" She hesitates. "Parker and Kristina aren't coming."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, Parker texted me." You can't help flinching as Brianna replies by showing you her pouty "sad face."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Jesus. It's bad enough that your best friend since elementary school has started seeing a lot more of Kristina than of you; worse that Kristina is another one of your close friends, so that it feels like two of your best friends are cheating on you with each other. Worst of all is that you really do resent it, no matter how hard you try not to.<br/>
<br/>
And to have Brianna and everyone acting </i>so freaking sympathetic,<i> as though Parker really is betraying you, is just the cherry on the shit sundae.</i><br/>
<br/>
You cover Jack's confusion by checking your own cell phone. "Dang, and I thought <i>I</i> was late. Was Susie busy with something?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, she's just on Susie Standard Time." Brianna scoots over as you settle in next to her. "You know that."<br/>
<br/>
"Ah." Yes, Susie Lekuawehe is notorious for being an hour or more late to every social engagement. "So what's the latest?" You nod at her phone.<br/>
<br/>
"Tell her about Sydney," Genesis chimes in from the other side.<br/>
<br/>
Brianna glances at her, then leans in toward you. "Aaron and Daniel are out on the speedway," she says. "And Naomi isn't." She gives you a knowing look over the top of her glasses.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God," you reply. "Are Aaron and Daniel being gay with each other?"<br/>
<br/>
Brianna starts a little, then pinches your thigh.<br/>
<br/>
"You know what I mean. Don't you? Aaron and Naomi—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I know. But it's only their second date, isn't it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, it's going to be their last if Aaron doesn't—"<br/>
<br/>
Genesis squeaks, loud enough to be heard over the electronic chatter of the game machines. You and Brianna glance over at her. But she keeps her face bent over her cell phone.<br/>
<br/>
"Are we going out to the Warehouse when we're done here?" you ask in a loud voice. Genesis squeaks again.<br/>
<br/>
Brianna gives you another knowing look from beneath her brows. But before she can reply, the front door opens and Susie Lekuawehe tumbles in, like a landslide.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God!" she gasps. Her long, dark hair writhes about her shoulders like a living thing, and her heart-shaped face blushes with embarrassment. "You wouldn't believe the night I've been having! So after I got done texting with you," she tells Brianna after smiling briefly at you and Genesis, "I had to go next door to feed our neighbors' dog. You know?" She drops a jingling key ring as she juggles it, her cell phone, her purse, and a shopping bag all at once. "And I thought I'd clean up the yard a little while I was back there, because—"<br/>
<br/>
What follows is like a three-way conversation with herself as she interrupts her own story with multiple asides and digressions, the upshot of which is that her neighbors' dog got loose but that was lucky because while retrieving it she met another neighbor who gave her a line on a charity she could volunteer for so as to add something extracurricular to her college applications.<br/>
<br/>
But that's okay, that's just Susie.<br/>
<br/>
She's not to everyone's taste, though, as you discover anew a little later, out on the course, when Naomi Batson sidles up to you. "Doesn't that girl ever shut up?" she growls in your ear.<br/>
<br/>
The remark startles you a little. Not because someone objects to Susie, or even because it's Naomi—a very prim girl in the junior class, who plays violin in the school orchestra—who objects to her, but because Naomi had to traipse no little distance over in order to offer the objection.<br/>
<br/>
You're playing in two foursomes, and Naomi was with the other group over by the sixteenth hole while you, Genesis, Brianna and Susie were still navigating the seventh. The other girls are already teeing up on the eighth hole while you're still trying to get your ball past the miniature windmill.<br/>
<br/>
"She's got a lot on her mind," you reply as you tap the ball. It bangs off one of the sails, and you grimace.<br/>
<br/>
"Will she explode if she doesn't let it out?"<br/>
<br/>
You return her a faint smile. "You got something on your mind, Naomi?"<br/>
<br/>
"P'teh!" She rolls her eyes and looks away. For a moment, you think she's going to stomp off in a temper.<br/>
<br/>
But she doesn't. Instead, she says, "I just hate drama. You know?"<br/>
<br/>
"Then you must hate being in the orchestra."<br/>
<br/>
She does a double-take. "Why, what do you mean by that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing." You line up your putter for another shot.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't pay any attention to any of that stuff."<br/>
<br/>
"Good for you."<br/>
<br/>
She holds her peace while you take another shot. This time the ball goes through, only to narrowly miss the cup on the other side.<br/>
<br/>
Then she blurts it out: "Am I wasting my time with Aaron?"<br/>
<br/>
You waste an inordinate amount of your own time lining up your final putt instead of answering right away. The buzz and whine of the nearby speedway—where Aaron Flood and his best friend Daniel Lujan are still making laps—fills the air.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know Aaron real well," you reply after sinking the putt.<br/>
<br/>
"He's in the marching band with you."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm in the color guard," you correct her. "And we don't all hang out together."<br/>
<br/>
Naomi bites her lip and looks at the fence separating the golf course from the speedway. "The school is so full of jerks," she says, as though that's a relevant observation.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Even in the orchestra?</i> you want to reply. <i>Like Gary Chen and David Kirkham?</i> Like roaches, they do manage to get into the most surprising places. But aloud you only say, "It's hard to find a good guy."<br/>
<br/>
She does another double take, and instantly you regret your words. It's bad enough that you know what she's thinking, but if she actually comes out and says it—<br/>
<br/>
"I'm being selfish," she says with a blush. "I'm sorry. I know it's tougher for, um, guys like you." She tilts her head, and inwardly you cringe. "So, um, is there anyone who—? I mean," she stammers, "I know there's Charles and Christian and, um, Alexander Peloquin, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't hang out with them either." You kneel to retrieve the ball from the cup. <i>Like you said, the school is full of jerks.</i><br/>
<br/>
"I mean, I've heard <i>some</i> guys talk about how, um, attractive you are," Naomi says. There's now a desperate edge to her prattle, and you don't dare glance at her, lest she shatter into a million embarrassed pieces. "Like ... Alex Sheehan?"<br/>
<br/>
Now you do have to look at her, and find her flushed a deep purple.<br/>
<br/>
"He was joking," you tell her, and point to the other side of the other side of the course with your putter. "They're waiting for you."<br/>
<br/>
Naomi visibly flinches, and on mincing steps runs back to join the rest of her foursome.<br/>
<br/>
But if she's done nothing else, Naomi has given you another name for your list of potential recruits: Jack Li himself.</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112212312241124
author_id: seuzz
title: Study Date of Doom
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The party eventually moves indoors again, with Aaron and Daniel—flushed and vibrating from an hour on the speedway—joining everyone else to eat hot dogs and popcorn and to shove quarters into the game machines. After another hour of food and laughter, the group fragments, with some heading off for parties on the other side of town and others driving to Eastman High to hang out before heading to the Warehouse.<br/>
<br/>
You, though, plead a headache and return home, hours before your curfew. Your mom and dad—in robe and housecoat already, watching Netflix—are surprised to see you back so early, and you tell them that plans fell through at the last minute. Back in your bedroom, you stretch out on your bed and stare at the ceiling for a solid hour as you plot out your next move.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">~ ~ ~ ~ ~</div><br/>
<i>We can do it with just five Brothers,</i> Sydney told you that afternoon when you talked. <i>There's only one focus we can get to, and we only need five to use it.</i><br/>
<br/>
The focus out at the Warehouse? you asked.<br/>
<br/>
<i>No, at the cemetery. Come on, Will,</i> she said, <i>did you really forget about our date out there? The focus inside that crypt? We only need five Brothers to use it,</i> she repeated, <i>so if you really want to recruit people instead of making fakes— Well,</i> she concluded with tiny sigh, <i>it would be easier for us to manage five of them than ten.</i><br/>
<br/>
Easier for <i>me</i> to manage, you thought to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
So you talked about body-swapping people and who you might swap and how they might react. You took Keith as an example, explaining to Sydney how Keith was a constant victim of bullying. <i>If we swapped Keith,</i> you told her, <i>he'd probably be so grateful he'd do anything to help us out.<br/>
<br/>
Or,</i> Sydney countered, <i>if you turned Seth into your friend Keith, he'd do anything to get his old life back.<br/>
<br/>
I was thinking of that too,</i> you replied. <i>And if we swapped Keith and Seth, we'd have both set-ups.<br/>
<br/>
Except they'd both kill each other,</i> Sydney objected after a moment's thought. <i>Wouldn't they?</i> You allowed this was likely. <i>So we only swap one of them,</i> said with the air of having concluded a geometric proof. <i>We turn the one who'd be hard to handle into a </i>pedisequos,<i> and trap the other one in a new body. One they'd pay anything to get out of. Or anything to keep.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">~ ~ ~ ~ ~</div><br/>
But despite Keith being the most obvious candidate—or maybe because he is too much the obvious candidate—your attention keeps reverting to some of the other names that occurred to you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You go to bed early, so you wake early, and text Sydney to ask if you can come out. You're showered and dressed out in running shorts and a t-shirt by the time she gives the all-clear.<br/>
<br/>
"Blake O'Brien?" she exclaims as you jog through her neighborhood in the cool of the morning. All the houses you pass are set back far from the road on big, grassy lots. "Sure, I can get him out the house. He's come on to me a couple of times."<br/>
<br/>
That's not your memory from when you had Sydney's mask on, but maybe you just didn't spend enough time keeping track of who was flirting with you. "Who do you want to swap him with?" she continues.<br/>
<br/>
She stumbles and almost sprawls when you tell her. "Excuse my French, Will, but the <i>fuck?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
It is a wild idea, you have to admit, putting Genesis Lee into the body of her most recent crush. Impractical, maybe. Unpredictable. But something about it just feels right.<br/>
<br/>
And, okay, maybe you're biased, considering who you are currently looking like. But you're inclined to trust Jack Li's gut feelings and his gut feelings say that putting Genesis in Blake's body is an inspired move. As far as an explanation is concerned, though, the best you can do is ask Sydney to trust you.<br/>
<br/>
Of course, as a <i>pedisequos</i> she has no choice.<br/>
<br/>
"Is there a trail around here?" you ask as you pass a stand of trees. "Someplace we can go off where no one can see?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why?" she asks, sounding sly. "What have you got in mind, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
"I want to get naked with you," you retort. "And then I want to <i>be</i> naked <i>as</i> you."<br/>
<br/>
"With Jack?" she asks, sounding vastly amused.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I just want to swap masks if we're going to do it this afternoon. Jack's gay, if you didn't already know. So stop trying to be so goddamned flirty with me."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's well after lunch before you can get your two victims out to the house, but you need the time anyway to prepare masks. Sydney's mom has gone shopping, and you've sent Nicholas away, so there shouldn't be any complications. After you've got everything set up, you shower and slip on a short black dress that shows plenty of leg, and spend a good thirty minutes doing various things with your hair before giving up to let it fall in simple, shimmering sheets around your shoulders. With strappy sandals and a skinny belt cinching in your waist, you look like you're on your way to a cool club or a hot party.<br/>
<br/>
Jack and Genesis are the first to arrive, as you'd planned, and you lightly hug Genesis on being introduced. "I hope you don't mind me bringing company," Fake-Jack says. "We were hanging out."<br/>
<br/>
You tell him you're happy to have Genesis over, and insist on giving her a tour of the house as you and Jack discuss when to have a party and who to invite. You also make a point of soliciting Genesis's opinion. She falls in cheerfully with the planning, but there's a brittleness to her smile. And at one point, though you can't catch the words she mutters at Jack, you do hear his retort: <i>Stop it. Now.</i><br/>
<br/>
You're in the back yard, discussing whether it would be worth it to set up tiki torches, when your phone buzzes. "Oh, 'scuse me," you chirp as you check it. "My date's here. You guys can keep hanging out, we have to wait for my stepdad to get back before we can go." You make a face. "He insists on getting a look at all my dates before letting me out with them."<br/>
<br/>
"Who's your date?" Genesis asks.<br/>
<br/>
It's a rude question, so you can't help gloating a little over the answer. "Blake O'Brien."<br/>
<br/>
There's no missing the flutter at her throat. But she doesn't squeal.<br/>
<br/>
Blake is leaning back on his heels, checking his cell phone, when you open the front door. "Hey," you greet him. "Sorry, I was in the back yard when you texted, and I—"<br/>
<br/>
But the words die in your throat as Blake raises his eyes to meet yours.<br/>
<br/>
Because although Sydney has hitherto felt no real interest in him, there's no mistaking that, physically, he is exactly the kind of guy she is into.<br/>
<br/>
He's a little over six feet, with dark brown hair and coffee-colored eyes, and a large—and very kissable—mole just under the hinge of his jaw. His pale face glows like cool, fresh milk. His lips are large and his cheeks taut, and he has a way of leaning forward when he listens that makes his very concentrated attention look like the prelude to a long, burning kiss. He's dressed in dark jeans, a navy-blue hoodie, and boots, and he has a backpack slung over his shoulders, for you've asked him over for a study session.<br/>
<br/>
"Come on in," you gasp when you recover your voice, and step back from the door.<br/>
<br/>
"So who else is here?" he asks as he follows you in.<br/>
<br/>
"Guy from my history class. We just got done. Group project. He'll be going." Your breath is coming in short bursts, and you hope you don't start hiccupping. <i>I'm acting just like Genesis,</i> you shout at yourself. <i>Stop it. It's embarrassing!</i><br/>
<br/>
Blake follows you into the living room.  "I'll go get my books," you tell him as he collapses onto one of the sofas.. "Thanks for coming out." <br/>
<br/>
He looks up at you from under his brows, and you see the doubt in his eyes: <i>Does this chick serious want to work on math? When we don't even have any classes together? If we don't end up making out, I'm gonna be really pissed.</i><br/>
<br/>
You scamper upstairs and text Jack the signal. Then, to kill time (you tell yourself) you spend a couple of minutes primping and preening in the bathroom mirror, smoothing out your dress, touching your makeup, and fluffing out your hair. <i>Dang,</i> you think. <i>Even if Blake knows I've got a boyfriend, no way he'd pass up a chance to put his hands on </i>this<i> girl.</i> <br/>
<br/>
Out in the upstairs hall again, you drop your backpack at the top of the stairway and pull out a blank mask. You listen to Jack's voice and Blake's drift up from below, until you hear the front door creak open and slam with a heavy bang. Then you run lightly down the hallway to the back stairs, and out the study door onto the patio. Genesis is sitting exactly where you told Fake-Jack to put her, at the patio table with her back to you. You run up behind. She just has time to lift her head before you reach around and press the mask into her face. You hold her, then let her fall forward gently onto the table.<br/>
<br/>
Back upstairs, you pull out a second mask. Blake has his cell phone out again when you rejoin him in the living room. He blinks up at you as you saunter over.<br/>
<br/>
"I want us to form a study group," you tell him. "A very special kind of study group." His eyes widen as you drop onto him, straddling his lap. "A life-changing study group," you say as you slam the mask onto his face.</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122123122411243
author_id: seuzz
title: Project Genesis
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You run back to the front door and yank it open. Jack, who was waiting on the front stoop, leaps back with a soft yelp. "Okay, I'm ready for your help."<br/>
<br/>
"That was fast."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know when my mom's going to be back." Your heart is going a mile a minute as you return to the living room.<br/>
<br/>
The plan is to make it look like an authentic body swap, which means that although Genesis is going to wake up in Blake's body, she's got to wake up where he was sitting. And that means—<br/>
<br/>
"God!" Jack exclaims as he tries lifting Genesis by her armpits. "It's like she's cemented to the patio!" You fuss with her feet, but that doesn't help Jack any. He strains and grunts and turns very red as he wrestles with a hundred-and-something pounds of Genesis Lee. She's not fat exactly, but she is flabby all over, and as a dead weight she is almost impossible to lift.<br/>
<br/>
You end by gently tipping her from the chair and dragging her by her arms into the house, and it takes both of you, one each to a side, to loft her onto the sofa next to the unconscious Blake. By the time you're done, the blood is pounding in your face so hard it feels like your mask might pop off.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, here's the fun part for you," you tell Jack as you kneel to start peeling Genesis's clothes off her. "I'll take Genesis, you take Blake."<br/>
<br/>
You feel rather than see Jack glowering at you, but you don't regret the jibe. In fact, it's something of a relief. Besides being saddled with Jack's sexuality while playing him, you also had to wrestle with his own very secret crushes.<br/>
<br/>
Like the fact that he crushes on Blake almost as hard as Genesis does.<br/>
<br/>
Was that one of the reasons you went for the Blake-Genesis swap? Were you going with his gut instinct? Or were you going with an instinct that originated with an organ further down?<br/>
<br/>
Well, never mind. That's Fake-Jack's problem now. Your problem is the way Genesis and Blake fall over and flop atop each other as you tug their clothes off, and you watch fearfully for any reappearance of any masks.<br/>
<br/>
And indeed, the mask falls out of Genesis while you're still struggling to get Blake's clothes onto her. You stop Jack, who is helping, with a hand on his shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I figure we've got about five or ten minutes before she comes round again," you murmur to him. "So, slight change of plans now. You seal up her mask and his with the <i>pedisequos</i> paste, then come find me in the downstairs bathroom. I'll be out of Sydney's things by then, and you put her mask onto Blake and give him Sydney's clothes."<br/>
<br/>
His brow furrows. "And what do I do with Genesis's mask?"<br/>
<br/>
"Put it on me in the bathroom. Then wake me up so I can finish changing into Genesis."<br/>
<br/>
Jack gives a low whistle. "That is a change of plan."<br/>
<br/>
"I know. But I figure it's a better way of managing her."<br/>
<br/>
"How come?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yours is not to reason why," you retort as Blake's mask materializes. You catch it as it slips off his face. "Yours is to do whatever the fuck I say."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Genesis? Sweetie?" The voice comes out of nowhere, as though in a dream. "You need to wake up now." You feel yourself shaken.<br/>
<br/>
"Just five more minutes. Please?" you groan. But you're shaken again. <i>Stupid school day,</i> you think. You lever your eyes open and pout up at—<br/>
<br/>
You gasp. It's not your dad shaking you awake, it's Jack! He's bent over you with a faint smile—almost a smirk—on his face.<br/>
<br/>
All at once you realize you're cold all over, and you're cold all over because you're naked. And you're not in you're bed and you're not even in your bedroom, you're in—<br/>
<br/>
Memories snap into place with a noise like thunder, and an almost physical recoil rattles your bones. The jar gives you a sudden, blinding migraine. It rapidly fades, but leaves a nauseating headache behind.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Jesus, I feel like shit," you groan as you sit up. You cover your face with your hands and grind the heels into your eyes. Your mouth is parched.<br/>
<br/>
But there's no time to feel sorry for yourself. You feel your neck pop as you look up at Fake-Jack. "So what's going on?"<br/>
<br/>
"No time for anything to happen," he replies. "I put the mask on you and shook you awake like you asked. I haven't even been out to—" He picks a mask up off the bathroom vanity and shows it to you.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Sydney's mask.</i><br/>
<br/>
A sudden terror envelops you. <i>I can't do this!</i> you think. <i>I don't know how to do this, I'll fuck it up!</i><br/>
<br/>
You knew more or less exactly what to do and how to do it just a little while ago. But that was when you were wearing Sydney's mask, back when you were—<br/>
<br/>
You swallow hard.<br/>
<br/>
Back when you were being Sydney and had her confidence and smarts to guide you. <br/>
<br/>
But now you're—<br/>
<br/>
You lower your chin to take in your new body. It's white and flabby and soft all over. The boobs are huge, which is a plus, and you've never objected to big thighs and hips. <i>More to hold onto,</i> you used to snicker when you and Keith and Caleb compared notes on your turn-ons. But it's not the body of a girl with the drive, ambition, and determination to put herself ahead and take charge of things.<br/>
<br/>
No, Genesis Lee is more of a follower. You feel yourself shrinking up with fear.<br/>
<br/>
But maybe you've still got the backwash of Sydney's mind and personality, because— <i>Use that fear,</i> an inner voice urges you. <i>Use it. Hide behind it. Make it part of the disguise. You can do it, Will. Believe in yourself.</i><br/>
<br/>
Some little strength fills you, but it's with a tremble that you grab the edge of the vanity and pull your feet under you.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay," you gasp at Fake-Jake, "I'll finish up in here, come join you as soon as I can. You go put the other masks onto Genesis and Blake. Sydney—" You clench your fists and mouth a quick kind of prayer to whatever demons you are planning to invoke. "Sydney should know what to do. But send her in here anyway."<br/>
<br/>
Fake-Jack nods. He scoops up Sydney's things and shuts the bathroom door behind you as he leaves.<br/>
<br/>
You don't have a lot of time to finish the change, but you eye yourself in the mirror as you pull on panties and bra, dark jeans and white blouse and dress boots. Genesis Lee is big and busty and layered over with sediments of baby fat, and she's almost fish-belly pale save for her calves and arms, which are peach colored. Her boobs are great, floppy things with huge brown tips, and she's got a bush like a jungle. You wince with self-reproach at being so out of shape. <br/>
<br/>
But it's exciting, too. Sydney had a far sexier body, but you felt terrible guilt while inhabiting it. You feel no such guilt at inhabiting Genesis's body, and a quickening excitement dispels the last of the foggy headache as you dress.<br/>
<br/>
You're pushing back your great mane of dark, curly hair and unfolding the black-rimmed glasses when the door opens and Sydney puts her head in. She seems shorter than you remember her being, which is strange, because as Jack you were taller than you are now.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, are you almost ready?" she asks. Her smile is very sly, and her eyes twinkle.<br/>
<br/>
"Just about." You slip on the glasses, shake your hair out a little, and squeeze out a smile at your reflection. Your eyes almost disappear as your chubby cheeks roll up to meet your brow. "You know what to do?"<br/>
<br/>
"I've got a gut feeling. But you know, Will, you didn't exactly monologue the plan out loud to yourself while you were hatching it."<br/>
<br/>
You dart her a quick look, and feel a stab of spitefulness. <i>She thinks she's so smart, so much better than the rest of us.</i> You quickly smother the thought.<br/>
<br/>
"You body-swapped Genesis and Blake," you explain to her. "You were trying to body-swap Blake and Jack, but he suddenly took off so you had to use Genesis instead."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I got that much. And that's what I tell you and Blake?"<br/>
<br/>
"Right. And your boyfriend? Will? That's another body-swap. He's actually your old boyfriend from Kansas."<br/>
<br/>
Sydney gives a low whistle. Your cock your head, weighing how far to push it. <br/>
<br/>
"And don't admit anything," you tell her, "but try role-playing it like you're another body-swap, you're some girl from Kansas who stole Sydney's body."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God," she replies. "I am so kinky. But why am I doing this?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because you're trying to invoke a demon." (This was the part of the invented backstory that's troubled you the most.) "You need a kind of coven—"<br/>
<br/>
"A Brotherhood?" she asks with a raised eyebrow.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. You need a brotherhood to invoke the demon, but the danger is that the people in the brotherhood will have their souls snatched from them by the demon. But he can't snatch their souls if they're in other people's bodies, so you're body-swapping them. After you invoke the demon and get what you want, you'll swap them all back."<br/>
<br/>
You smile at Sydney, but she only stares at you. "That's the dumbest idea," she says.<br/>
<br/>
Your face falls. "Hey, if you can come up with a better one—!"<br/>
<br/>
"I hope you weren't using my brain when you came up with it, Will, because if you were—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, try coming up with your own, then!" You clench your fists so you won't scratch her in her smug face. "If you really don't like what I came up, when we ask, just give Blake and me the old 'that's for me to know and you to find out' routine."<br/>
<br/>
"Hmph. Well." Sydney leans past you to give herself a once over in the mirror. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, and for a moment you really do hate her. "I don't want to rush you, Will, but whatever your plan is, you better hop to it. Blake'll be waking up any moment now."</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221231224112431
author_id: seuzz
title: Playing the Victim
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You rush out through the study and onto the patio without checking on Blake first. As you scoop up Genesis's cell phone from where she dropped it, you instinctively glance at the screen. <i>where pick you up from?</i> is the last incoming message.<br/>
<br/>
You blink at it, and the last moments of Genesis Lee's life as herself come rolling back.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Omg jack just bailed on me need ride home.</i> she had texted Leah Simmons, and she had just got Leah's reply when something hit her from behind. A fresh, hot blast of anger and resentment roils your guts as Genesis's old emotions come boiling up.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Freaking Sydney McGlynn!</i> That's what you were thinking as with trembling thumbs you texted Leah. <i>Of course she's the kind of girl Blake would be into, and of course she'd throw it in my face when he shows up at her house for a date! And now Jack's run off and I don't have a ride home and I'll have to hang out here with Sydney and Blake and be polite to them and I'm just gonna DIE of humiliation first!</i><br/>
<br/>
Your head swims as you try to smother Genesis's emotions with your own. Damn, they hit hard. Are all girls like this? Sydney wasn't, was she?<br/>
<br/>
You grimace as you remember the rush of ardor you felt when you looked at your own <i>pedisequos.<br/>
<br/>
Focus, Will,</i> you remind yourself. <i>You're not Genesis, you're supposed to be Blake. How would Blake act if he woke up inside Genesis Lee's body?</i><br/>
<br/>
You raise your eyes as you ponder the question. They meet the horrified gaze of the teenage boy who staring out at you through the living room window.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Blake O'Brien—<br/>
<br/>
His body, that is. Technically it's Genesis Lee who is standing stiffly at the corner of the sofa when you peek in through the living room entryway. His face as he stares at you is so pale it's almost green, and his dark hair is plastered across his forehead. He is leaning to one side, as though caught in mid-sway. The whites of his eyes show.<br/>
<br/>
You wait for him to speak. He doesn't. <i>Oh, right,</i> you think. <i>I'm supposed to be Blake. I should be the guy here, the one who's not going to take any shit.</i><br/>
<br/>
"I know who you look like," you tell him. "But who <i>are</i> you? Because I know you're not—" It seems right to awkwardly pause here. "Me," you conclude after hesitating whether to use the personal pronoun or the proper name.<br/>
<br/>
Blake grabs the armrest of the sofa. "Blake?" he asks in a squeak.<br/>
<br/>
"My name's Blake. So are you ... Genesis?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God." Blake sinks onto the sofa.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Act like a football player, act like a football player,</i> you tell yourself. "The fuck is going on?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," Blake squeaks. "It's like—" He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Is it a dream? A nightmare?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well if it is, I'm having it too. Where's Sydney?"<br/>
<br/>
"My ears are burning."<br/>
<br/>
You wheel as Sydney McGlynn strides into the living room. She smiles puckishly, like a little girl nursing a great big secret. "So how are my two little ducklings?"<br/>
<br/>
You and Genesis exchange a glance. "Sydney?" you query.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, Blake?" she says to you, emphasizing the name. She turns to Blake. "Yes, Genesis?" Again, she emphasizes the name. "Don't tell me you guys are <i>confused.</i> I mean, isn't it obvious what's going on?"<br/>
<br/>
Blake doesn't reply, so you don't either. <br/>
<br/>
"How about you sit down before you fall down," Sydney tells you. "Right there next to—" <br/>
<br/>
She presses a fingertip to her lips, and smiles behind it. "Well, to be honest, I'm not sure exactly what to call you guys now. You don't look like the names you should answer to. I guess that's something else I should have thought about before I pulled the trigger."<br/>
<br/>
"Trigger? What trigger?" you demand.<br/>
<br/>
"The trigger for the body swap," she says. "Come on," she says. "Don't you think it's exactly what it looks like?"<br/>
<br/>
Sydney is so good at playing the cool, amused super-villain of the scene that you almost break out in a laugh. At the same time, a very cold chill runs down your spine. <i>How awful would it have been if she'd done this to you for real?</i><br/>
<br/>
You edge over to the sofa and perch on the end opposite Blake. Sydney rocks back and forth on her heels as she addresses you.<br/>
<br/>
"So I guess it is kind of a shock, and I guess I should have asked permissions before doing it. But you know," she smiles, "how do you ask people permission for that kind of thing? I mean, if I'd said, 'Blake, Genesis, could I swap you into each other's bodies?' you'd have just looked at me like I was crazy. And if I'd asked you if you <i>wanted</i> to swap bodies, then you'd just treat it like a joke. So it's not like a body swap is something you can ever get <i>informed consent</i> for before—"<br/>
<br/>
"Just get to the point!" you shout. "How did—? What—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Chill out, Blake," Sydney says. "I hope you're not getting hot flashes. Oh my God, there's going to be a hell of a lot of stuff you two are going to have figure out with each other's, you know. But if you want to know what's going on, what's going on is that I need your help."<br/>
<br/>
"Our help?" Blake yelps. Genesis has finally found her new voice, apparently.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes. You see—"<br/>
<br/>
Sydney takes the chair opposite you, and leans forward with the eager air of a girl who's got a killer idea for a party and can't wait to get her listeners excited about it too.<br/>
<br/>
"See, I've got this little ceremony I want to perform. Nothing big, just the invocation of an extradimensional entity. But I need help with it. Just a couple of people to help out. So this is all about making a deal. You help me out with the thing, and I'll help you out by putting you back to rights." She looks between you, and her smile turns puckish again. "There might even be a little extra in it for you when we're on the other side."<br/>
<br/>
"Other side?" Blake whimpers. "Other side of what? I still don't understand what's going on here!" She turns to you, does a double take, and turns green again.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney starts to answer, but you interrupt her. "It's witchcraft, isn't it?" you say. "That's what's going on."<br/>
<br/>
"Really, W— Blake," she says. "'Witch' is such a derogatory word. I prefer 'occult researcher.' It's just like science, and not nearly as bizarre as quantum mechanics."<br/>
<br/>
Another whimper escapes Blake's throat.<br/>
<br/>
"Listen, I know it's a shock," Sydney says. "I'd have given you warning, but you wouldn't have believed me and it would still be a shock anyway. But this proves that I'm serious. And, um—" She smiles tightly and lets her eyes fall. "It's a lot nicer than some of the other things I could have done to prove my bona fides. I mean, it's not like anyone grew gills or a tail. Right? So." <br/>
<br/>
She claps her hands and gets to her feet. "How about we put a happy face on the situation—no one likes a grump—and break for the day? It's been an awful lot to take in, I know, so let's put our minds to getting used to things, then get back together tomorrow and pick up from there. Okay? Everyone know where they live?"<br/>
<br/>
Before you can reply, Blake says, "No."<br/>
<br/>
"No?" Sydney echoes.  She flicks you a tiny side glance. "What do you mean, dear?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know where— where Blake lives! I don't know who his family is, or—" He gives you a terrified glance. "I don't know anything about—" She gulps. "Who I'm supposed to be!"<br/>
<br/>
Sydney gives you a very long look. You can see the message behind her eyes.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I told you so,</i> she's saying.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Well, she <i>hadn't</i> "told you so," all she'd told you back in the bathroom was that it was a dumb idea you were proposing. <br/>
<br/>
And even she hadn't foreseen that there'd be a problem with the masks. Whatever thing it was that stopped the real Sydney from getting Caleb's memories is also stopping Genesis from getting Blake's. To keep things consistent, you also pretend to not have your new body's memories, and after tapping her lip Sydney says it might be a side effect of a last-minute switch in the spell. "Originally it wasn't you and Blake I was going to switch," she tells Genesis. "I was Blake and Jack. But Jack took off first, and you were here, so I said 'What the hell'. Oh well." She shrugs. "Maybe it'll sort itself out."<br/>
<br/>
"Sort itself out?" Blake shrieks. "Can't you switch us back?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I can. Eventually I was going to anyway. But—"<br/>
<br/>
"Please!" Blake implores Sydney. "I'll do anything you want! I promise! The— the thing you need help with! I'll help! Just switch us back!"<br/>
<br/>
Again, Sydney's eyes flick in your direction. "Well, I don't know," she says. "There's, um, some complications. It's not as easy as all that—"<br/>
<br/>
"But you said—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I can switch you back. Only, we need to get some other people on board, and there's also some, um, technical issues with the invocation that—" She gives you a very long look after falling silent.<br/>
<br/>
There's that message again: <i>I told you so. Do you want to take it all back?</i><br/>
<br/>
Genesis has just said she'd do anything to switch bodies back, including helping Sydney out with her project. So it sounds like you don't need to leave her in Blake's body in order to get her to join the Brotherhood. If you switched her back, and took Blake's body for your own, you'd be in just as good a position—maybe an even better one—to keep her in line.</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112212312241124312
author_id: seuzz
title: The Way We Are Now
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Which way now?" Blake asks when he pulls up to the intersection. He looks over at you.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Maybe we should have "switched back",</i> you grumble to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
You've been driving in circles, it feels like, for twenty minutes, trying to find a way back to town. Genesis begged you to take the wheel, but you told her it would look funny if "Blake" wasn't driving his own vehicle, so you've been giving directions from the passenger's seat<br/>
<br/>
Too bad you have no idea where Blake lives. You barely have an idea of how to get back to Saratoga Falls. All the roads around here bend in lazy curves and hook back up to each other without ever dumping back onto a straight thoroughfare.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Why the hell did I switch things up this way?</i> you chide yourself. <i>Why didn't I stop to think things through? I can't pretend to be "Blake O'Brien stuck in Genesis Lee's body" when I don't know shit about Blake O'Brien. And what if Genesis starts getting Blake's memories back, and discovers I've been bluffing her while pretending to be him?<br/>
<br/>
Maybe it's not too late to turn around and go back to Sydney's.</i><br/>
<br/>
But—typically—as soon as you start entertaining that idea, you find the road back to town. "Next turn?" Blake asks.<br/>
<br/>
Would Blake hate the way his body is simpering out the questions? "He" is acting a lot more effeminate than Jack Li ever does. "Take a right," you reply. Blake "milks" the steering wheel as he makes the turn, pulling it down with tiny little hand-over-hand motions instead of a making single manly wrench of the wheel. It irritates you, and you're not even a jock football player!<br/>
<br/>
"Pull in here," you say as you pass Potsdam Park. "I don't feel like going home right away."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't either," Blake says after a pause. He slides the car with gingerly care into a space in the empty parking lot. "But we have to go home at some point, though. Should we—?" He bites his lip. "Should we tell each other a little bit about ourselves? So we'll know how to act?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Yes we should,</i> you think. <i>If we were smart and if I knew something to tell you.</i> Aloud you say, "Sure, but not right now. Not yet. I'm not used to—"<br/>
<br/>
You fall silent. Even you, who arranged this body swap, are shy about referring openly to what has happened.<br/>
<br/>
The thought preoccupies you for a very long time, and you gaze out across the park at the river and the riverbank opposite. The water sparkles in a way that is mesmerizing. Not until you're startled by a series of soft sniffles from your companion do you look over to find Blake silently weeping.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry," he gasps as he pats back the tears and dribbling snot with his fingertips. "You probably don't like seeing, um, yourself—" A shuddering sigh escapes him. "Like this."<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, do what you have to do," you tell her. It's all you can think to say.<br/>
<br/>
"It's just that— I'm <i>so sorry</i> that you're stuck in— In—" <br/>
<br/>
He gulps and breaks down completely.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, come on," you say. "What are you apologizing for? You're not the one who did this to us."<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, I'm sorry about where you're stuck. It must really ... <i>suck</i> ... for you," he gasps through his tears. "I'm not, I'm not in ... good shape—" His lips quivers, and fresh tears burst forth.<br/>
<br/>
"What are you talking about? Come on, we got enough problems without being embarrassed by, you know, what kind of shape we're in. I mean— Shit," you mutter as his face twists up again. "Like, be honest," you urge Genesis. "It's gotta suck for you, too, being stuck in <i>that.</i>" You jab Blake with a finger tipped with a sharp nail.<br/>
<br/>
The tears stop abruptly as Blake freezes. A red blush slowly runs up the side of his neck and pours into his cheeks.<br/>
<br/>
"What makes you think it's bad?" he mumbles. "I mean, you're in really great shape! Walking out to the car, I felt like I was almost like walking on air. I felt so strong," he stammers.<br/>
"Well, thanks," you reply. "I try to keep in shape. But I meant, it's got to be gross for you, in there. I mean—" You fake a shudder, but it turns into a real one. "You know what it smells like in the boys' locker room? Fuck! Even I can't stand it, and I'm on the football squad! Anyway, I figure that's what it must be like for you, being stuck over there in that— That meat sack!" You grin at Blake. "Like being stuck in a boys' locker room!"<br/>
<br/>
Blake smiles—a tiny, shy thing. He wipes his nose and brushes tear-stained cheeks with the back of his hand.<br/>
<br/>
"Actually," he says, "I always kind of liked the smell of the boys' locker room."<br/>
<br/>
"No! When were you ever in there?"<br/>
<br/>
Blake turns a bright red, but his grin widens.<br/>
<br/>
"Middle school," he says. "Me and my friend Melanie snuck in one day. The class was doing laps outside, and we got sent inside to get some equipment the coach forgot to bring. And we were like, Oh my God, I dare you to go in the boys' locker room. So we did."<br/>
<br/>
The day comes back to you, in Genesis's memories. Eighth grade. Genesis had her first crush, on Sam Anderson, who would break her heart at the end of the year by transferring to the Catholic school out west of town. He was in the P.E. class with her and Melanie Saxon, and when she and Melanie snuck into the locker room she looked around and wondered with a thumping heart which locker had Sam's clothes in it. <i>He takes his clothes off in here,</i> she thought. <i>Bare legs, bare arms, bare chest, bare back.</i> It left her flushed and faint. <br/>
<br/>
And ever since, that special locker room stink of cold metal, dried sweat, and dirty clothes has been twined with her fantasies of hot, naked guys. <br/>
<br/>
"And sometimes, when I'm in the gym," the body-swapped Genesis is saying from the seat beside you, "I sneak up next to the entrance to the locker room and ... And <i>smell it!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Does it really smell different than the girls' locker room?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, totally!" he gasps. "Well, maybe not totally," he then admits. "But there's something different about it. Girls smell different from guys."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh God, I know about that," you exclaim. "You don't have to tell <i>me</i> that girls smell different from guys! Guys <i>stink!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"They do not! Guys smell great!" Blake closes his eyes and sucks down a deep breath through flaring nostrils.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I guess our tastes are different. Or our smellers." You study Blake with a cocked head. "I wonder if guys will still smell good to you. With my nose."<br/>
<br/>
Blake blinks. Then to your shock he pulls out the collar of his shirt and snuffles inside it. "What are you doing?" you exclaim.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm checking to see if— Oh God!" His face falls with horror and embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"<br/>
<br/>
"What were you doing?"<br/>
<br/>
He covers his face with his hands. "I was checking out what you smelled like," he says in a small voice.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I know that!" You can't help laughing. "I'm just surprised is all. Did you like it? Do I smell good?"<br/>
<br/>
His face is almost purple as he nods once. "Turnabout's fair," he murmurs. "If you want to sniff—"<br/>
<br/>
"If you're giving me permission," you blurt, "how about permission to—?" You hover your hands over your prodigious bosom."<br/>
<br/>
Blake stares, then bursts out laughing. <br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong?" you demand. "You think it's easy for me, doing my best not to touch or even think about these things?"<br/>
<br/>
And just like that, you are overwhelmed by the urge to fondle your jugs.<br/>
<br/>
Blake catches his breath, but he grins hard at you through his blush. He hesitates, then says, "I'll let you. If you let me—" He points to his chest.<br/>
<br/>
"Fondle my pecs? Yeah, I'll make that trade! I'd be getting a lot more out of the deal!"<br/>
<br/>
"So you'd let me touch more than—?" Blake bites his lip, and with a single fingertip rubs his chest through his shirt.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. If I can touch your—" Gently you cup a breast. <br/>
<br/>
Blake's eyes fall to your chest, and a hungry light comes into his eye.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Is Genesis getting turned on my her own breasts?</i> you wonder. Then it comes to you: <i>No, she's turned on by the thought that Blake—her crush—is fondling her breasts.</i><br/>
<br/>
So: "Mm, this is nice," you tell her as you cup both of them. You gently coax them from below, and smile to feel the tips harden inside your bra. "<i>These</i> are nice. You've got nice— Oh!"<br/>
<br/>
"What?" Blake asks. His eyes widen.<br/>
<br/>
"I just felt something. Something ... <i>down—</i>" Your loins shifted, loosened. With Genesis's memories you recognize it as the first stab of arousal. But you have pretend to be surprised by it. "It's like something ... pinched me?"<br/>
<br/>
You lift your eyes to gaze into Blake's face. His mouth is hanging open, and he stares with burning eyes at you.<br/>
<br/>
Genesis is gaping at you like a fish just begging to be hooked.<br/>
<br/>
With stiff fingers you open her purse and fumble inside it until you find the cell phone. You take it out and turn the camera on. You study your face on the screen.<br/>
<br/>
It's a round face, with full cheeks and full lips behind large, thick-framed glasses. You brush aside the strands of dark, curly hair that fall across your forehead.<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have anything to be embarrassed about, Genesis," you tell Blake as you lower the phone. "It's a real shock, what Sydney did to us. But—" You search for the right words as Blake stares, unblinking, at you with a gaping mouth. "But after talking to you, and getting a little more used to it—"<br/>
<br/>
Your throat freezes under Blake's intense gaze. You find you can't tear your own eyes away from his.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm glad it was <i>you,</i>" you say.<br/>
<br/>
Blake bends toward you, and his lips find yours.</span></div></div>


