# chapters

path: 113312121
author_id: seuzz
title: Unexpected Exhumations
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You think about calling Caleb and getting his help, the way you helped him when he dug up the capsule. But you quickly decide that would be silly: He wouldn't understand what you were trying to do.<br/>
<br/>
So on Saturday night, when it's dark—but not so late that your parents will think it strange or suspicious that you're going out—you drive back to the school. You park in the farthest corner of the student lot and make the long journey to the other end of the school, to the spot where the time capsule is buried. <br/>
<br/>
There are two of them, actually: You heard that Walberg's other Sociology class also buried a capsule. You wonder a little at that. You're taking Sociology II, and the other class is the Sociology I class you took last year. (You should have learned from that experience not to sign up for Walberg, but there was nothing else first period this semester that looked better.) You don't remember doing a time capsule last year. <i>It must be some hare-brained idea he got recently,</i> you decide as round the corner of A wing. <i>This part of the grounds can't be like a graveyard, packed shoulder to shoulder with time capsules.</i><br/>
<br/>
You find the spot with no difficulty: It's the same pile of earth that Caleb half dug up last night, and there are no other piles around. The other class must not have buried theirs yet.<br/>
<br/>
It's not hard work, exactly, but it's tedious and your shoulders and arms quickly get very tired. You're glad that the ground isn't packed hard, and that the capsule isn't deeply buried. Your mind wanders, and you wonder why there aren't any markers. How is anyone supposed to know that something is buried here? Or is that the idea, that it'll just get stumbled over at some point? Probably Mr. Walberg explained all this, but you weren't paying attention. You often don't.<br/>
<br/>
A couple of times you pause, hunkering down when a car sweeps past: there is more traffic at this time of night than there was last night. You also think you hear voices a few times, but when you pause you hear nothing. It must be the breeze bouncing off the walls.<br/>
<br/>
After what seems like an hour but which is probably closer to twenty minutes, the tip of the shovel scrapes the top of the box. You clear it all away and pull the box from the earth.<br/>
<br/>
It's locked.<br/>
<br/>
For a moment you toy with dropping the book down into the hole, putting the box on top, and not worrying any more about it. But if wanted to do that, you could have just buried the book in a hole by the river. So you bang and pry at the metal chest with the edge of the shovel until it flies open. There's not a lot of room inside the chest, but after redistributing some of the contents you are able to fit everything snugly inside. You close it up, drop it into the hole, and with more speed than finesse cover it all over again.<br/>
<br/>
As you drive out of the student lot you notice two dark, humped shapes: cars. They hadn't been there when you'd arrived, or if they were you didn't notice them. That gives you serious pause for a moment. But you didn't see anyone, and if anyone had seen you, you're pretty sure they'd have come over to see what you were up to. You now wonder again about those voices. But you shake it all from your head because, after all, you hadn't got caught.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"So what did Walberg say about it in class?" Jenny Ashton asks. Her eyes are wide.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing," says Caleb. "I don't think he knew."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, he knew," says Carson Ioeger, taking a hard bite from an apple. You're eating lunch with him and Lamont again, and Jenny and Paul Davis are also in attendance. "I heard they found it first thing this morning."<br/>
<br/>
"It" is the hole in the quad, out of which a metal chest had been pulled and its contents scattered over the grounds. You only found out second period, from Andy Tackett. "I hear there's going to be an announcement, or even an assembly about it," he'd told you.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he didn't say anything to us first period," Caleb says. "No one asked him about it either. I'm sure if anyone had heard, Kelsey or Amanda would have, and they'd have to pry those two off the ceiling with a crowbar, they'd be so mad. Like it matters."<br/>
<br/>
"Did Walberg look like he was mad?" Paul Davis asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Walberg always looks pissed off," says Lamont. "I bet <i>he's</i> in trouble with the administration, though. You don't just bury valuable stuff on school property in full view of the whole body and expect none of the lowlifes—"<br/>
<br/>
"There wasn't anything valuable in the box," Caleb sneers. He slaps you in the chest. "Will only put in a bottle of cologne. I only put in a thumb drive."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that's fifteen bucks or so," Keith Tilley observes. "Add it all up—"<br/>
<br/>
"It doesn't matter if it actually <i>is</i> valuable," Lamont says. "Some of the guys around here—too many of the guys around here—would see that box in the ground and decide to dig it up even if they <i>knew</i> it was all a lot of junk."<br/>
<br/>
They continue talking in this manner, and you continue listening, saying nothing, for with a very heavy and guilt-stricken heart you are certain that you were cause of it. Those cars you saw, those voices you thought you heard: It must have been the vandals. They must have seen you, and instead of interrupting you, they'd waited until you were gone and then dug it up again themselves. But is it guilt that you feel, or fear that an investigation will lead to you, and you'll take the blame for it?<br/>
<br/>
Caleb must be feeling the same sense of unease, for he keeps shooting you dark looks. When the bell rings and everyone gets up to go to class, he follows you in. "We're going to keep our mouths shut, right," he says in a low growl.<br/>
<br/>
"Of course. I'm not an idiot." But it casts a serious pall over the rest of the day, a pall not much relieved when you notice that Thomason and his friends have apparently grown bored with their game of last week, and are no longer appearing at your locker.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Mr. Walberg makes an official statement the next morning at the start of class. "I'm sure you've all heard what happened to our time capsule over the weekend," he says. "For those of you who happen to care, the material was recovered and reinterred, this time in a location that will not be disclosed. Yes, Ms. Blankenship," he says as Kelsey hurls her hand into the air. <br/>
<br/>
"Was <i>everything</i> recovered?" she asks in a shrill, hot voice.<br/>
<br/>
"A complete accounting was made," he replies.<br/>
<br/>
"But was <i>everything</i> that got put in the time capsule recovered?"<br/>
<br/>
"We made a careful accounting—"<br/>
<br/>
"Because I contributed a pair of silver spurs that were <i>really valuable,</i> aside from their historical value, and if they're missing my family—"<br/>
<br/>
A groan goes up from the class, and Kelsey glares waspishly around the room.<br/>
<br/>
"Anyone who wishes to know if their contribution has been accounted for can see me after class or after school," Mr. Walberg says. "Meanwhile, this doesn't change the nature of the assignment. You all contributed an item, and on Friday I want an essay from you describing that item and why you contributed it."<br/>
<br/>
Another groan goes up, but Mr. Walberg only smiles puckishly, then turns to the day's lecture.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You come real close to dropping the whole thing: It seems like every time you try to do something about that book, it rebounds on you. But after school you stop by Walberg's room. For a moment you're taken aback by the sight of Dane Matthias sprawling in a desk in front of Walberg's, but then you remember that he has detention here. "And what can I do for you, Mr. Prescott," the teacher asks from his desk. "You have a question about the time capsule?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, kind of." You're slightly taken aback by the rapt interest Dane is showing in this impromptu conference, and during that pause Mr. Walberg pulls a notebook from his desk.<br/>
<br/>
"William Prescott," he says in a strong voice, dragging his fingertip down a page to your name. He draws it across to a column. "Contributed, one bottle of aftershave." He gives you a sidelong look. "Can't <i>wait</i> to see what you have to say about that." His fingertip slides over another inch. "Recovered, one bottle of aftershave." He closes the book with a thump. "All accounted for. The future will have body spray, or whatever that stuff was." He folds his hands and regards you evenly.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, was there anything else found by that hole?"<br/>
<br/>
"Most everything was found, Mr. Prescott," he says. "I'm not at liberty to divulge—"<br/>
<br/>
"What I mean is, was there anything ... <i>extra</i> found out there?"<br/>
<br/>
His eyebrows shoot up. "Extra? What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, things that weren't supposed to go in the time capsule but were mixed in with the stuff anyway."<br/>
<br/>
Now the teacher looks very puzzled. "Nothing went into the time capsule that wasn't on my list."<br/>
<br/>
"But maybe there was something laying nearby, something that got found when you were picking up all the time capsule stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh! Are you saying you lost something nearby, wondering if it got picked up by mistake?" <br/>
<br/>
"Well, sort of." It's going to sound very silly, and you don't like the expression—one of hooded glee—that has crept onto the teacher's face. "It, uh, was a book, about this big." You fumble with your hands. "And it was bound in red and gold leather. I think I might have left it out behind the music wing—"<br/>
<br/>
You trail off as Mr. Walberg's expression changes radically again, to one of incredulity. "No, Mr. Prescott," he says. "We certainly did not find anything like that. We did find this, however." From the desk he takes a necklace made of metal links, looped through which are five heavy rings made of what looks like silver or steel.<br/>
<br/>
The kind of thing that someone like Thomason would wear.</span></div></div>


path: 1133121212
author_id: seuzz
title: Guilty Consciences All Around
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Well, thanks," you tell Mr. Walberg. "I guess I'll have to ask around for, uh, my book."<br/>
<br/>
The teacher dangles the chain on the end of the finger. "This isn't yours?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I don't wear crap like that. It looks like something Joe Thomason would wear, though," you blurt out before can stop yourself.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, what makes you say that?"<br/>
<br/>
You shrug awkwardly. "Just seems like it. He's the kind to wear a bicycle chain as jewelry, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"This isn't a bicycle chain."<br/>
<br/>
"No," you stammer. "But it's a lot like one. Um -- "<br/>
<br/>
Mr. Walberg leans forward with his elbows on his desk. "If you know something about this business, Mr. Prescott," he says, "I really think you should say something."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I don't really know anything, Mr. Walberg." Your stammer worsens and you start to tremble under his stare. "It's only that the book I'm asking about, you know, it got stolen from me at one point—" <br/>
<br/>
<i>Shut up shut up shut up,</i> you yell at yourself, but it's like Mr. Walberg has cast a spell over you, and you can't stop gabbling. <br/>
<br/>
"—and Mr. Barrientos helped me get it back, but then I lost it again close to where we buried the time capsule, and it was Thomason and some of his friends who took the book from me the first time—" <i>Oh God, I am in such shit if this gets back to Thomason and them</i> "—and when you showed me that chain, I guess I thought that—" <br/>
<br/>
Only now, when it's far too late, do you peter out as Mr. Walberg's eyebrows, which have been rising and rising, arc so hard that they nearly achieve escape velocity.<br/>
<br/>
"Alright, Mr. Prescott," he says. "If all you've got is supposition and suspicion then you don't got jack. Is there anything else?"<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head.<br/>
<br/>
"Then have a good afternoon and good evening," he growls.<br/>
<br/>
You turn away, feeling very shame-faced, and do a double-take at Dane, who is grinning with rapt delight at you. You give him a dirty look and shuffle out.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Are you dumb or do you just like to play it that way?" Caleb snarls, and pushes you back a step and into the brick wall of the McDonald's. "The fuck were you thinking? You practically told Walberg—"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't tell him anything!"<br/>
<br/>
"You practically gave the game away!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, you practically gave the game away." Keith echoes Caleb's accusation in a much smugger tone.<br/>
<br/>
"You don't even know what we're talking about!" you retort.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't got to," Keith says, and resettles his backward-turned baseball cap. "You can't help giving the game away, Will," he grins.<br/>
<br/>
You snort and snatch open the door to the restaurant, and you don't hold it for your two friends as you stomp inside.  It's five-thirty and your dad's working late and your mom was harried, so when you asked her for some money so you could get a burger with Caleb and Keith, she sent you out with her blessing. Since telling Caleb about your afterschool conference with Walberg, though, you're wishing she had kept you home instead.<br/>
<br/>
"You only had to keep your mouth shut," Caleb fumes quietly beside you as you stare up at the menu. "That's all."<br/>
<br/>
"I did. I didn't tell him anything."<br/>
<br/>
"Only enough that he can put two and two together."<br/>
<br/>
"Exactly," says Keith with smug complacency. "Even I got it figured out."<br/>
<br/>
"You do not," you snarl. "You don't even know— Wanna make a bet, asshole?" you hiss as Keith grins in your face. "I bet I could tell you all about it and you still wouldn't be able to figure it out!"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb snorts. "That's not much of a bet, Will. Tilley's so clueless -- "<br/>
<br/>
"I'll take that bet," Tilley interrupts. "For the cost of my burger?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fine, loser pays for the other's meal." It's a cheap bet, but you're eager to jam Keith down hard on the hook he's impaled himself on. "So tell me what you figured out."<br/>
<br/>
"Settle it after we've eaten," Caleb says. He steps up to the counter clerk who's been patiently waiting. "I'm hungry."<br/>
<br/>
So you order, with you and Keith topping each other serially (and annoying the order taker) by supersizing everything in the meal, adding more and more side items, and piling on deserts and drinks until each meal's calorie count must be somewhere in the mid-thousands and the cost of each is pushing twenty dollars. Caleb's countenance is a mix of chalk and cherry as you lug the trays to a table in the back. <br/>
<br/>
"No, you gotta play fair with Keith," he says when you instantly demand that Keith settle up. "The only reason I'm going along with this is because -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Who said you had to 'go along'?" you demand. "This is between me and Tilley."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah!" Keith hotly agrees. Then his eyes get a little shifty. "So tell me what I'm missing."<br/>
<br/>
"See! You <i>don't</i> know—!"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb pushes the side of your face. You slap him back, and only when you accidentally knock over your Pepsi—sending it foaming across the table—do you subside.<br/>
<br/>
"Keith's right," Caleb says. "This is a test to see if Walberg can figure out what happened. Because if a moron like Tilley can figure it out, then Walberg can."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuckin' a," Keith agrees. Then he blinks. "Say what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Never mind. Just listen."<br/>
<br/>
With interruptions from you, Caleb lays out the evidence that Walberg would have: How a time capsule got buried, then exhumed with its contents scattered; how a decorative chain was found nearby; and how you went in to ask if a book had been found mixed in with the crap from the time capsule. "Now, what do you conclude from that?" Caleb asks.<br/>
<br/>
Keith sucks some cola through a straw and peers at you and Caleb with an expression that is probably supposed to convey that he is thinking shrewdly about the problem, but actually leaves him looking like he's pulling at an extraordinarily sour lemonade. He rubs his nose and resettles his cap. "You did it," he says at last, jabbing a finger at you.<br/>
<br/>
"I did what?" you exclaim.<br/>
<br/>
"You broke into the time capsule and lost your book while you were digging it up! Elementary, really,"  he adds in a smug undertone.<br/>
<br/>
"And how do you make that deduction?"<br/>
<br/>
"Easy. You're acting suspicious and anyway, all the way up here you've been talking like you're guilty of something."<br/>
<br/>
"That's not evidence Walberg would have!"<br/>
<br/>
"Doesn't matter, I figured it out." Tilley snaps his fingers and extends an open palm. "Pay up, suckah!"<br/>
<br/>
"No, you pay me! Because I didn't dig up the time capsule! Caleb did!"<br/>
<br/>
Well, it's not technically true. You did dig it up. But no one knows that, and Caleb isn't worried that <i>you'll</i> get busted. He's worried that <i>he</i> will.<br/>
<br/>
So when Keith's face falls, and like a gasping fish he glances between you and Johansson, Caleb shrugs. "Yeah, I did the digging," he says. "Will only watched." He turns a glare on you.<br/>
<br/>
It's your turn to be smug, and you hold out your hand to Keith. "Pay up, suckah," you taunt.<br/>
<br/>
"Call it a fucking draw," Caleb says. "Because if Walberg  hauls you in, Will, you'll put the finger on me."<br/>
<br/>
"No I won't!"<br/>
<br/>
"Pay me the cost of <i>my</i> burger if you do," he sneers back.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So you pass a couple of nervous days at school. Every day in Walberg's you expect to get a summons from the teacher to see him after class, but he mostly ignores you. You write the paper for him—describing the aftershave that you put in the capsule and why you chose that—and go to your other classes, and eat lunch with Caleb and Keith and your other friends. By the end of the week, your fears have mostly subsided.<br/>
<br/>
Then, a week after your conference with Walberg:<br/>
<br/>
<i>Pow!</i> The blow to your kidney, delivered as you're changing books at your locker, knocks all the strength from your legs. Your knees buckle, and you face-plant inside your locker. Only the strong arm that seizes you by the shoulder keeps you from flopping to the floor.<br/>
<br/>
You're spun around. David Kirkham—a bully to make every other bully in school (except those on the basketball team) look like a Good Samaritan—sneers into your face. He rolls a toothpick in his grinning mouth.<br/>
<br/>
"That's an invitation, Prescott," he hisses at you. "Last period. I got a dead spot in my schedule then. See you out at the portables." He grinds a knuckle into your chest. "Mandatory conference."<br/>
<br/>
He steps back, and melts into the crowd.<br/>
<br/>
Well, there's nothing to do but go, and you'd only be missing Astronomy anyway. But you'd rather have a root canal, and it's with dragging feet and a wildly flailing heart that you trudge out to the portables at the end of seventh.<br/>
<br/>
He's already waiting. But instead of dragging you by the collar into the back, he summons you with a crooked finger to follow him up the sagging steps into one of the abandoned units. The hairs on the back of your neck go up.<br/>
<br/>
He folds his arms and glares at you once the door is shut behind you. "I hear you lost a book a couple of weeks ago," he says. His voice is so soft you can hardly hear it. "I hear you're pitching a fucking fit over it." He rolls the toothpick around, then spits it at your feet. "What's so fucking special about it?"<br/>
<br/>
A hard tremble passes through you. Kirkham is friends with Thomason and his gang, so there can only be one book that he's asking about. And the fact that he's asking about it suggests that Mr. Walberg is putting the screws to people over the time capsule incident.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe if you tell Kirkham that the book was a valuable antique, it will scare him into giving it back to you—the trick worked when Mr. Barrientos got it back for you the first time. Or maybe it would be smarter to tell him it's no big deal, and that you didn't mean to make any kind of stink about it at all.</span></div></div>


path: 11331212122
author_id: seuzz
title: Dangers from Expected Quarters
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You lick your dry lips with a very dry tongue. "Nothing special about that book," you croak.<br/>
<br/>
David Kirkham stares at you.<br/>
<br/>
At least, you suppose he's staring at you. It's hard to tell. Even inside the dim portable, he's wearing shades.<br/>
<br/>
That's part of his menace. They take away the key to his face, so that it's impossible to read fear, pity or humor behind his hard expression.<br/>
<br/>
So when he snorts softly, it's impossible to tell if he's amused or furious.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing special?" His voice as soft as chalk powder. "So were you shitting people when you said it was worth a coupla hundred dollars?"<br/>
<br/>
You gulp and glance away with watering eyes. You try to shrug, but only one shoulder moves.<br/>
<br/>
Kirkham steps up close, so close you can smell the cinnamon on his breath. He has to lift his chin a little, because he's actually slightly shorter than you.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you some kind of fucking bullshit artist, Prescott?" he hisses. "You think you can shit me?"<br/>
<br/>
"N-no." Your guts twist with self-loathing at your cowardice.<br/>
<br/>
"You think you can shit assholes like Mr. Barrientos?" His lips peel back in a sneer, disclosing hard teeth, brilliantly white.<br/>
<br/>
You shrug again, and your eyes fall.<br/>
<br/>
Silence envelops the room. The only sounds are those of the blood rushing in your ears, Kirkham breathing in your face, and a few distant, muffled voices.<br/>
<br/>
Kirkham raises his hand and knocks the cap off your head. He grabs a fistful of your hair, and you gasp.<br/>
<br/>
"You put the finger on my friends, motherfucker." His voice is almost a whisper. "How much is it worth to you for me to forget that fact?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't have anything!" you bleat.<br/>
<br/>
"Then I'm just gonna have to hurt you," he says.<br/>
<br/>
He gives you to the count of three—if you weren't too terrified to count—to shit yourself, then pistons a rock-hard fist into your stomach.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Pfuuuuck," Keith drawls. He tips back half a bottle of cola, then smacks his mouth and lets rip a belch. "You get no sympathy from me, fucker," he pants. "Walk into a room alone with Kirkham? You were asking for it. Me, I'd'a run."<br/>
<br/>
"Big fucking difference that would make," Caleb snorts. "Do that, and he'a' busted your kneecaps, <i>then</i> beat the shit outta you after he caught you."<br/>
<br/>
"Like he could catch me," Keith sneers with airy arrogance.<br/>
<br/>
"He'd catch you the next day."<br/>
<br/>
"I'd just run off then, too."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, shut up," you mutter. You still hurt all over from your run-in with Kirkham.<br/>
<br/>
After dropping you with a blow to the gut, he let you gasp and gurgle on the floor for a minute or two before kicking you in the balls. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Keep your fucking mouth shut about my friends,</i> he said while pinning you to the floor with a heavy foot on your shoulder, <i>or we'll make this a daily workout. Understand, motherfucker?</i> You nodded, and he kicked you again before striding out, banging the portable door shut behind him.<br/>
<br/>
The bruises are still darkening. Not that you're getting any sympathy from Keith and Caleb. You're taking an early supper with them out here, at Potsdam Park, where you can gum down cheap hamburgers while watching the light of the setting sun lap at the rippling surface of the river.<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck did he even want with you, Will?" Caleb asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Like Kirkham needs a reason," you mutter back.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb twists almost all the way around to give you a long, direct look. You feel yourself falter under it.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll say this for Kirkham," Caleb says. "He's not like the Molester. Usually when he gets pissed at you, it's for a reason."<br/>
<br/>
"Will pro'ly stepped on his foot," Keith says.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, probably something like that," you murmur.<br/>
<br/>
A silence settles over your group. Then Keith changes the subject, to a YouTube video that he's making some guys he knows. You pretend to be interested, but it's all in one ear and out the other.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb rode with Keith out to the park, but he asks you to give him a ride back when your trio breaks up for the evening. "That thing with Kirkham," he says when you're a block away from the park, and you tense at the return of the topic. "Keith was being a real shit. I feel for you, man. I'd rather make it to the end of the year without Kirkham noticing me than graduate cum laude."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm fucked up on both scores," you observe.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well. You sure it was just a random thing with him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Dunno what else it'd be."<br/>
<br/>
"Only I heard that Principal Sagansky came down like a ton of bricks on Thomason and some of those guys just a day or two ago."<br/>
<br/>
"Who'dja hear that from? And what's that got to do with—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, cut me some fucking slack, Prescott. I heard it from Kim, if you gotta know."<br/>
<br/>
"Walsh?" That's the student council president.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. And why would Sagansky be yelling at Thomason if he didn't think Thomason had something to do with that time capsule thing?"<br/>
<br/>
Your heart flutters to rapid life. "Lotta reasons for him to be yelling at Thomason and his gang," you retort. "Buncha skinheads. One of these days they're gonna do something that gets them on the nightly news, and then the admins' gonna be all, like, shit, bad publicity."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe." Caleb sounds dubious. "But Kirkham hangs out with 'em—"<br/>
<br/>
"Did Kirkham get yelled at?" Your knuckles whiten around the steering wheel.<br/>
<br/>
"Not that I heard. But, you know, if he did, he's gonna wanna know why he's getting yelled at. And if he hears that you was the one who put Walberg onto Thomason—"<br/>
<br/>
"Will you fucking give it a rest?" you explode. "You're not worried about him and you're not worried about me! You're worried they'll find out that <i>you're</i> the one who dug up the time capsule!"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't dig it up! You know that, you were there when I, uh, didn't!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, stop worrying. They're not going to find out what you did."<br/>
<br/>
A brooding silence envelops the truck cab. Then Caleb says, "Actually I am worried about you."<br/>
<br/>
"And how come's that?" you snarl.<br/>
<br/>
"Because if Thomason and them get expelled, they're gonna come looking for you. And they're not just gonna punch you in the balls if they do."<br/>
<br/>
You make no reply. What is there to say? <i>Thanks for reminding me that my life will be very short and very painful if that happens. It never would have occurred to me if you hadn't mentioned it.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Another week passes, and the Mystery of the Busted Time Capsule fades from the school's attention, if it ever really occupied it. Other dramas crest and subside. Meghan Farris hosts a disastrous weekend party. A bunch of football players get busted for holding an orgy—complete with underage drinking and dope-smoking—at a cheap motel on the south side of town. Keith makes his internet debut in a YouTube movie-review video that earns ... 934 views.<br/>
<br/>
Then, on a Friday morning—<br/>
<br/>
You're late getting out of Walberg's class, and the next class is streaming in, when Olivia Byrne puts her head in through the doorway and frowns in a distracted manner around the room. Her gaze rakes past you; then she does a double take, hesitates, and gestures you over. "You know Lin Pol, right?" she asks in a low voice.<br/>
<br/>
It's an insult that she thinks you don't know who Lin Pol—cheerleader—is. In fact, Lin Pol knows you, too, by name even. Sometimes she even talks to you!<br/>
<br/>
But you ignore it because Olivia is a swimmer, and she's got boobs and butts and curves in between that have been sculpted by the water currents.<br/>
<br/>
"Think you can go find her in Mr. Leavey's class and give her this?" Olivia presses a flat box, wrapped in brown paper, into your hands.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, what is it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Doesn't matter to you," she snaps. "Just, can you go give it to her?"<br/>
<br/>
"My next class is in F wing. But sure, I can do that," you hastily add. "Mr. Leavey's class?"<br/>
<br/>
She nods. "I'm in that class with her," she adds, almost as an afterthought, "but I'm skipping this period. So don't let Mr. Leavey hear you tell her that it came from me!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh sure, I'll be careful."<br/>
<br/>
If you were hoping for a smile and a squeeze of the arm or shoulder, you are disappointed. Olivia looks relieved, but she says no more before stepping backward into the crowded hallway and letting it sweep her away.<br/>
<br/>
Mr. Leavey is one of the foreign language teachers: a prissy little man who favors bow ties. When you step into his classroom, he's fully occupied with—<br/>
<br/>
Coach Acuna? The P.E. teacher is looking distraught and distracted as she thrusts a piece of paper at him and jabbers incoherently.<br/>
<br/>
Lin—a beautiful, shapely Chinese-American girl with long, black hair and an almond-shaped face—accepts the package from you with a wide, warm smile, and she snickers when you lean in close to murmur that Olivia will be skipping class. "She must have a date," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Really?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know, Will. But what about you? You got plans tonight?" There's just the hint in her tone that she wants the answer to be "Yes."<br/>
<br/>
But you can only shrug. "Playing it by ear. What about you?" Every fiber in your body goes on alert, waiting for the signal to stiffen.<br/>
<br/>
"I've heard about a couple of things happening. Want me to text you later?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, awesome!" You put out your fist for a bump, then redden when you realize what you've done. But Lin laughs, and bumps your knuckles lightly against yours.<br/>
<br/>
You're dancing on air as you exit the classroom. Only after you're out in the hall do you stop and frown.<br/>
<br/>
Coach Acuna was talking a mile a minute back there with Mr. Leavey. But where did her accent go?</span></div></div>


path: 113312121221
author_id: masktrixie
title: Nobody Expects the Tennis Inquisition
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The rest of the day seems to pass as usual. At lunch, you and Keith accidentally walk into the middle of some squabble on the soccer team, mainly directed at the new transfer, Hannah Westwick, and spend an awkward thirty seconds getting out of it. You're hoping for an easier afternoon, but then the intercom sounds...<br/>
<br/>
“William Prescott, please report to the principal’s office. William Prescott, principal’s office.”<br/>
<br/>
You stop dead in the middle of calculus, the eyes of the class all upon you. You want to vanish.<br/>
<br/>
“What the hell did you do?” Carson Ioeger stage-whispers to you from across the room. All you can do is shrug back dramatically: you genuinely have no idea what this is about. As the glares continue, you want to shrink, shrivel and die.<br/>
<br/>
There’s a cough from the front of the room as Mr Kowalski folds his arms. “If you’re quite ready, I suggest you have somewhere to be, Mr Prescott. You can get the notes from a friend.”<br/>
<br/>
You gather your things and slink down the corridor, lone footsteps echoing down the hall, then across the Westside campus as you make your way first to your locker and then to the main office, all the while shaking your head and wondering what’s the matter. If it were a family emergency, someone would have been sent to fetch you. You remember last year, when one of the now-graduated seniors, Darius McBride, lost his parents in a car accident. Apparently the principal arrived in the middle of Darius’s triumphant presentation on the tactical nuances of the Schlieffen Plan and took him out of class. The school talked about it for weeks, and McBride would burst into tears whenever he was in history for the rest of the semester. The poor bastard was supposed to go to UC Davis to study modern history, but dropped out. At least, that’s what the school legend says.<br/>
<br/>
Finally, you reach your destination, one of the secretaries glancing up at you from the office desk outside, a perimeter guard dog there to make sure the senior staff don’t have to deal with unexpected interlopers.<br/>
<br/>
“Yes?”<br/>
<br/>
“Will Prescott,” you say. <br/>
<br/>
A blank look. <br/>
<br/>
“I’m Will Prescott?”<br/>
<br/>
Still nothing.<br/>
<br/>
“You put a call out for me to report here?” The blank look remains. Maybe it’s a secretarial thousand-yard stare, the only way she can survive in this place. Then, mercifully, there’s a presence behind you.<br/>
<br/>
“Thank you,” you hear Coach Acuna say to the secretary, her usually deep, dancing Hispanic accent once again conspicuous by its absence. “I’ll take it from here. Mr Prescott, I need you to come with me, please.”<br/>
<br/>
“What’s this about, coach?” you ask. You’re puzzled why the head of the school’s tennis program has pulled you out of class. Acuna’s Latina frame is stocky rather than lithe, but you know from seeing her on court it’s all toned muscle. Another school legend says she was an all-state mixed doubles player, but a health scare meant she never got any further. You study her youthful face, its wide cheekbones framed by a straight, slick river of long black hair. Her pencil-thin eyebrows are implacable, and the usual smile on her generous lips has been replaced with an expression of utmost seriousness. <br/>
<br/>
“I’ll explain in the side office,” she says, indicating for you to follow. “Come with me, young man.” <br/>
<br/>
She opens a side door to one of the secretarial workspaces and waits. You take a last glance at the disinterested secretary, whose vacant stare is all you need to follow the teacher into the room. As you pass, you can’t help but notice how odd Acuna seems. She’s always made a point of being approachable, whether you play tennis or not, carrying herself with a natural, easy grace. Now that open and confident stride is gone.<br/>
You enter a room stuffed with old office supplies, stacked chairs and cardboard binders no one has used since the invention of the computer. Acuna motions for you to sit down behind an old table and closes the door. Why aren’t you holding this meeting in her office?<br/>
<br/>
“Will,” she says, slouching against a bookcase on the far wall, probably gathering grime on the back of her polo shirt in the process. “William. Mr Prescott. Were you, by which I mean have you been, ever, in possession of a book of magic?”<br/>
<br/>
God, this again. You feel discomfort grow in the pit of your stomach. That creepy-ass book has been nothing but trouble. This is the third time it’s come back to bite you in the ass. There’s no point in lying.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s not really a book of…”<br/>
<br/>
Before you can finish, Acuna crouches down, pulling a book – the book – out of a Harry Potter backpack on the floor and setting it on the table. “Specifically, this book of magic?”<br/>
<br/>
Once more you’re staring at the pentagram on the binding, and the optical illusion of the faces shifting as the light catches them. You nod in resignation, wondering what you’ve done to have this thing return to you like a bad penny. <br/>
<br/>
“Yes, coach. Look, I don’t know where it’s been for a month. Whatever’s happened, whatever someone’s done with it, it wasn’t anything to do with me.” <br/>
<br/>
Acuna’s eyes narrow, and she leans forward, speech a little too rapid. “And what, hypothetically, might someone have done with it?”<br/>
<br/>
You have no idea. Your mind runs through scenarios: Joe Thomason using it for some bizarre torture; or maybe selling it to some idiot freshman who tried to summon a ghost in the boy’s locker room and has left a thousand black mass candles across the floor. Acuna’s said to be a devout Catholic, and you once heard from Lisa – back when you were dating – that she’s full-tilt into the idea of angels and demons walking the Earth, even praying for divine help before tennis tournaments. Perhaps she thinks it’s part of her job to stomp out the devil’s works, taking it upon herself to launch a Westside Inquisition the moment occult nonsense rears its head. You suspect this is about the hunt for Thomason's cohorts, so you decide the best option is to be as flippant as possible.<br/>
<br/>
“I dunno, try a magic spell?”<br/>
<br/>
Whether it’s the right or wrong answer, it seems to heighten Acuna’s attention – and her warpspeed questions begin again. “Will, I need you to tell me everything you know about this book, right now. It’s important. Start at the beginning. Where did you get it?”<br/>
<br/>
And it’s at this point, where you should be feeling under pressure as a member of staff grills you, that you realize you’re not intimidated at all. In fact, that strange feeling you’ve got about Acuna has neutralized any nerves you may have had. There are small, imperceptible details that are just wrong. Acuna is a stickler for looking smart, but her hair has loose strands from where it’s fallen forward and not been combed. Her fingers are twitching like she’s shot with caffeine, but you remember once hearing her tell Tesla she can’t drink it for some reason. And, underneath the polo shirt, she isn’t wearing a bra.<br/>
<br/>
“Nowhere special,” you say, deliberately noncommittal.<br/>
<br/>
“William, please don’t play games with me.” You look straight at Acuna. Behind those apparently serious eyes, there’s a hint of something more primal. Something you’ve seen in your own eyes when you’ve looked in the mirror and known a school day was ahead. Fear.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m not, coach. I just don’t see what this has got to do with me. I told you, I got rid of the book weeks ago. Or tried to, at least. I don’t know why it’s resurfaced now.”<br/>
<br/>
There’s an uncomfortable, aching silence. Acuna looks uncertain where to go; you’re trying to work out what’s happening. There’s something about the way the coach is acting, and the strange absence of that wonderful, rolling accent that James Lamont once called her ‘sexy senorita lilt’ that makes you think something strange is afoot. You steel yourself in this battle of wills, promising you won’t say anything.<br/>
<br/>
Fortunately, Acuna is the one who breaks. And when she does, it’s perhaps with the craziest question you’ve ever been asked in your life.<br/>
<br/>
“You know, I’m just going to come out and get to the point,” she says, a hint of neediness creeping into her voice as she changes tack. “William Prescott. Are you, or have you ever been, a wizard?”<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 1133121212211
author_id: masktrixie
title: A Coach Out of Character
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You blink for a moment. Acuna continues to stare directly at you, eye contact unbreaking. It has to be a prank. You just don't get the reason behind it; why is a faculty member messing with you like this? For a moment, you freeze. And then you snort.<br/>
<br/>
"Pfsha! Uh, yeah, coach, you got me! I'm a wizard. Spells, potions, whatever. Just call my Will the Wizard!" You smile, and laugh a little. "C'mon, seriously, I have no idea what you're talking about."<br/>
<br/>
Acuna stares hard for a moment then, physically shaking, rolls her eyes in annoyance. "Ugh, boys! You're just a... boy! A stupid boy! No freakin' use at all."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh...coach ..."<br/>
<br/>
"Just go! Uhm... <i>vamanos!</i> Shoo!" Acuna has a wild look in her eye now, a mixture of fright, despair and frustration, bubbling and boiling over from her usual sunny disposition, her Spanish strangely clunky without her usual lilt. You point to the book.<br/>
<br/>
"What about the..."<br/>
<br/>
"Go, William Prescott! Back to class or free period or whatever you have." She huffs at you, and grabs the book, waving you out the door.<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head a little as you exit, wondering what that was about. Then, on reflection, you decide you really don't want to know.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
You return to calculus, and feel all eyes burning into your soul. Mr Kowalski takes it in his stride, briskly waving you back to your seat. You hear Carson say something, but you aren't paying attention, too weirded out by the whole experience of being called out of class, and you let the peels of laughter it draws envelope you like a cloak. You sink down at your desk, focus on the problem, and wish the rest of the day would wrap up quickly.<br/>
<br/>
It doesn't. First, you see Caleb, who already finds the whole thing hilarious and cracks a few jokes as he tries to get the story from you. Second, and more demanding, is Kim Walsh. The political head of the students, you’re not sure if Kim views herself as your union rep and keen to make sure your rights haven’t been trampled on, or just someone who believes she’s entitled to know every facet of life in Westside. Either way, she tracks you down between periods and questions you, nimbly side-stepping any evasiveness you have with an almost forensic examination masked by kind words and promises about your best interest.<br/>
<br/>
"Really, Will. Whatever it is, I'm here if you need me," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Honestly," you say, sighing and leaning your head back against a row of lockers, "I don't know, Kim. It was just Coach Acuna, asking me about some old book. Keeps turning up like a bad penny."<br/>
<br/>
"What book?" she asks, tilting her head. You can't see the harm, so you shrug and start from the beginning, about how you picked up something from the rare collection at Arnholm's. You're just about to get to the whole mess with the time capsule when you realize that telling Kim Walsh is probably the worst thing you can do, and try and handwave the rest of it. She gives a slight, concerned frown, but heads off. You expect you'll see her again, though; she knows there's gossip there, and it's only a matter of time before she works it out of you.<br/>
<br/>
But Kim’s quizzing pales in comparison with the next, which begins with a sharp blow to your kidneys. “What’d Sagansky want, Prescott?” Joe Thomason demands. “This about me?”<br/>
<br/>
“No,” you wince, just as another blow lands.<br/>
<br/>
“Sure about that?”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes,” you say, folding down. “It wasn’t a goddamn thing to do with you.”<br/>
<br/>
“We’ll see,” Thomason concludes. “Faculty’s breathing down my neck and that means I’m breathing down everyone else’s. If you said a word about me, about anything, then guarantee there’s a hell of a lot more of that on its way.”<br/>
<br/>
"If you gotta know," you spit back, "it wasn't even Sagansky! It was Coach Acuna, all right? Now will you..."<br/>
<br/>
"Will I what, Prescott?" he pushes himself up against you. "Finish the thought. Cat got your tongue? Didn't think so, chickenshit. Remember, you say anything, and you won't be ready for the punishment we got lined up for you."<br/>
<br/>
It's sweet relief when school ends and you can go home. Then a text arrives.<br/>
<br/>
<i>U OK? R we still on 4 tonite? Why you get summoned to office?</i><br/>
<br/>
Shit! You almost forgot about Lin! Lin Pol, who wants to make plans with <i>you!<br/>
<br/>
No biggie,</i> you tap back. <i>Acuna wnted 2 grill me bt somthing. What's plan 4 tonite?</i><br/>
<br/>
There's a brief pause. The three little dots suggesting someone's typing - do they even count as ellipsis? - seem to hang around forever.<br/>
<br/>
<i>::thumbs up emoji:: Going to DQ with friends until abt 6 then home. Want to meet abt 8?</i> She drops in few party emojis for good measure.<br/>
<br/>
The book, and Acuna, and even Joe Thomason, vanish from your mind. Replaced by a cute, shapely Chinese-American cheerleader with long, silky black hair.<br/>
<br/>
You go for a thumbs up emoji in return.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
You're not sure if this is a date, or if it's a night out, or if it's a house party or if you're going somewhere else. In fact, Lin's intentions really weren't specific, and you were too awk-struck to really probe any deeper. Instead, you go for your usual Friday night look, figuring it's better to play it cool than to try too hard. If Lin <i>is</i> asking you out, she probably already knows how you roll. All you need to do is meet her at…<br/>
<br/>
<i>Nice one, Will.</i> Lin didn’t tell you where you’re meeting. You cast a thumb over your phone and are about to tap out a text, when you decide against it. Maybe it’d be better if she didn’t realize you were such a numbnuts. Instead, perhaps you could casually slide into the DQ, and, even more casually, find out the plan from Lin. That way you might even be able to get an idea of what you’re doing, too.<br/>
<br/>
The DQ isn’t a long drive, and it’s still early when you pull up. As expected, you see a gaggle of cheerleader uniforms in the window, Lin among them. The girls are all talking conspiratorially, and you hang back for a moment outside, trying to decide whether you go in, whether you sit with them, or whether you just come back later. Doubt creeps in. Interrupting the cheerleaders is the equivalent of kicking over a beehive. Maybe you should have just texted Lin. Maybe, like the weirdness with Coach Acuna, it’s all just an elaborate prank. Maybe you should go…<br/>
<br/>
You're about to text Caleb, of all people, for advice when you hear a familiar voice. It’s followed by another, albeit oddly without an accent.<br/>
<br/>
“Coach! I didn’t expect to see you here.” Kelsey Blankenship. You'd recognize that entitled tone anywhere.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh! Hey! Uhm... yoooou. How are...uh... you?"<br/>
<br/>
You glance up. Coach Acuna is here? Today is just full of weird coincidences. She looks like she's a deer in headlights in front of Kelsey. And, for once, the AP Queen of Westside looks equally shocked.<br/>
<br/>
“I was just in for five minutes to see some friends," she practically babbles. "I know it’s not part of the diet regimen you set up, but given our position in the season, I think a momentarily pause in the regimen is all right for a night, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, yeah!" the coach says, nodding furiously. "Uhm... abso-freakin-lutely. I mean, ah, yes. You can have a day off. And that's OK. Because I, Coach Acuna, say it's OK."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, good. I thought you were going to bust me, especially with the interschool cup coming up on Wednesday.”<br/>
<br/>
"Uh...nope. No, you can have a night off. You've earned it." The coach lifts up her arm and gives Kelsey a thumbs up. "Good job."<br/>
<br/>
“Well," Kelsey says, "I was just getting going. I’ll catch you later. Oh… I was going to call you. Is there any chance we can move Tuesday’s one-on-one court session to Monday night? I want to get a full rest day, and maybe Brooke could use the extra session. She’s still making too many double faults.”<br/>
<br/>
"Uh..." the coach nods. "Sure. Yes, we can do court things. We can't have doubles. Or faults. Good. Have a good night, my, ah, star player."<br/>
<br/>
At that, you can see Kelsey beam, a little shiver of satisfaction rippling through her body. The coach enters, and you shake your head, wondering what the hell is going on. Kelsey doesn't even pay you any heed as she walks to her car, but the weirdness of her interaction with Coach Acuna has distracted you from any worries you have about talking to Lin. You tuck your phone away, then stop, and check how you look in your side mirror. Then, without another thought, you find yourself walking into the DQ. And then it's too late to back out from anything.<br/>
<br/>
Lin gives you a look and a warm, beaming smile as you enter. You're about to head over, when you notice where Acuna is sat: a few booths down, eyes wide, the book out on the table. Now, she's talking to a scruffy looking freshman. For a moment, you assume it's just a teacher discussing something with a student out of hours. The weird thing is, from their body language, it's almost as if <i>he</i> is consoling <i>her</i> about something. It's a mystery that only seems to get stranger with every passing hour. Something about Coach Acuna just isn't normal. You're dying to know what's going on.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, Will!" Lin says, calling out to you. "Come join us, huh?"</span></div></div>


path: 11331212122111
author_id: masktrixie
title: Friday Night Questions
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You put Acuna to the back of your mind. Whatever the coach is up to, it’s not your concern. And you’ve got far better things to look at. Lin Pol, her breasts already fully formed, her skin tone a little dark, her smile radiant. Better still, she’s a cheerleader that will actually give you the time of day. You walk over.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, hey,” you say, trying to act casual. Half of the cheerleader squad are there. Cindy pays you virtually no attention, focused on her phone, while Eva and Jessica both give you only the briefest of smiles. “Just deciding on the plan for tonight?”<br/>
<br/>
“Take a seat,” Lin says, patting next to her. You slide into the booth. “We were just figuring that out. Girls, I said to Will he could tag along, maybe. There’s a party one of the guys at Eastman is throwing. Joshua Cheswick. I heard about it from... well, doesn't matter who. Could be fun, even if it isn't the usual scene. Or there’s always somewhere else?” As Lin says it, Cindy rolls her eyes a little, sighing quietly as she focuses on her screen. "C'mmmmmon,” Lin says, mock-whining. “It’s Friday. You can't seriously want to stay home."<br/>
<br/>
Jessica shakes her head, and runs her finger around the rim of her cup. Her sister, meanwhile, decides to change topic entirely.<br/>
<br/>
“So what did the principal want, Will?” Eva asks pointedly, completely out of the blue. She’s got a sour look on her face, although you have no idea why, and practically snaps out the words.<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah, Will,” Jessica adds. “Everyone’s dying to know.”<br/>
<br/>
“It wasn’t a big deal,” you say, feeling the twins’ gaze settling on you. “Really, it wasn’t even the principal.”<br/>
<br/>
“So, who was it?” Lin says, taking a slurp from her drink.<br/>
<br/>
“Just…” you sigh, and crane your head toward the ceiling. “Does it even matter? I didn’t ask you what was in your box earlier.”<br/>
<br/>
“What box?” Jessica latches on to the new piece of gossip almost immediately, her eyebrows raising. Lin doesn’t blush, but you feel her body tense a little. Then you feel a sharp kick under the table.<br/>
<br/>
“Nothing,” Lin says, a little too quickly. “It was just a small thing, is all.”<br/>
<br/>
“What counts as a small thing?” Eva asks. <br/>
<br/>
“A small <i>private</i> thing, all right?” If anything, this only seems to attract the Garners’ attention more. They’re about to say something when Cindy Vredenburg, of all people, saves Lin.<br/>
<br/>
“Are you seriously wearing that?” she asks, gesturing to you loosely with her phone. It's as if she's only just become aware of your presence, even though you're sitting virtually opposite her.<br/>
<br/>
“What?” you ask. <br/>
<br/>
“There’s no way we’re going anywhere with you tonight wearing <i>that</i>.”<br/>
<br/>
You look down at your shirt. It’s a little crumpled, sure, but there aren’t any grease stains on it as far as you can tell.<br/>
<br/>
“Jesus, Cindy, leave him alone,” Lin cuts in. “He looks fine.”<br/>
<br/>
“Is ‘fine’ what you’re settling for these days?”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m not settling for <i>anything</i>, Cindy.” She turns to you and smiles. “You look good.”<br/>
<br/>
“Nevermind his clothes,” Jessica says, leaning in. “What’s this box?” She turns to you, and you feel Eva’s glance switch over too. “C’mon, Will. What’s the story? What box did you see Lin with?”<br/>
<br/>
“I don't know. It's nothing, I guess.” The sisters don’t let up, though. You can feel the pressure already, and they seem to hone in on it, like a shark sniffing blood. If Lin won’t talk, they’re sure they can get you to spill. You feel acutely uncomfortable, especially given Lin falling under the Garners’ glare is distinctly your fault. Instead, you decide to give them another story. “Look, you want gossip? Fine, I’ll tell you why I was called out of class.” Almost instinctively, both of the Garners lean forward a little.  You can feel Lin relax a little. “It was Coach Acuna. She wanted to know about this book. Look, it’s connected to the mess with the time capsule, and…”<br/>
<br/>
“Was that you?” Eva blurts. <br/>
<br/>
“No! No. I…” you manage to stop yourself before you confess you know who was involved. “Look, so, before term I bought this book at Arnholm’s. Just some magic book, y’know, pentagrams and…”<br/>
<br/>
“You think magic <i>is real</i>?” Cindy looks at you, slowly lowering her phone with incredulity.<br/>
<br/>
“No! I just thought the book looked cool. It was in Latin, and kind of creepy, talking about disguises and personas and stuff. And it was only two bucks.”<br/>
<br/>
“Because it’s horse crud,” Eva sniffs. Jessica stifles a laugh. <br/>
<br/>
“Yeah, well. To cut a long story short, today I got grilled by Coach Acuna about it for no damn reason. She must have confiscated it off whoever, and you know they say she’s super-religious. Probably trying to root out blasphemy at school. I told her I didn’t know jack – because I don’t – and she left it at that.”<br/>
<br/>
“Wow. Cool story, Will,” Eva says, her mood not improving. "You didn't even say what that had to do with the time capsule."<br/>
<br/>
“Look, you don’t believe me, ask her yourself. She’s over…” you glance over your shoulder, but Acuna – and the freshman she was with – have already stormed off. You close your eyes and shrug. “Anyway, that’s all that happened. And now I’ve got half the school trying to get to the bottom of the world’s least exciting mystery.”<br/>
<br/>
“Lame,” Cindy says, with a smirk. She turns back to her phone, tapping away with her thumb.<br/>
<br/>
“Yah, well,” Lin says, trying to get the conversation back on track. “In answer to your earlier question, we’ll probably be making an appearance at Josh’s tonight. At least, I will be. I’ll hit you up once I know for sure.”<br/>
<br/>
“OK,” you reply. You sit there for a moment, not noticing the social cue you've been given. <br/>
<br/>
Eva looks at you directly. “Bye, Will.” <br/>
<br/>
“Oh, right,” you nod, slipping out of the booth. Jessica gives a pained smile of social embarrassment. You don’t bother ordering anything as you head out the door; it’s not like you’ve got any money anyway. Instead, you head for the door.<br/>
<br/>
“Hey, Will,” Lin calls out. You turn, and see her walking briskly toward you.<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah?”<br/>
<br/>
“Thanks for changing topics back there. I should have told you not to mention the package. Just keep it between us, OK? Especially about who gave it to you.”<br/>
<br/>
You shrug, and nod rapidly. “Sure, no problem,” you mutter. Lin’s smile widens and, holy shit, she actually pats you on the arm.<br/>
<br/>
“You do look good,” she says. “Don’t let Cindy tell you otherwise. Well, see you later?”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, yeah, maybe.”<br/>
<br/>
With that, you climb into your truck and head back to Acheson. After the chat at the DQ, any thoughts of Lin have been replaced by social anxiety. You could still follow the girls’ lead and go wherever they're planning. It might be awkward, or it might be fun - and finally a chance to break out of the social rut you’ve been stuck in for the past two months, since you and Lisa split. Or, perhaps you should just do what you do best on a weekend: sit in your room, play video games, and wait for Monday and the start of another five days of hell. <br/>
<br/>
Sure enough, a few hours later a message from Lin comes. <i>Gng 2 Eastman prty. Want 2 go wth???</i></span></div></div>


path: 113312121221111
author_id: masktrixie
title: The Missing Girl
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You've lost track of the times in your life when you've wondered why you're somewhere. When you're being forced into sports during a PE class, and getting pounded helplessly. Or when The Molester or some other asshole - Thomason, perhaps - decide that you're an easy target, and you find yourself backed up against a locker with a fist into your gut. Usually, when you have gone to parties (rare though that is), you've quietly fitted in as a wallflower. <br/>
<br/>
Except standing in the Cheswick kitchen, you feel like you're taking the art of being a wallflower to a whole new level. If you close your eyes, you could swear you'd turn invisible. <br/>
<br/>
An hour ago, you texted Lin and agreed to meet. The girls had their own transport - or perhaps they simply didn't want to rock up to a party in a truck - and so you changed (you couldn't help but feel self-conscious after Cindy's comments) and headed over. You caught Lin in the kitchen, but barely exchanged two sentences with her before she'd passed you on to a gaggle in the kitchen with a brief introduction. And here you've stayed ever since, taking the occasional sip of something sweet, sticky and far too sugary from a red cup, and helping yourself to the occasional Pringle from a bowl on the kitchen's island. <br/>
<br/>
The chat seems to be the same as things always are in Westside, only with an added pinch of stoner musing. Who's dating who. Who's not talking to who. Whether it's talking to <i>who </i>or talking to <i>whom.</i>.<br/>
<br/>
"It's definitely whom," an attractive girl whose name you didn't catch, but who speaks with a thick Southern accent, asserts as she comes in. "You jus' got to change it up to him or her. If it fits, then it's whom. Who's dating <i>her</i>. See? It's whom."<br/>
<br/>
"Benefits of AP English," one of the guys, with short shaggy brown hair, says, arching an eyebrow as the girl gets a drink. <br/>
<br/>
"Somethin' like that," she smiles and winks, skipping out again. The crowd remain quiet for a moment.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't think she'd be here," one of the girls says, a cute girl with thick glasses and a nerdy vibe. You haven't caught her name. <br/>
<br/>
"She's welcome," another shrugs. "Heck, we've got a load from Westside who've turned up, too." You raise your hand, giving a brief wave. The girl smiles. "See? I'm Eileen, by the way. You are?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, Will," you say. It's the first two words you've managed since you were abandoned in the kitchen. <br/>
<br/>
"Nice to meet you, Will! You know Josh, or you tagging along with someone else?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh," you manage to say again, suddenly conscious that everyone's attention is on you. "Well, I came with Lin. Pol. Chinese girl? I don't know where she's got to, but..."<br/>
<br/>
"Probably upstairs. In the 'occupied' sense of being upstairs," one of the guys smirks. Eileen gives a frown of disapproval. <br/>
<br/>
"Knock it off! It isn't that kind of party," she says, although judging by the flush to her cheeks you suspect her friend might be on the money. "So, tell us about yourself, Will," she says, turning back. "What are you into?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh..." you desperately think of something that doesn't sound lame. In the end you just give a small shrug. <br/>
<br/>
"I'm guessing it isn't oratory," one of the boys remarks, resulting in a laugh. Eileen gives a severe frown of disapproval.<br/>
<br/>
"It's cool. You don't have to be in a 'thing'. High school's about finding yourself, right? And at least we know you aren't on one of the sports teams, because I doubt one of those braggards'd be able to keep that to themselves for longer than two seconds."<br/>
<br/>
"Some of them are all right," the boy interjects again. He motions with his cup, out the door. "Durras is solid. Genuinely nice guy."<br/>
<br/>
You lean a little, and look down the corridor. In the living room, among groups of chatting teens, cups and some blaring music, you can see a handsome, smiling blonde, who seems to be chatting to Cindy Vredenburg (yes, she did show up). It's possibly the worst time to look; she's laughing about something with him, and gestures down the hall. For a brief moment your eyes lock, and it feels like the blonde is gazing into your soul. He smiles at Cindy's comments, although he's not laughing with her. You duck back into the kitchen.<br/>
<br/>
"I guess I just do stuff," you say, acutely aware of your own lameness. "Y'know. Hang out with friends. Check stuff out."<br/>
<br/>
"Deep," one of the boys says. Eileen gives him a firm look.<br/>
<br/>
"Aren't you in any clubs? Drama, maybe? Or farming, I guess? I saw your truck outside."<br/>
<br/>
You shuffle your feet. "I'm not a farmer," you mutter. Although their questions have triggered a wriggling kernel of doubt in your mind. What <i>do </i>you do? None of your hanging out with Caleb or Keith ever really amounts to anything. While everyone else seems to be preparing for their future, you seem to be... not running from it. Treading water, perhaps. "I.. uh... got to use the bathroom."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh sure," Eileen says. It seems she's more familiar with the house than everyone else. "Down the hall, on the right."<br/>
<br/>
You nod, and step out. Cindy and the blonde guy are still chatting, and you notice his gaze shift toward you as you leave the kitchen. It isn't uncomfortable, but given Cindy's earlier giggling - and comments about your clothes - you really don't feel like walking in that direction. And you don't feel like you have the answers for the Eastman gaggle in the kitchen, either. Instead, you quietly head to the front door, and make your way home.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
You're on State, almost home, when you notice a whirl of blue lights in your rearview mirror, and the quick whuurrrrp of a siren. You sigh for a moment. You haven't been drinking, but the streets of Acheson are mostly deserted, and you rolled across at least one full stop sign in your hurry to get back, retreat to your room and try to pretend tonight never happened. Slowly, you pull the truck over to the side of the road, down by the lot entrance to The Shed. The police car behind you pulls up a few feet behind, the darkness illuminated by the blue glow of lights above. Slowly, you see the shadow of an officer walk forward. They've got a flashlight out, and you watch as it scans the bed of your truck, then into the cab, and then directly into your eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"Good evening, sir," the voice rumbles. He's a heavy-set guy, balding, although he doesn't have his weapon drawn. "You got your license and registration?"<br/>
<br/>
You fumble to get it out of the passenger side, then hand over your wallet, shaking a little. "Uh, yeah, hmm... is there... uh... a problem?" You half-expect to be told about the stop sign, or perhaps a busted tail light. Either way, your parents are going to kill you... and the fine is going to wipe out any hope you have of ever mustering enough cash to have some fun in this stupid town.<br/>
<br/>
There's a pause as the light passes onto your license. Then, a longer pause, as it's passed back to you. "No, no problem," the officer says. He reaches to his side, and pulls out a phone. On it, there's a picture of a grinning, plain girl up against a wall, a few freckles on her face. Her head is tilted to the side, as if she's not comfortable being photographed, and her face is framed by long,  ginger hair. "Have you seen this girl tonight, by any chance? Take a good look."<br/>
<br/>
You lean forward. You recognize her from somewhere. "I think she goes to my school, you say. Westside."<br/>
<br/>
"That's right," the officer says. "Her name's Michelle Nolan. Was supposed to be home seven hours ago, no sign. Parents are worried about her, girl that age. Diabetic, too, so we're concerned she might have had a medical episode."<br/>
<br/>
"Geez," you manage to say, sincerely. This kind of stuff doesn't happen in Acheson. You guess that's why there's a police search. "Uh, no. I was just coming back from a party on the other side of town, and..."<br/>
<br/>
"There alcohol at that party, sir?"<br/>
<br/>
"No! I haven't been drinking! Well, just soda! Anyway, she wasn't there. Was mostly seniors. I can't think of anything else going on tonight."<br/>
<br/>
The officer makes a quiet, low noise with his throat. Almost a hum of thought. "Well, Michelle's parents are worried, like I said. You see anything, or any of your friends, you get in touch." <br/>
<br/>
"I'm just going home now anyway," you mutter. The officer gives you a brief, firm nod.<br/>
<br/>
"Good idea. G'night, sir. Drive safe."<br/>
<br/>
You nod, and breathe a sigh of relief. It's a surge of adrenaline you really didn't need shortly before bed, though. You could message Caleb, tell him about the local drama; it's bound to be the biggest piece of gossip in school come Monday, and it might give you some rep if you're the first to share it. Or, perhaps, you should just forget about it. It's none of your business, after all, and the police know what they're doing...</span></div></div>


path: 1133121212211111
author_id: masktrixie
title: In Which Nothing Actually Happens
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You're entwined with Lin, Cindy, and both the Garners. You have no idea what you've done to deserve this personal attention, and you're even more disappointed when you blink your eyes open, feel the familiar, groggy sensation of tiredness you can never seem to shake these days, and realize it's just a dream. With a furious blink, you get your eyes open for long enough to grab your phone. It's 8am on Saturday morning. You take a deep drag of stale bedroom air - the Will Prescott musk - and look at the cascade of messages. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Where r u Will? U stll here? Friend wnts 2 meet yooooou!</i> You look at Lin's messages and realize how you bailed without warning. Even so, you're surprised that Lin (wherever she'd gone) couldn't find that out easily. You weren't exactly blending in at the party. <br/>
<br/>
For a moment, you think about closing your eyes again, maybe hoping to summon up half the Westside cheerleading squad. Instead, you crack your neck and message Caleb. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Guess who got stpped by the cops last night!</i><br/>
<br/>
You've grabbed a shower by the time a reply comes through. <i>WHAT??????</i><br/>
<br/>
You quickly send off a flurry of texts, telling Caleb about the missing girl – Michelle something? Your mind is a little fogged. With the adrenaline rush of being stopped by the cops, you were mostly concentrating on holding your shit together – even though there was no suspect shit to hold – that you were barely paying attention, just fumbling through the conversation. It’s only now, after a shower and with your mind clear, that you can take stock and put your thoughts into a more coherent pattern. It’s then that Caleb bursts your news bubble. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Nthing on local news. No mention at all. Zip on SFPD site too.</i><br/>
<br/>
You check. For a moment you think it might have been a dream, but you’re pretty sure it wasn’t.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Whelp, guess she isnt missng any more!</i> you sign off. So much for an exciting adventure. It's such a downer that you pretty much abandon any interest in doing something for the rest of the morning, and slouch in front of your console. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
It’s about midday, and you’ve started to get peckish and descended to raid the fridge, that you get a message from Lin. It’s actually written out, rather than in text speak, and asks where you ran off to last night. You fire something back about not wanting to be home too late – a bullshit excuse and you know it – and hope it covers. Instead, you get a short message back. <br/>
<br/>
<i>K. U gng to Jenny’s birthday? C U @ Balduccis?</i> You raise an eyebrow, and look at the soggy, sloppy sandwich you’ve been making yourself. Balducci’s pizza sounds good about now. But you guess Jenny’s chosen to keep her 18th birthday relatively low key, with a couple of friends only. Sure, you hang out occasionally at lunch. But she’s always been friends with James, Carson and Yumi – and, you guess, Lin and Cindy – rather than you. You might make an extended party cut, but not a tight-knit circle. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Nah. No invite.<br/>
<br/>
K. Btw, friend I met lst night wanted to chat. Pinging deets!</i><br/>
<br/>
You shrug as the info pops up on your phone. Though why this Joe guy wants to get in touch with you, you have <i>no</i> idea. You finish slapping together the sandwich, and take an unsatisfied bite. You blew out of the party last night. You didn’t even get invited to the birthday celebration this afternoon. Maybe you need to start embracing trouble a little more. Your mind returns to that stupid book you’ve had, lost, had again, before it finally ended up in the hands of the Coach. If only that shit were real, you imagine your life would have turned out pretty differently.<br/>
<br/>
You tap on the counter, drumming your fingers rhythmically as you chomp on your lunch. You could contact this mystery friend of Lin’s and find out what they want. You could go into town – carefully avoiding Balducci’s and the awkwardness of having to see Jenny and your friends on her birthday – and see what trouble you can kick up. Or you could even think about getting involved in some of the school activities. Tomorrow, you’re pretty sure there’s a bunch of school-sponsored activities, including some club that tries to link Eastman and Westside together. Maybe you could give it a shot; you already know a few people at Eastman now, if not by name, at least by face.</span></div></div>


path: 1133121212212
author_id: masktrixie
title: Nobody Expects the Tennis Confession
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Are you a wizard? Perhaps Acuna’s Catholicism really is so out there she thinks witchcraft is real. But there’s something about the desperation in the coach’s voice that you can’t ignore. You resist the urge to laugh and stay silent.<br/>
<br/>
The coach swallows so hard you can see her throat bob as she babbles her words. “Will, please. There are lives depending on this, I want you to be straight with me.”<br/>
<br/>
“You aren’t being straight with me,” you push back. Somehow, the power dynamic has shifted. If Acuna had said souls, you’d still be convinced this was some religious thing. But lives? You decide to take a risk, leaning over from your seat to snatch the book. The coach makes a grab for it too, but somehow you’re faster. Impossible; everyone’s seen her return the aces served up by the senior year without effort. Coach Acuna seems to have lost her sharp reactions and motor. You flip the book open.<br/>
<br/>
And multiple pages roll up like ready waves, just waiting to be turned. Holy shit, the pages have unstuck. They’re covered in the same Latin scrawl, accompanied by strange, twisting shapes and sigils. “The fuck…” you manage to say in surprise.<br/>
<br/>
“I need to know what the second spell says!” The coach suddenly blurts, losing all pretence of calm. You look up at her.<br/>
<br/>
“What second spell? What are you talking about?” <br/>
<br/>
Acuna is too scared, too full of energy, too afraid of you holding the book, to notice the surprise in your voice. Tears are welling in her eyes as she collapses to her knees. “The second spell! I made the mask just as it says, fixed it with the paste, but I can’t get it off! It won’t come off! You’ve got to tell me what the spell says! I’ve been trying for freakin’ hours!”<br/>
<br/>
This is insane. You pull the book to your chest, away from the despairing Latina athlete who is now blubbing with wretched self-pity, chest collapsed against the table.<br/>
<br/>
“Maybe you’re the one who should start at the beginning,” you say. And then, as if the wall of a dam has been pierced, the persona of a coach vanishes utterly and a frightened, frenzied teen emerges – along with a rapid, stream of consciousness.<br/>
<br/>
“Fine! Freakin’ fine! OK. My name is Shelly Nolan. I was given the book a week ago. You know Ian Cowdray? Well, his cousin Rich gave it to him, and Ian knows I like magic, occult stuff, and he gave it to me. So of course I tried it! I unlocked the book with my blood, as I have to prick my thumb for my blood glucose anyway. That got me to the first spell, the mask. It took me a while to translate it, even though I take Latin, but the chemistry was super-easy once I did. So, anyway, I used the sigil in the book, followed the recipe and POW! I made a mask, just like it said. Then I started polishing the mask, which took <i>forever</i>, and it started turning blue, and I was like WOW WOW WOW magic is freakin’ real! Magic is real!”<br/>
<br/>
At last the coach pauses for breath. Somehow, like a vocal shepherd tone, the pace of her explanation just got quicker and shriller… even as her words became crazier. The worst part is that you believe her – why else would she mention Rich Austin? You guess he was the one who dug up the time capsule with Joe Thomason, probably with Jamie Rennerhoff in tow. <br/>
<br/>
“I took the mask to the coach yesterday after school, because she’s cool. And she said it was like a carnival mask and put it on to joke around. And then, suddenly, the mask vanished, and she collapsed! Like, out on the floor, freakin’ out cold! I didn’t know what to do. I was about to phone 911 when the mask reappeared! Like, it had vanished, and then it was back on her face! Then the coach woke up, didn’t remember anything, and I pretended nothing had happened. But secretly I was like ‘MAGIC IS COMPLETELY REAL AND THIS IS THE GREATEST THING EVER!’”<br/>
<br/>
You sit back and continue to listen to crazy town, wishing she would slow down.<br/>
<br/>
“Well, by then the next page could be opened. The next spell. And it was about sealing a mask, which was super-easy because it’s just chemistry, y’know? So, I sealed the mask last night, using this paste stuff I made. So today, before class, I thought I’d see what happened if I put it on. So I went to the gym bathroom, put on the mask and, like, blanked out. And when I woke up… I looked like this! I mean, I WAS COACH ACUNA. So I rushed to her office, because I know she has a gym bag there with spare clothes, put ‘em on and cosplayed as Coach Acuna. And everyone believed I was her! It was amazing! Like, freakin’ incredible!”<br/>
<br/>
You furrow your brow. “So, let me get this straight. You are a girl called Shelly. And you used this book, this book in my hand, to create a mask that has turned you into the double of Coach Acuna.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah! Awesome, right? But…” the tears begin to form again in Acuna’s eyes, already darkened and puffy from sobbing. “I can’t work out the rest of the freakin’ spell! I can’t take this mask off. You’ve got to tell me how! I asked Mr Leavey earlier about the Latin, but he wasn’t much help. He even tried to speak to me in Spanish thinking I’m Acuna, and don’t take it as an elective, so I just said ‘Si, si!’ and was, like, yeet! And for the rest of the day I’ve been hiding in a bathroom, trying to get this thing off me. I messaged Ian and told him what was going on. At first he thought it was a prank, but I told him stuff only we know and share. And he said OK, he’d cut class and help me out.”<br/>
<br/>
You’re beginning to feel dizzy with exposition. “OK, so Ian Cowdray knows about this. Who else?”<br/>
<br/>
“Just him! I swear! And I made Ian swear too! So he’s been keeping an eye on Acuna, the real Acuna, so I know where she is and there aren’t two Coach Acunas in the same place at once. And at lunch, while I was hiding in the toilet again, Ian asked Rich where he got the book from, and he said it came from you, and that he’d seen you try and bury it. Acuna’s in her office doing paperwork this period, so I figured this that was my chance. I ran over here and asked the secretary to summon you out of class.”<br/>
<br/>
It’s the craziest story you’ve ever heard in your life and you believe every word of it. And now Acuna, ridiculously, is bouncing on her legs in eagerness. <br/>
<br/>
“So come on, Will! I’m sorry I used your magic book, but you’ve got to undo this! I can’t be stuck looking like my P.E. teacher! How am I going to go home? What am I going to tell my mom? Or what if someone catches me like this, how am I going to explain it? What if the real coach Acuna finds me? C’mon. You’re a wizard. I know magic’s freakin’ real, just, freakin’ do something. Help.”<br/>
<br/>
You hold up your hand, begging for the rant to end. You can’t take another rapid-fire monologue. <br/>
<br/>
“All right! All right, I’ll help. Calm down. Just let me have a look in the book.”<br/>
<br/>
You open the book up to the second spell, not entirely sure if you can keep your promise of assistance. Acuna’s – Shelly’s – finger dabs at a paragraph, leaving a teardrop on the page. <br/>
<br/>
“That’s the bit about taking the mask off. It says to say those magic words, then to pull, I think. But I’m not doing it right. I’ve been trying for hours.”<br/>
<br/>
You trace your finger along the words. This can’t be real, can it? You look at the Latin and try your best to summon up the translation. “OK,” you say to yourself. “This talks about pulling away from the head. Forehead, I think. And this is some kind of incan…”<br/>
<br/>
“Incantation, right! But I said the words and held my head, you’ve got to do a specific grip, like this, and pulled and pulled and it hasn’t worked! I’ve been trying for hours.” Tears are in full stream now, turning Acuna’s mocha skin to a glistening sparkle with their tracks.<br/>
<br/>
“Three times,” you mutter. Acuna’s despairing eyes snap to focus on you, Shelly’s despairing soul behind them.<br/>
<br/>
“What?”<br/>
<br/>
You point at the line. “This word begins with tri. I think that means you’ve got to say the phrase three times.”<br/>
<br/>
The tennis coach’s frame practically shoves you aside as she scrambles to look at the phrase again. “I know what it means. Oh my God! I’m AP Latin, how did I miss that!” The coach flicks her dark hair back in self-conscious shock, the Shelly persona forgetting for brief moment she’s wearing the long face of an adult P.E. teacher. “What? I know Latin’s a junior class, I tested for it and got in. I like that stuff.”<br/>
<br/>
You ignore the multiple personality and press on. You shoot a glance at the book and its words, then reach for Acuna’s head. “Calm down, Shelly, just let me try to fix this. It says you hold here, and say this…” <br/>
<br/>
Your hands grip along the coach’s hairline as Shelly demonstrated. Then you recite the incantation three times and yank with all your might, wondering what the hell you’re doing.<br/>
<br/>
And, in a moment that shatters your reality, the mask comes off. <br/>
<br/>
In one blink of an eye you’re pulling at a tennis coach’s face, the next you’re holding a simple mask and a stream of bright orange hair is flying around you as a young girl with pale, pasty white skin falls back and hits the ground hard. You vaguely recognize this newcomer from passing her in the corridor, though you never knew her name. Now you’ll never forget it. <br/>
<br/>
You stare in amazement at Shelly Nolan, strewn unconscious on the floor in front of you, dressed in a baggy coaching uniform. In your hand is a magical mask that turns its wearer into Coach Acuna. And at your side is a very real occult spellbook that seems hellbent on returning to your possession.<br/>
<br/>
Holy shit, you think. What the hell are you going to do?</span></div></div>


path: 11331212122121
author_id: masktrixie
title: The Reluctant Master
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You can’t just abandon Shelly. You stoop down and tap her on the cheeks, but she’s out cold, just as she’d said. You look down and see just who you’re dealing with: a girl with pasty skin, freckles, and long brilliant ginger hair. You know from her previous rambling there’s no point trying to wake her so, instead, you open up the book and snap some photos of the spell pages with your phone. The text comes out, just about, but given how Shelly got stuck from not reading the instructions, you decide it’s best to copy the intricate sigils by hand. Fortunately, in a room of office supplies, a pencil and paper is easy enough to find. <br/>
<br/>
But you've just got started when Shelly comes round.<br/>
<br/>
You expect her to panic. Instead, she lifts up her hands, checks her face is her own, and just grins broadly. “Freakin’ AWESOME!”<br/>
<br/>
“Shush,” you say, already on edge. “Do you want the secretary pool next door to hear us?”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, they won’t,” Shelly says, sitting up. “They don’t pay attention to anything any more. It’s a school, crazy stuff happens all the time.” She looks at her clothes, now loose as she’s returned to normal. “Though not as crazy as this. Magic. Is. Freakin’. Real. You’ve got to teach me! Teach me everything! Please!”<br/>
<br/>
You look up as you tuck the tracing away. “Shelly, how old are you?”<br/>
<br/>
She crosses her arms. “Old enough. And there’s no way you can keep this a secret from me anymore. I mean, I used your spellbook, right? In a week I learned two spells. Is that fast? I think it’s fast. So I'm on the third one now. It makes a little metal band, right?”<br/>
<br/>
You decide to bluff. If Shelly Nolan thinks you’re a master wizard who knows these spells, perhaps that’s what you need to be. “Something like that,” you say.<br/>
<br/>
“I knew it! I can get the materials to work on the bands this afternoon. I’m already ‘sick’, and I can message Ian and tell him to break off trailing Acuna. We’re going to make you so proud!”<br/>
<br/>
You hold your hand up. “Shelly, calm down. We really need to talk about this.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes, of course.” She takes a deep breath. “So, do I call you master? Or maester? Or professor? Or…”<br/>
<br/>
“Will. You can call me Will. And the first thing I need you to do is calm down.”<br/>
<br/>
The redheaded girl practically wobbles with excitement, nodding. “So, I can be your apprentice?”<br/>
<br/>
As much as you’ve tried to dodge fate, the book seems determined to end up in your possession. And as much as you loathe the idea of hanging around a freshman with ADHD and the cousin of that thug Rich Austin, you don’t really have a choice.  <br/>
<br/>
“Fine,” you say. Shelly fist-pumps the air. “First, though, we need to get out of here. And second, you don’t tell your friends, you don’t tell your family about this book. Hell, you don’t tell Ian anything more than you’ve told him. As far as anyone knows, nothing has changed. Understood?”<br/>
<br/>
“Right. I mean, whatever you say! Oh, man, this is so cool. So, so cool. It’s like getting a letter to Hogworts.”<br/>
<br/>
You feel like this is going to be a long apprenticeship… especially given you know even less about magic than she does.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
You escape the side office with the help of Ian, who Shelly summons to distract the secretarial pool while you exit the room, you trying to keep between the eyeline of the reception desk and the now distinctly redheaded, shorter person wearing Coach Acuna’s clothes. Once in the hall, Shelly virtually sprints to the nearest bathroom, emerging wearing her own clothes a short time later – apparently everything was stuffed in that Harry Potter backpack. Said backpack is then handed to you, with a rapid-fire babble about how she’s supposed to be sick, and you need to put Coach Acuna’s clothes back in her office. At that, she remembers to grab her insulin pen kit from the backpack and runs off again, yelling that she’ll meet you at the Dairy Queen after school to discuss “learning how to be a witch”. <br/>
<br/>
And that’s how you end up holding a freshman Harry Potter backpack stuffed with a P.E. teacher’s clothes, a magical mask to turn you into a Latina and an unlocked spellbook as the seventh period bell sounds. The only good news is that you have a study period, so at least you have time to look at the book in more depth. <br/>
<br/>
“Nice backpack, Hermione,” someone says, walking into you deliberately in the hall and causing you to stumble. You think it might have been Gary Chen. It’s a moment that brings you, high on discovering magic, crashing back down to reality. Nor does your plan to study the book get anywhere: for the next five minutes, it feels like everyone you meet comes up and demands to know what the principal wanted with you, with varying degrees of forcefulness.<br/>
<br/>
First, you see Caleb, who already finds the whole thing hilarious and cracks a few jokes as he tries to get the story from you. Second, and more demanding, is Kim Walsh. The political head of the students, you’re not sure if Kim views herself as your union rep and keen to make sure your rights haven’t been trampled on, or just someone who believes she’s entitled to know every facet of life in Westside. Either way, she tracks you down between periods and questions you, nimbly side-stepping any evasiveness you have with an almost forensic examination masked by kind words and promises about your best interest. She leaves highly frustrated, and you doubt she’s going to let the matter drop. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise you if she started questioning the faculty – which is the last thing you need. You’re going to have to come up with a reason that satisfies her.<br/>
<br/>
But Kim’s quizzing pales in comparison with the next, which begins with a sharp blow to your kidneys. “What’d Sagansky want, Prescott?” Joe Thomason demands. “This about me?”<br/>
<br/>
“No,” you wince, just as another blow lands.<br/>
<br/>
“Sure about that?” <br/>
<br/>
“Yes,” you say, folding down. “It wasn’t a goddamn thing to do with you.”<br/>
<br/>
“We’ll see,” Thomason concludes. “Faculty’s breathing down my neck and that means I’m breathing down everyone else’s. If you said a word about me, about anything, then guarantee there’s a hell of a lot more of that on its way.”<br/>
<br/>
Of course there is, you sigh. For most of the free period, you get to work trying to decipher the Latin from the first page. It’s a killer trying to read the words on your phone, and you stumble constantly.<br/>
<br/>
Either Shelly is extraordinarily bright, or things are easier if you have the book. You barely get past the word <i>calcifer</i> being quicklime – Shelly’s insistence the chemistry was easy being a clue you weren’t looking for something unusual – before you’re in astronomy for the rest of the day. Then, as you’re leaving Westside, you get the final question about why you were summoned to the principal’s office – from someone you forgot about entirely.<br/>
<br/>
<i>U OK? R we still on 4 tonite? Why you get summoned to office? </i><br/>
<br/>
Lin Pol, who only this morning – which feels so damn long ago – tried to make plans with you, messages your phone. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Nothing important. Still on.</i><br/>
<br/>
You think about whether you are doing something tonight. You have to meet your two freshmen conspirators, and a reality-bending book of magic probably takes priority over a cute Chinese-American cheerleader. <br/>
<br/>
<i>::thumbs up emoji:: Going to DQ with friends until abt 6 then home. Want to meet abt 8? </i> She drops in few party emojis for good measure. <br/>
<br/>
Normally, the idea of being asked to meet with a cheerleader on a Friday night would be cause for celebration. But the first half of the message is just about the worst outcome possible, because you're already supposed to meet up with Shelly there. Even if you do want to spend the evening with Lin, there’s no way you can meet the freshmen in the Dairy Queen without being spotted by her friends. And, unless you can come up with an incredible excuse – perhaps using the announcement – hanging out with freshmen is basically a death knell to any credibility you have in Westside. You have no idea how to contact Shelly to rearrange things, either. <br/>
<br/>
But perhaps there’s another way. In the confusion around why you were summoned to the office, you didn’t have a chance to return Coach Acuna’s clothes. You have the mask, too. A mask that turns anyone into her spitting image. Perhaps you can go to your Dairy Queen meet-up, just not as Will Prescott.</span></div></div>


path: 113312121221212
author_id: masktrixie
title: Acuna Matata
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“Holy shit.” <br/>
<br/>
You’re standing in your room, in your underwear, staring at the mirror. Except this time it’s not your reflection. <br/>
<br/>
You are looking at the face, body, everything, of Coach Acuna. You reach up and peel back your new, pouting lips; squeeze your sculpted cheeks; flick back your long, silken hair. It’s only then that your gaze falls further south, and to a pair of impressive breasts. You breathe in, watching your borrowed face darken into a blush, and feel the heightened sensations of your assumed sex. <br/>
<br/>
One moment you were putting on a mask. The next you woke – about 10 minutes later according to your alarm clock – and were an intruder in age, sex and race. <br/>
<br/>
“I’m Coach Acuna,” you say, your feminine voice registering perfectly, though without the Latina accent that was so recognizable. You cough and see if you can act a little better than Shelly. “Ee am Choach Acunaaaa. I em Choch Acuuuna. Aaaaand I sound like a racist stereotype when I try to do my accent.” <br/>
<br/>
You give up – your attempt at Spanish is painfully bad, and only draws attention to it. Running your hand down your sides and patting your now ample, firm backside, you turn in the mirror and pose. James Lamont would have given anything to have the view you now hold. But you’ve got more important matters to attend to. Magic, as Shelly repeated over and over, is freakin’ real. And Coach Acuna is just the first of a million possibilities that you have. <br/>
<br/>
Fortunately, your dad isn’t home yet and mom has taken Robert for a run to the Dollar Save. You pull on Acuna’s tracksuit trousers before rushing downstairs to the laundry. There, close your eyes and reach in to your mother’s clothing, grabbing her sports bra. It feels wrong, but once on it makes your life far easier. Then comes the staff polo shirt, leaving only shoes. Damn. Shelly must have been Acuna’s size and used her own, but Acuna’s feet are far too small for your own. Instead, you grab your mother’s pink-flash jogging trainers and slip them on. Then you rush back to your room to check your appearance. Coach Acuna looks back at you, without makeup but otherwise indistinguishable from the real thing. It’s an incredible imposture – and you just hope you can pull it off. You shake your long hair to try to get it ordered, but it keeps flopping back into your face, covering your eyes and slipping into your mouth. You spit out the hair, pull the mane back, and decide you aren’t enough of a woman to do it the cool way. Instead, you dart into your parents’ room, grab a few hairpins, and waste another five minutes trying to get them to stay in. It’s only then that you rush outside to make your appointment, Shelly’s backpack over your shoulder, the book in its protective pocket.<br/>
<br/>
You see Shelly at the Dairy Queen before you walk inside. She’s taken a window seat, and her head is pressed up to the glass, looking out eagerly as she works her hands furiously upon something under the table. You press on, about to open the door when it opens and…<br/>
<br/>
“Coach! I didn’t expect to see you here.”<br/>
<br/>
Kelsey Blankenship stares at you in shock, a speck of frosting on her lip. Your heart skips; as the star of the Westside tennis team, she’s just about the last person you wanted to run into. A wrong word and she could penetrate your disguise instantly.<br/>
<br/>
“Kelsey,” you say, knowing Acuna prefers to call players by their first names. “I could say the same about you.”<br/>
<br/>
“I was just in for five minutes to see some friends. I know it’s not part of the diet regimen you set up, but…”<br/>
<br/>
“Relax, Kelsee,” you at least try a light accent, even if you feel you’re doing it entirely wrong. “It’s also a Friday. You can have a treat once in a while. They still serve strawberries and cream at Wimbledon.”<br/>
<br/>
Kelsey’s face relaxes. “I thought you were going to bust me, especially with the interschool cup coming up on Wednesday.”<br/>
<br/>
“No, you’re good.” You try and say as few words as possible to get through the encounter. Kelsey flashes a smile and steps past.<br/>
<br/>
“Well, I was just getting going. I’ll catch you later. Oh… I was going to call you. Is there any chance we can move Tuesday’s one-on-one court session to Monday night? I want to get a full rest day, and maybe Brooke could use the extra session. She’s still making too many double faults.” <br/>
<br/>
The question, not to mention the casual shade thrown at Brooke Galloway, Kelsey’s main rival on the team, throws you completely. If you were thinking, you’d have come up with some excuse – the coaching staff have complete rosters. But you panic. “Of courz,” you say in your stupid accent, giving a reassuring smile.<br/>
<br/>
“Great! I’ll see you Monday, then. Have a great weekend, coach. And, uh, nice backpack. Didn’t know you were into the wizarding world.” <br/>
<br/>
You wave goodbye as Kelsey heads to the parking lot, wondering how you’re going to get out of the change in schedule. Then, steeling yourself, you enter the Dairy Queen. Sure enough, various gaggles from Westside are there – including a group of cheerleaders, Lin Pol among them, talking eagerly about something conspiratorially. You walk past, and head to where Shelly has her face pressed up against the mirror.<br/>
<br/>
“Miz Nolan,” you say, trying to stay in character. “You left your backpack in my office earlier. Here. Try not to be so forgetful in future.”<br/>
<br/>
Shelly spins around in surprise, dropping something on the floor. She looks at you, and you see a trio of emotions shoot across her face – shock at being disturbed, fear that it might be the real Coach Acuna and somehow she’s been discovered, before the widest grin ever as she realizes who she’s talking to. <br/>
<br/>
“Will!” she blurts as you set the backpack down on the table. “I mean… uh, I will. Coach Acuna. Which is who you are. It’s, uh, good to see you!” Then her head vanishes under the table as you take a seat opposite. She emerges a second later, clutching the object she dropped. It’s another mask, this one glowing a very faint blue. “I’ve been… working… on the… next craft project,” she says, before giving you the most unsubtle wink in history.<br/>
<br/>
“So I see,” you say. “Did you still want to talk about private lessons?”<br/>
<br/>
“Lessons?”<br/>
<br/>
“<i>Tennis</i> lessons,” you emphasize. Shelly finally gets your meaning. <br/>
<br/>
“Oh, <i>tennis</i> lessons. YES! I mean, yes that’s why I’m here. Sorry. <i>Tennis</i> just makes me, y’know, super excited. I want to learn <i>tennis</i> so badly! I'll do anything!”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, perhaps we should go somewhere we can talk in private?”<br/>
<br/>
“Right. A good idea, Coach Acuna.”<br/>
<br/>
You motion for her to follow, and head to the back of the Dairy Queen, away from anyone you might know, so you can talk privately. If anyone saw you, it’d look like a coach talking to a possible tennis recruit. Unusual, but not really weird. And it’s then the questions come flooding in.<br/>
<br/>
“So, what is the first lesson?” Shelly asks. “Are there lessons? Am I doing it right? Except the part where I couldn’t get the mask off, but that was a fluke, right? I won’t do that again, I swear. Why did you get rid of the book? Is this mask ready yet or do I need to keep polishing?”<br/>
<br/>
You bite your lip and try to decide how this conversation will play out. You could admit to Shelly that you’re just in the dark about magic as she is. Or you could continue letting her think you’re some master wizard who was just discarding old spells.</span></div></div>


path: 1133121212212121
author_id: masktrixie
title: The Apprentice Becomes the Master
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You can’t keep up the pretense. Sooner or later, a girl as obviously smart as Shelly Nolan is going to figure out you’re stumbling around in the dark too. Right now she’s on too much of a high, but if you don’t come clean before she finishes up the next spell you have no idea what might happen.<br/>
<br/>
“There won’t be any lessons,” you say, Coach Acuna’s voice adding gravitas to your statement. Shelly stops dead in her rambling and is about to protest when you hold up your hands. “I don’t know anything about magic, really. I got the book at Arnholm’s for that stupid time capsule. Since then, it’s been yo-yoing back and forth. I lost it, got it back, then buried it in the capsule to get rid of it, only for Ian’s cousin and a bunch of other assholes to dig it up. Then they gave it to Ian, who gave it to you as a gift, and you bought it back to me. That’s all I know.”<br/>
<br/>
Shelly takes this surprisingly well. “So, I’m the first one who’s gotten the spells to work?”<br/>
<br/>
“As far as I know, you’re the only one.” <br/>
<br/>
Shelly fist-pumps the air. “What you’re saying is that I am the only witch at Westside High? This is even better! Not only is magic real, but I’m the supreme sorcerer!” She grips the backpack and pulls it close. “Oh, this is amazing. I need a coven! You’re in it, obviously, as the chosen one. And Ian makes three, which is a power number, and…”<br/>
<br/>
“Wait,” you wave her down before she rushes off at 100mph again. “Chosen one?”<br/>
<br/>
Shelly rolls her eyes. Once again, the power dynamic has shifted. “Come on, haven’t you read anything? Or seen<i> Lord of the Rings</i>? The first three movies, not the weird boring ones. There’s always a chosen one.” She pats the backpack and explains it to you as if you were a child. “This book is magic and is trying to get back to its master. That’s you – the only one in the whole chain who actually bought it. You’re the chosen one. No matter how far you run, the book is going to rebound back to you. So, obviously, you get to be in my coven or I lose the book. I’m the witch, you’re the chosen one, and Ian…” She trails off.<br/>
<br/>
“Is just someone with a crush on you,” you say. It’s the only explanation as to why he didn’t run a mile when he found the second Coach Acuna. <br/>
<br/>
“What? Ew, gross!” Shelly mimes sticking a finger down her throat to vomit at your suggestion. “He’s a friend. Like Sam and Frodo, or Poe and Finn. But we need him to make our power of three.” You want as few people involved in this as possible, but it’s hard to deny that Ian Cowdray is already in too deep.<br/>
<br/>
“Later. First, we need to come up with a plan about what we’re going to do with this book.”<br/>
<br/>
“MORE SPELLS!” Shelly says, virtually yelling above the din of the Dairy Queen, causing a few startled glances and laughs your way. “More… spells… in… uh, the, ah, tennis court.” <br/>
<br/>
You wince in embarrassment, which luckily just looks like a teacher’s exasperation at a hyperactive pupil. The attention dies down. “We have to plan what we do carefully,” you say. “This isn’t some TV show where you use magic for pranks. We could seriously mess up someone’s life. I’ve already had one person ask me to change a tennis session for them thinking I was Acuna. That kind of thing could happen at any moment.”<br/>
<br/>
“Which is perfect!” Shelly says. “I, or you, could be Coach Acuna at the new session and then use a mask on the player. Who is it? Someone that’d be fun to cosplay as?”<br/>
<br/>
“Kelsey Blankenship.” <br/>
<br/>
“See? Even I know who she is, she’s the freakin’ queen of the school! I think she’s rich, too. I would LOVE to be her, just for a day. Act like her, like I’m just the best, like I can do whatever I want. We’ve <i>got</i> to get a mask on her at the session.”<br/>
<br/>
“Hold up,” you say, wondering if the rest of your life is going to be reining a hyperactive freshman back. “You’re forgetting I can’t train someone to play tennis. I am not Coach Acuna.”<br/>
<br/>
“You’re fooling everyone here. And with the mind-reading spell you could be her. Or I could be. Or Ian could be, once we recruit him. I need to go home and study more so you’re ready! I have to be back soon anyway or my mom is going to freak out. This is gonna be so much fun!” Shelly grabs the backpack and pulls it, and the book, toward her. You grasp one of the shoulder straps and hold tight.<br/>
<br/>
“No way. I’m the adult here, I’m going to hold on to this.”<br/>
<br/>
Shelly narrows her eyes. “You’re just a senior, Will, and I’m a witch. I didn’t have to let you in to my circle, chosen one or not. Besides, I’m already working on the third spell at home, and I need the book to make the spell. It needs, like, a little strip of metal with runes on it. We are going to meet tomorrow morning. And then we’re going to plan how to steal Coach Acuna’s brain.”<br/>
<br/>
You feel helpless. You could probably stop Shelly from taking the book, but not without causing a massive scene – and you don’t trust her not to just tell everyone what’s going on. You let go of the strap.<br/>
<br/>
“Fine. Just give me your number first so I can reach you. We can’t conduct magic meetings in the back of the Dairy Queen.”<br/>
<br/>
“I know! I have a better place in mind. It’s private, and thematic, and it’s going to be freakin’ awesome. I’ll message you.” Shelly trades numbers with you then rises, taking the pack with her. “Oh, and seeing as I’m in charge now, we’re going to split the work evenly. So, uhm, start polishing the mask, please.”<br/>
<br/>
Your eyebrow arches as the mask lands on the table and slides over to you, a cloth with it. <br/>
<br/>
Then, with a yelled “Thanks, Coach!” for the benefit of your audience, Shelly Nolan is gone.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
You’re busy for the next few hours. First you head home, making a quick rush to the bathroom before any of your family catch sight of you. You strip, lie on the floor, say the magic words and pull off your face for the evening. When you come around, you return your mom’s sports bra to the laundry pile. The trainers, unfortunately, are another matter.<br/>
<br/>
“Honey, have you seen my pumps? I want to go to the park run tomorrow and I could have sworn I got them out ready.” You hear your mom saying to your father from downstairs as you skulk with them in hand.<br/>
<br/>
“No idea.”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, I put them right there.”<br/>
<br/>
“I didn’t move them,” comes a very calm reply.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m not saying you did! I’m just saying that <i>someone</i> did, because I didn’t…”<br/>
<br/>
While your father tries to ignore his wife’s shoe amnesia, you sneak across to the hall and toss your mom’s trainers messily in a corner. Fingers crossed she will assume someone kicked them there by accident and she just didn’t see them.<br/>
<br/>
Crisis averted, you turn your attention to the photos of the book, which you transfer to your computer and enlarge, all while polishing the mask. By the time 8pm rolls around, you’ve more or less translated the first spell. It’s about making the mask, and you wish you’d had the time to fully sketch out the sigils by hand as they’re way too tricky to complete based on the snaps. It’s a thought occupying your mind when you get a message.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Group of us heading into town now. Welcome 2 come. </i><br/>
<br/>
Lin Pol’s text is a stark reminder that the world of Will Prescott didn’t grind to a halt just because you shapeshifted into a tennis coach for the evening. <br/>
<br/>
Really, you feel like you should concentrate on studying the book so you’re on par with Shelly – before she gets herself or someone else hurt. But, then again, perhaps a break back to reality is just what you need. And, you notice, the mask you’re polishing is already shining blue. Perhaps hanging out with Lin and company will present an opportunity to get a new face to call your own…</span></div></div>


path: 11331212122121211
author_id: masktrixie
title: Mix and Match and Masks
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You think long and hard. As tempting as joining the cheerleaders may be – not to mention beneficial to your social standing – you need to focus on what you’ve discovered. It’s getting too late to get supplies for the spell, but you can spend the evening finishing a little Latin homework.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Sorry, something’s come up. Rain check?</i><br/>
<br/>
A flurry of sad emojis spells the end of what could have been a fun Friday night in Saratoga Falls.<br/>
<br/>
You wake at 8am, Saturday, fresh and ready to go. The first order of business is to head into town and scoop up chemistry supplies; you think you have the recipe for the first spell, and as laborious as the process of polishing a mask is, you want to make sure you can do it without having to rely on the whims of a hyperactive teenager. And it’s while you’re in town, at about 11am and pretty much entirely out of funds, when you get your next message. It’s Shelly with directions on where to go. <br/>
<br/>
An hour later you find yourself walking down to the edge of Acheson, where the houses peter out to the woods. You take a main road, then a side road, and finally find yourself turning down muddy, unpaved lane lined with trees. It’s a lonely, almost creepy spot, but eventually you walk past a clutch of isolated houses painted a pale lilac. The first is pure Americana: a barnstar plastered above the entrance, a flag waving from a pole nearby and a swingseat set out in a shady garden. The next is more dilapidated, almost as if it’s going for rural decay chic, with an old-pre-fabricated garage nearby that signals the end of the lane and the start of a walking trail. You assume this must be the place. You rap on the garage side door, which is opened by a beaming Shelly.<br/>
<br/>
“Welcome to our coven den!” she announces. You find yourself in some insane art lab, bright halogen lamps installed along the roof to scorch away all shadows. Dominating one side of the interior is a long, paint-splattered table filled with chemical supplies: vats of silicone and latex, solvents and fixing equipment. Giant casting moulds are stacked haphazard nearby, while the floor is marked by oil and the occasional errant streak from a spray can. The whole room reeks of acetone, but it’s the wall nearest to you that gives you the biggest surprise. Masks. Stacks of masks. Horror creations, skeletons, deranged killers, a few rip-offs of well known films. Most are on Styrofoam busts; others are stacked elsewhere. One particularly elaborate creation, a killer clown, is on a tailor’s dummy, its head half-punched with realistic hair.<br/>
<br/>
“What is this place?” you ask. <br/>
<br/>
“My mom’s workshop. She makes Halloween masks, ships and sells them everywhere. Carnivale masks too, and F/X work for movies if needed. The last few weeks have been totally crazy for her given it’s spooky season, but she’s cleared her backlog and the orders have dried up. Now she’ll basically take the rest of the year off, start up again for Mardi Gras and Spring Break just before Christmas. What do you think? Awesome coven house, right? I asked if I can use it to work on cosplay costumes with friends, and I made her promise not to come down to see what I’m working on until it’s finished. I have my own work bench for chemicals and stuff. As long as I bring down enough emergency snacks with me to keep her worrying, she won’t disturb us.”<br/>
<br/>
You have to give Shelly credit; a mask-making workshop is a great place to hide magical masks. <br/>
<br/>
You get started. Shelly demands a promise not to betray the coven and produces an occult encyclopedia, from which she selects a ‘binding oath’ that bestows doom, disaster and three-score suffering if you act against the group. It’s stupid, but you take it anyway. Next, you show the finished mask to Shelly, who agrees it looks much the same as when she finished the first one. For her part, she reveals that the next spell has been completed, triumphantly holding out a small band of metal. This, she explains, is a “freakin’ mind scoop”. Put it on someone’s head, then your own, and you can read their thoughts, if she’s translating things right. And her target is already clear.<br/>
<br/>
“We’re going to use it on Coach Acuna.”<br/>
<br/>
“Haven’t we focused on her enough?”<br/>
<br/>
“Think about it, Will! We already have a mask of her, but it’s pretty much useless without her mind as well. I think there’s no way the author of this book would tell you how to create mind band and a mask, and then not have a way to combine the two. With both of them, we won’t just look like Coach Acuna! For all intents and purposes, we can be Coach Acuna. It’s the perfect test run!”<br/>
<br/>
The one challenge is how to get it on her. But, for that, Shelly already has an idea. “We’re going to use the mask you just finished polishing up,” she says. “Later on, I’m going test an idea I have with it. But first, we’re going to create a third mask. And you’re going to have to spend all weekend buffing it, because once you’re Acuna you’re going to use it and a mind band on Kelsey Blankenship so I can cosplay as her.”<br/>
<br/>
“What are you going to test with the mask we’ve already made?”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, spoilers! Wait and see, it’ll take me an hour or something. Now c’mon, let me show you how to make a mask.”<br/>
<br/>
You watch Shelly as she walks through the mask-making process. Then, after securing your promise to get to work, Shelly takes the already prepared mask and rushes off, leaving you to polish the creation. It’s hard, mind-numbing and laborious… but then you notice what looks like an industrial buffer in the corner of the workshop. Deciding it might be worth a shot, you hook the mask up to it and turn it on, watching as it begins to whip the mask into functionality with far greater effort than you can manage. And, better yet, that gives you the perfect chance to read the actual book without interruption.<br/>
<br/>
Shelly is gone for about 90 minutes. You’re just beginning to panic, and the sky outside is beginning to darken, when she comes hurtling through the door, waving the mask. “You won’t believe what I’ve done!” she exclaims. “This is so awesome. I think I’ve worked out a whole new spell!”<br/>
<br/>
You sit up from the book and begin to explain how you’ve industrialized cottage magic, but she waves you away. “Now, lesson two! The paste to seal the mask! You’re going to LOVE this, if what I think happens does happen. And if it doesn’t, uh, it’s going to be interesting.” <br/>
<br/>
Shelly gets to work applying a thin layer of goo to the mystery mask, during which time you actually have a chance to tell her about the machine. This gets a non-focused nod of approval, while you get back to reading the book. It’s dark by the time Shelly finishes the sealing process. “Now,” she says, motioning you over. “Come and take a look at THIS.” You step over to see what Shelly’s doing and, without warning, her hand shoots out at you and the mask lands on your face.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
“Gah!” You wake up strewn on the floor, groaning with a distinctly feminine register. Shelly appears above you, grinning madly. “IT FREAKIN’ WORKS! I AM THE WITCH OF WESTSIDE!”<br/>
<br/>
“What the hell, Shelly! Don’t ever do that again!” You rage, very conscious that you’re a woman again. You look down at your body. White, slightly aged skin, breasts, and a little fat creeping over your belly that strains against your T-shirt. <br/>
<br/>
“Sorry, Will. I needed a guinea pig as I wasn’t sure if this would work. And, as I’m the leader of this coven, obviously you had to be the test subject.” She holds up a mirror. You blink, looking at the reflection of a woman of indeterminate age – maybe in her twenties or thirties – with honey blonde-hair cut in a pageboy bob. She has a round face with pale skin and a nose that reminds you a little of Shelly’s, yet entirely different eyes, too large and close together to be conventionally pretty, with thick eyebrows above blue-grey irises. The torso of the body is curvy, although your arms and thighs seem to be more muscular and athletic. You smile, and notice that your teeth are tiny, causing your mouth to come to rest in a determined scowl.<br/>
<br/>
“Who am I?” you ask.<br/>
<br/>
“Nobody whatsoever!” Shelly claps. “I thought that it’d be possible to use the masks to make an entirely new identity, and I’m right! If you use the mask on more than one person before it’s sealed, it takes the best bits and sort of stirs them together like a face-morph app. First, I used it on my mom. Then I knew my next door neighbor Tina was back from college, so I used it on her while she was dozing in the swing seat. And I was going to leave it at that when I saw a jogger come by on the trail. I faked twisting my ankle and put the mask on her when she stopped. And yeah, you don’t have to say anything, I know that was risky, but nobody comes down here after the morning fitness freak rush, even on a Saturday, and it worked out fine. Plus, I thought ahead and paused her run tracker, only to restart it just as she came around. She won’t notice she lost about 10 minutes of time.”<br/>
<br/>
“So this body is a mix of your mom, your next door neighbor and some random jogger?”<br/>
<br/>
“Exactly!” Shelly says, jumping for joy. “We don’t have to just be people we know. We can be whoever we imagine! And that’s useful, because tomorrow one of us is going to use this disguise to get the mind band on Coach Acuna. I already know where’s she’s gonna be! She’s super-religious. One of us is going to church.”<br/>
<br/>
You take things in for a moment, then grin with your stranger’s smile. “Cool.”</span></div></div>


path: 113312121221212112
author_id: masktrixie
title: Sunday Is for Scheming
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You leave Shelly, mask still drumming away in the buffing machine, with a promise to come back in the early morning to keep working on things. Saturday evening burns away in the ache of Latin as you read, re-read, triple-read Shelly’s understanding of the spells. You’re certain that the band she’s talking about isn’t actually ‘psychic’; rather, it collects someone’s mind and stores it like a DVD. In fact, you’re beginning to suspect that the mask isn’t creating an illusion over your body, but fully rewriting it temporarily. It’s annoying that you can’t copy the sigils from the photos on your phone, as you think they’re probably the keys to unlock what’s going on.<br/>
<br/>
You’re just heading to bed, mentally drained after the past two days, when you get a message from Keith, mainly to shoot the shit you didn’t get to shoot during lunch yesterday when you walked into the soccer team bust-up. It’s the usual chatter – some kid was off sick in his current issues class and missed a presentation, your mysterious summons to the principal’s office, a new movie that just came out that has decided to combine pirates, werewolves and jet fighters in a desperate attempt at relevance. It all feels so banal and mundane when you’ve breathed air from someone else’s lungs. Instead you find yourself daydreaming about the possibilities opened up to you.<br/>
<br/>
On Sunday morning, you head down the creepy lane and turn the handle of the garage side-door, which you guess Shelly has unlocked. You really need to talk to her about that, especially when you find the book wide open on the workbench, just as you’d left it, with another mind band she’s created strewn next to it. If someone had walked in and knew what it was, it could have been a disaster.<br/>
<br/>
As a first task, you take off your own, distinctly non-Harry Potter backpack laid with chemical supplies, open up the book – you should really start calling it the "Summa Libra Personae," which appears to be its name – and get to work on making a mask of your own. Shelly, if your timing is right, is going to be another hour, and you quickly create a mask of an unassuming grey. Walking across to the room, the mask you’ve left on the machine is now a gorgeous, complete blue. You’ve probably saved yourself about 10 hours. So, you scoop it up and put the unpolished mask in its stead.<br/>
<br/>
It's then you’re disturbed by a rap at the door. “Knock knock,” a voice says, as a woman with shoulder-length red hair opens the door. You recognize a strong resemblance to your fellow magic-user, not to mention a nose similar to the one you had yesterday. The woman looks at you in surprise. “You must be Shelly’s friend. You’re a little older than I expected, I thought you’d be in the same class.”<br/>
<br/>
“We are,” you lie. “I'm a junior," you further improvise. "And it's a, um, health class."<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, of course. Well, I didn’t want to intrude on your little project, but I couldn’t help myself. Shelly’s been so excited this past week she hasn’t stopped bouncing around the house, and I wanted to see what’s turning her into a jumping bean. I’m her mom.”<br/>
<br/>
“I'm Will,” you say. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Nolan. Your artwork is amazing.”<br/>
<br/>
Mrs Nolan walks in and looks at her masks, offering the satisfied smile of an artist pleased with her work. “Thank you. I’ve been doing this about, oh, 10 years, since we moved out here from the west coast. The Killer Clown,” she gestures to a mask, “he’s the bestseller. I’ve been trying to teach myself hair punching too, but it’s tedious. It takes a full 80 hours, and I just don’t have the patience.”<br/>
<br/>
“That’s a long time,” you agree, trying not to commit to anything. Mrs Nolan steps further inside, shaking her head at a pile of Shelly’s clothes thrown in the corner – no doubt from when she changed identities earlier – then the buffer, actively polishing the mask.<br/>
<br/>
“Y’know, that tool’s really for metalwork. Whatever you’ve got there is going to break if you keep it on like that. Is it part of Shelly’s secret project?”<br/>
<br/>
“I can’t tell you, it’s a secret project.” For a moment you think about using the polished mask on her, luring her in with a sneak peek at her daughter’s scheme as bait. Instead, you share a brief laugh before Mrs Nolan admits defeat and heads back inside. You’re not sure why the thought crossed your mind.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
“Ask me how it went!” Shelly says, her exuberance ridiculous on the face of the woman she’s disguised as, dressed in a smart pant suit you assume she stole from her mom and clutching two plastic bags filled with stuff. For all her science skill, she is still the worst actress in the world.<br/>
<br/>
“Tell me you didn’t go around town grinning like that. We might need to use Ruth again.” The combined mask needed some kind of name and, after dismissing Shelly’s suggestions of Tonks and Arya, you settled on a choice after joking about a Random Body Generator – or RBG.<br/>
<br/>
“It was so much fun! First, I went down to her church as planned. I almost didn’t make it because the bus was late and I had to get all the way across town, but anyway! After that it was so freakin’ easy. Coach Acuna stayed after the service to light a candle for her dad in the side annex. I knelt down next to her while she was praying, and boop, on went the band.”<br/>
<br/>
“So how come it’s taken you two hours to get back?” you ask. Shelly, or her adult persona, is well overdue.<br/>
<br/>
“Afterward I thought that I’d better check the band worked. I couldn’t put it on straight away, but to cut a long story short, DOES IT EVER. It’s incredible. I knew Spanish! I knew the candle was for her dad. I knew school secrets, like why Luke Ritter has a note that says he can’t do P.E.! I knew all about her family, and friends, and hopes and fears and even her PIN! It’s like her whole brain was downloaded into mine! And I knew all her sizes, favorite brands, stuff like that. So I thought, like, I had to use this knowledge and went on a shopping spree.” Shelly dumps the contents of her bag. “I managed to get three pairs of earrings, plus two outfits, one for evenings and one casual, identical to clothes she wears. And, of course, cosmetics.”<br/>
<br/>
You look at the haul. Along with the uniform you stole, it’s a Coach Acuna starter kit. “How did you afford this?” You half-expect Shelly to confess to stealing from the tithes.<br/>
<br/>
“I won the middle school summer science Olympiad at Keyserling back in June,” Shelly says, as if it’s obvious. “I hadn’t spent the prize. I was going to get a really cool tarot deck, but this is so much better. Now, let’s see what spell four is!”<br/>
<br/>
You step to the door. “How about you take Ruth off first,” you suggest, “and I’ll go for a walk so you can get changed.”<br/>
<br/>
Shelly is already at the book. “Ferrumen… YES! It’s GOT to be a way to bond the band and a mask, just from the name alone!”<br/>
<br/>
“Shelly. Change back. Before your mom wonders why a strange woman is in her shop.”<br/>
<br/>
“Huh? Oh, right. Can you watch me take the mask off? I don’t want to get stuck again.” You nod, and observe as an unsure Shelly recites the spell and rips the mask from her forehead, falling to the ground before you go kicking leaves up the lane to give her some privacy. As you do so, a jogger with a familiar style of short, tawny hair and eyes a little too close together comes pounding past, only briefly glancing in your direction as she heads for the trail.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
“Tomorrow, we launch Operation Doppelganger,” Shelly announces, after you’ve spent most of the afternoon decoding the fourth spell. Band and mask combined, you’re now certain you’ve got everything you need to impersonate one Carmen Gabriella Acuna-Montero. There are only two issues. First, there’s the actual Carmen Acuna walking around school. And second, which you’ve entirely forgotten about…<br/>
<br/>
“Ugh,” Shelly rolls her eyes as she digs her phone out of her pocket again. “This is the 12th freakin’ message Ian has left me.”<br/>
<br/>
“He saw you looking like your gym teacher. That kind of thing isn’t something you ignore. I’m surprised he hasn’t turned up on your door.”<br/>
<br/>
“He did,” Shelly says, waving your concern away. “Last night, after you went home. He got a week’s detention for skipping three periods. I said I’d talk to him on Monday. He wasn’t happy.”<br/>
<br/>
“You think?” You’re exasperated. One minute you’re aware this girl is probably one of the smartest in the school. The next, she behaves like an idiot. You’re annoyed at yourself, too, for having forgotten about him. “We need to both talk to Ian about this, before it spirals out of control.”<br/>
<br/>
“Trust me, Ian will be all… Ian about it. I’ll talk to him. You need to focus on Operation Doppelganger, which is going to be amazing. And it turns out you won’t even need to replace the real coach at all. Listen to this…”</span></div></div>


path: 1133121212212121121
author_id: masktrixie
title: Office Hours
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“We have a problem with Ian,” Shelly announces to you at lunch, having stormed up to you from across the cafeteria while you’re halfway through a bite of fries. It's one of the rare occasions that you and your friends are eating inside the cafeteria, and you are acutely aware how weird this interruption seems.<br/>
<br/>
“OK, tell me.” You stand up and go to empty your tray, listening to Shelly’s frantic conversation as your friends look on, bemused.<br/>
<br/>
“He says he doesn’t want to get too involved. He’ll join the circle, but doesn’t want to know how we do things or ever wear a mask. It’s just like Ian to only half-commit to something. I think he’s worried I’m going to rip a hole in the fabric of the universe, but of course I’m not going to do that.”<br/>
<br/>
“Why is that a problem?”<br/>
<br/>
“It isn’t.” Shelly’s eyes narrow. “The problem is blackmail. The price for his silence is we make his life easier. Starting with a free ticket out of detention.”<br/>
<br/>
You close your eyes. “How are we supposed to do that?”<br/>
<br/>
“If only one of us was faculty!” Shelly says sarcastically. “It’s a new secondary objective in Operation Doppelganger. Now, go be a spy. We’ll meet tonight at 6pm. I’d want it to be the witching hour but my mom insists on an 8pm curfew, so it’ll just have to be more or less after dark.” And with that, the surprisingly self-confident Witch of Westside walks off, for the first time not one ‘freakin’’ in the whole conversation. You’re barely half-way through your turn back to your table when you almost collide into yet another derailment to your peaceful existence.<br/>
<br/>
“Hey, Will.” Kim Walsh’s smile is pleasant and charismatic, even as she springs her curiosity driven quiz. “People are still talking about your summons on Friday. Whatever happened, I’m on your side, all right?”<br/>
<br/>
“Kim, nothing happened,” you say, before hitting on a brilliant idea. Maybe you can get rid of her and explain your mealtime interruption too. “Look, if you really need to know about it, talk to Coach Acuna after classes. She can explain everything…”<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
Shelly’s plan is simple, and only made possible by the ability to know your target’s mind. Carmen Acuna has a full roster of morning classes, but a free afternoon as the cup meet on Wednesday means her schedule is lighter than usual. It’s with relief that you see her head off campus at lunch, making directly for the side road where she parks her Mazda.<br/>
<br/>
Time to set your plan in motion. After last period, you make for the sports centre restrooms. About 15 minutes later, a Coach Carmen Acuna puts a pair of studs in her ears, straightens the long strands of silky black hair over her collar, and smooths the wrinkles in her top. To anyone else, it’s just a woman checking herself in the mirror. To you, it’s the first glance at a new life you’ve subsumed.<br/>
<br/>
It’s an incredible sensation. You have your own thoughts, but the coach’s too. Your ruse is flawless; so much so that you imagine if you ran into your double you’d react with the same religious fervor at the supposed demon with your face. You can’t help but laugh diabolically. There’s something about being Carmen Acuna that is so wonderful you’re tempted to do it – to drive her car, sleep in her bed, say her prayers. If only the original wasn’t walking around.<br/>
<br/>
The malicious grin slips into Acuna’s welcoming, patient and pleasant curl without effort, and you caress the bottom of your chin as you appraise your appearance. <i>Still got it, chica,</i> you think, as you remember the sensuous touch there from your first serious boyfriend, or how your mama used to cup your chin as a child. Closing your eyes, you can summon any thought you need: you can’t drink coffee because you get migraines; you were a doubles champion in your youth, but you didn’t pursue it as you were just never good enough for elite level; the best part of teaching is when you see someone do something they think they can’t, and the worst is when they lose the heart to even try.<br/>
<br/>
“Che! Enough vanity for one afternoon!” You stop staring at the mirror, throw Will Prescott’s backpack over your shoulder and step into the life of Carmen Acuna, walking back to her office with her usual, confident and open stride. You love every second of your walk down the corridor, from the warm smile to the students, the professional nod to Coach Tesla, and even fulfilling your new ritual of tapping the little self-deprecating motto above your office door as you go inside: “Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach. Those who can’t teach, teach P.E.” You settle into your chair, ergonomically positioned for your new height, and wait for your first guest to arrive.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
“Coach, you got a minute?” as you predicted, Kim Walsh is in your office as soon as her timetable and legs allow. You look up from last week’s cup results, your new mind easily picking out the 6-2, 6-1 demolition of Appian Lake High’s best player by a private school called Bosworth, somewhere two counties over.<br/>
<br/>
“Of course,” you say, letting that fantastic accent roll around your mouth, hints of Argentine ancestry tripping on the syllables but nowhere near as clumsily as you’d applied it in the past. “Take a seat. I have a court session soon, but I can spare a minute or two.”<br/>
<br/>
“It’s about Will Prescott,” your visitor begins. You allow yourself to shift perceptibly in your seat, which Kim picks up on. “The student body is concerned that he was called to the office on Friday, and rumors are starting. I spoke to Will, and he gave me permission to talk to you.”<br/>
<br/>
Kim sounds sincere, although of course you remember that conversation differently, and Carmen Acuna’s mind is practically in fits of laughter. <i>Oh, Kim. Admit it, you just want to know what’s going on!</i> You summon up your teacher calm and set your pen down, letting Acuna’s thoughts dictate the stiffer tone you take. “Kim, I’m not at liberty to discuss any student with another, you know that.”<br/>
<br/>
“But this is…” You stop her in mid-sentence with a stare your grandmother used to shoot you as a misbehaving child. Usually you only deploy it when lessons threaten to get out of hand, along with a snap of the fingers and a twist of the neck toward the guilty party. Carmen Acuna adores her job, actually likes her charges, but she is no one’s pushover.<br/>
<br/>
“Che!” You cut her off, raising a finger. “In this instance, I suppose it falls outside of school bounds, and if Will said to ask, it’s OK. You have to promise me this goes no further than my office.”<br/>
<br/>
Kim nods.<br/>
<br/>
“As you may know,” you begin, feigning reservation and even a little blush but, in truth, enjoying every moment of your mind game, “faculty parking has been an issue for a few years. Some of us, myself included, have to park on the street. On Friday I went out for lunch and left my keys on the roof. Will must have passed by soon after, took the keys and left his contact information on my dash. I had him called to the admin office to get my car keys back.”<br/>
<br/>
It’s a dumb story, full of holes you could drive a truck through and missing details, but coming from a figure of authority makes it sound totally sincere to Kim’s usually perceptive ears.<br/>
<br/>
“Wow. I don’t know why he didn’t just tell me that. It’s just the kind of community spirit that we should be applauding at Westside.” You wonder how long she’s going to keep this to herself. <i>I’d give it two hours</i>, Carmen’s mind chuckles. <i>Maybe two minutes.</i><br/>
<br/>
“He’s a good kid. He’s even mentoring one of the freshmen, Michelle Nolan, who’s had a little trouble fitting in this term.” Two birds with one stone.<br/>
<br/>
“I didn’t know we had a mentoring program,” Kim replies a little too quickly than she intended, clearly piqued she wasn’t asked to be involved. “I’d be happy to volunteer as a mentor if you need recruits.”<br/>
<br/>
“Excellent. I’ll mention you’re interested.”<br/>
<br/>
“Thanks Coach.”<br/>
<br/>
You smile back with your new face, pleased to have defused a potential time bomb. “No problem, Kim. My door is always open.” You pretend to get back to the fixture list, your deep, dark irises falling toward the spreadsheet. You still need to rescue Ian from detention. Then, you have a tennis lesson. Shelly said she wanted to be Kelsey Blankenship, although it could be tricky to get a mask on her tonight, even in your current guise.<br/>
<br/>
But perhaps you’ve got a better target than Kelsey already. Kim Walsh is here, stood in the privacy of Coach Acuna’s office. You couldn’t ask for a better opportunity. And wouldn’t she be an even greater identity to assume?</span></div></div>


path: 11331212122121211211
author_id: masktrixie
title: Mixed Doubles
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Detention at Westside isn’t something you’ve thought about for a long time. Seniors are expected to be mature enough to handle their academic responsibilities and the same applies for juniors. As such, it’s usually only younger pupils who ever end up in one of the dreariest classrooms in B wing, staring vacantly at their desk. Carmen Acuna hasn’t given a detention in two years, preferring to use the tried and tested coach’s revenge of taking a lap. <br/>
<br/>
You hum as you walk down the corridor, very much at home in your new body, tennis bag in hand, a mask destined for Kelsey Blankenship jumbled inside among the balls, racquets, towels and energy drinks. Tennis is, much like volleyball, an oddity at Westside: less a sports program and more something students – usually the rich kids who grew up at the country club – can play. Carmen considers herself a full-time P.E. teacher, far more invested in the development of her students than managing a program so all-consuming as football or soccer.<br/>
<br/>
“Mr Carr,” you say, stepping inside to where your colleague is busy marking papers and monitoring his five charges: two sophomore stoners; known troublemaker Scott Winkler; a highly embarrassed freshman called Erin Richardson (you have no idea what she did, but your Acuna heart breaks a little that such an apparent angel is in trouble); and your target.<br/>
<br/>
“Coach Acuna. What brings us the pleasure of your company?”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m looking for a volunteer,” you say. “We have a cup match on Wednesday. I’ll need someone to replace all of the court nets and scrape gum off the bleachers.” The nets don’t need replacing and you doubt there will be a crowd, but it’s a reasonable request.<br/>
<br/>
“By all means,” Carr says, happy to bring indentured servitude back to this corner of America. Erin Richardson’s hand immediately shoots up, practically straining to be picked, but instead you point to the kid at the back of the room.<br/>
<br/>
“Ian Cowdray. Vamanos.” He’s a scrawny, dozy boy, light hair cut short, and he ambles out with you pretty quickly. You give a nod to Carr, exchange pleasantries, and get the hell out. Ian, for his part, is smart enough not to speak until you’re alone, halfway down the corridor.<br/>
<br/>
“Shelly?” he asks. Of course, he thinks you’re her.<br/>
<br/>
“Coach Acuna,” you correct. “At least while I’m looking like this.”<br/>
<br/>
“You’re not actually gonna make me do any of that are you? Scrape gum?”<br/>
<br/>
In a split second, you figure you might as well lean in on Ian’s beliefs, and begin to speak as quickly as your new tongue will allow. “What? No freakin’ way. This is just a disguise to bust you out. Awesome, right? And now I know how to take it off, I can totally cosplay as her whenever I need to.”<br/>
<br/>
“This is so weird.”<br/>
<br/>
“So freakin’ weird,” you concur. “And so, so cool.”<br/>
<br/>
“I still mean what I said earlier, though. I don’t want no part of whatever this is. I don’t want to dress up as a woman or anything.”<br/>
<br/>
“You’re so non-committal, Ian.” You wonder how you’re doing at playing Shelly Nolan play Coach Acuna. You soon find out.<br/>
<br/>
“Maybe, maybe not. And Shelly, I meant the other thing, too. About that senior kid. We don’t know him. Rich says he’s just kind of average, that nobody knows him. If we need muscle, we can trust my cousin Rich. He’ll handle that guy. You say the word, I’ll tell Rich everything and it won’t matter who Prescott looks like.”<br/>
<br/>
You let the words sink in as Ian heads for the main entrance and you head for the courts.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
You’re still mulling over Ian’s words when you arrive, the floodlights illuminating the DecoTurf of Westside’s medium-fast, hard court surface. That’s as expected. The surprise is the duo waiting for you. There, dressed in tennis whites, racquets in hand, are Brooke Galloway and Lynette Kolaya, the other two members of your tennis trio. They give you a wave as you walk on, setting the bag down at the side of the court. “Hey coach,” Brooke greets you. “Want us to get warmed up?”<br/>
<br/>
You have no idea what they’re talking about. You search Carmen Acuna’s mind but everything tells you the entire afternoon is free. Right now you – or rather she – should be enjoying a quiet glass of wine. You’re still trying to come up with something to say, all while holding Carmen’s smile on your lips, when there’s a noise from the edge of the court.<br/>
<br/>
“Hey, coach. What’s going on?” Kelsey Blankenship has arrived, dressed impeccably in her own tennis attire, rolling a top-of-the-line tennis racquet in her grip.<br/>
<br/>
“Nothing to do with you,” Lynette blurts.<br/>
<br/>
Brooke, being a little more diplomatic, keeps up the frenemy smile. “Hello, Kelsey. We asked coach if we could have the court tonight. We’ve been thinking about the doubles pairing.”<br/>
<br/>
“I wasn’t aware there was a problem with the pairing,” Kelsey says. “And I spoke to the coach on Friday to rearrange my one-on-one. Right, coach?”<br/>
<br/>
“Working on court position?” Lynette interrupts.<br/>
<br/>
“Whatever the coach thinks I need to improve. It’s part of the pressure of being the captain.”<br/>
<br/>
“I’d focus on your returns.”<br/>
<br/>
Che! Carmen Acuna’s mind is already sick of whatever hornet’s nest you’ve kicked up and the thinly coded jabs the three girls are shooting at each other. You’re more focused on why you didn’t know about the session… of course. The girls must have asked the real Acuna for the court this morning, after you’d used the band on her. The new information wasn’t stored. Why the hell did you follow Shelly’s half-baked plan?<br/>
<br/>
“Ladies!” You raise your voice only slightly, but all three fall silent. Kelsey, for her part, is almost obsequious when she addresses you.<br/>
<br/>
“Coach, I appreciate the other girls are a little behind, but I was really hoping we could work on some aspects of my game one-on-one.”<br/>
<br/>
“And we need to talk about the doubles.”<br/>
<br/>
“Ladies!” you snap again, this time with more force. “It’s just a little misunderstanding. Kelsey, you’ll get plenty of time with me. We’ll work drills for the first half of the session, then play a half-set of doubles with Brooke and Lynette, at which point I’ll make my decision about the line-up for Wednesday.” This, Carmen’s mind decides, is the most amenable-sounding solution, although in truth you’d already decided Kelsey would be dropped from the doubles match. While you know Kelsey will view it as a slight, Carmen believes that Westside will outclass the opposition in this round and would be shocked if Kelsey and Brooke don’t win their singles rubbers by a landslide. The star player might as well be rested.<br/>
<br/>
It’s while you’re informing your players of the plan that you’re interrupted by a shout from behind the annex. Ian Cowdray barrels around the corner, panting from where he’s sprinted the length of the school.<br/>
<br/>
“Coach Acuna!” He hollers. You step to face him and stay in character.<br/>
<br/>
“Ian, can this wait?” you ask, letting your calm voice carry.<br/>
<br/>
“NO,” he yells back, pointing wildly. “COACH. ACUNA.”<br/>
<br/>
It’s then you remember just who Brooke and Lynette were waiting for – and who must be seconds from coming around the corner...</span></div></div>


path: 113312121221212112111
author_id: masktrixie
title: Baseline Rally
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“Start warming up, I’ll handle this,” you say to the team, a teacher’s command that cannot be disobeyed. Carmen Acuna’s natural motor whisks you to Ian’s side, and you come to a halt just in front of him.<br/>
<br/>
“What are we going to do, Shell?” Ian says, hunched and panting. “I saw her heading to the gym.”<br/>
<br/>
Right. If you were Carmen Acuna – and you kind of are – you’d go to your office to collect your tennis bag. Which is, of course, currently where Kelsey and the others are arguing. You take a deep breath and try to think. There’s nothing you can do about the trio right now. You can’t really hope to delay Coach Acuna, either. So, Carmen’s ordered mind says, compartmentalize. Focus on what you can change. Even if that burns every bridge you have.<br/>
<br/>
“Ian,” you say, “listen to me. I’m not Shelly. I’m Will.”<br/>
<br/>
The freshman rises back, suddenly wary of, not to mention disgusted by, you. His jaw steels but he says nothing.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m sorry I led you on. The only chance we have of keeping this secret is to take off the mask. I’m going to be out cold. I promise, you can trust me. We’ll talk it through with Shelly tonight.”<br/>
<br/>
Ian looks at you like you’re his worst enemy. Like he wants you dead. Like he’s going to summon his cousin to obliterate you. “OK,” he finally agrees. “I’ll help you. But I’m telling Shelly everything.”<br/>
<br/>
You nod and both rush to one of the hall doors, then into to the boys’ locker room, where you lay down. Then you say the magic words and pull, hoping that, somehow, you’re going to make it out of this situation intact…<br/>
<br/>
You wake in the locker room with a splitting pain on either side of your head, as if someone has stabbed you twice with a knife. Reaching up to your ears, you feel the sticky wetness of seeping blood and the cold metal of a stud. You forgot about the earrings. Carmen Acuna has punched ears, but Will Prescott does not… or at least, did not. Your fingers try to fumble through the discomfort and pull off the clasp to get the studs out, but your arms keep being pinned back by something. The bra. You pull off your top, break loose of the bra that’s constraining your torso and, arms now free, pull the studs out. A walk to the mirror reveals a pathetic sight: a topless, exhausted Will Prescott, a a thin river of crimson trickling down each lobe.<br/>
<br/>
The mask! You relax as you see it’s there on the ground, Carmen Acuna’s identity imprinted inside. Ian, however, has gone. <br/>
<br/>
Step two. You rush up to the coach’s office, hoping not to run into anyone. Luck holding, you shove Acuna’s clothes where, you assume, Shelly stole them on Friday, and pull out your own backpack to get changed. Then, checking your ears aren’t bleeding too heavily in the glass of her door, you throw the mask inside and head to the tennis court, pack over your shoulder. There, three girls and one very confused coach are arguing about the session and what Ian Cowdray wanted – something that Coach Acuna pleads complete ignorance on. The four are just arriving, again, at the compromise session you bluffed earlier when your presence is noticed.<br/>
<br/>
“What do you want?” Kelsey says directly. “Oh my god, are you bleeding?” All four turn to look at you.<br/>
<br/>
“Just a little,” you say. “It’s nothing. I…”<br/>
<br/>
“Will, go get the first aid kit in my bag,” Coach Acuna interrupts.<br/>
<br/>
“I will, in a moment, just…”<br/>
<br/>
“William. First aid. In my tennis bag. Now.”<br/>
<br/>
You nod and go to the bag, fumbling around inside before you pull out a pack of blue tape.<br/>
<br/>
“Ugh,” Lynette says, wrinkling her nose and laughing simultaneously. “Did you try and punch your ears?”  <br/>
<br/>
You ignore the comments and stick the tape on, the Coach looking at you with concern, the trio of white-clad rich kids with disdain. Then, putting the tape away, you casually scoop up something from her bag. “Hey, coach,” you call out. “I’ve been mentoring this freshman, Michelle Nolan. She said she lost her carnival craft mask on Thursday. This isn’t it, is it?”<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
The world of Westside is still oblivious to magic, and you’re now racing to Acheson. Ian Cowdray has pedal power or must wait for a bus. If you’re lucky and Shelly hasn’t read his texts – which seems entirely plausible – you might be able to get there first and talk to Shelly. Might. But even if you do, it’s possible Ian has called his cousin Rich, too. And if that’s the case, everything you’ve stumbled across is in peril.<br/>
<br/>
This whole weekend has been one disaster after another, leaping from loose plan to loose plan at the whims of a freshman witch who really doesn’t think things through. Now, after a long chain of events, it’s come together to shove you in a pile of deep shit. You’ve got no guarantees that Shelly will ever trust you again, and no guarantees that you can resolve the situation in a way that retains access to the book. Just attempting to do so is walking a tightrope.<br/>
<br/>
There is, of course, another option. There are four masks. One is your invented guise Ruth, in Shelly’s possession; and one, still unfinished, is in Shelly’s mom’s workshop. You have the other two. The first is a perfect physical and mental replica of Carmen Acuna. The second is primed and ready for an identity to take. <br/>
<br/>
If you aren’t certain you can talk to Shelly and Ian, maybe your best course of action is to use the mask. With it, you’re confident that you’d be able to steal the other masks, and the book, before the freshmen know what’s happened. A robbery and betrayal like that would almost certainly have the freshmen scrambling to tell Rich Austin, but they’d have no evidence and it’d sound like some fantastic hoax. Your coven, however, would be over before it even began.</span></div></div>


path: 1133121212212121121111
author_id: masktrixie
title: Explaining Yourself to Yourself
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You settle on telling Shelly everything. The problem with the mask is that you’d be unconscious after using it, and if Ian arrives then you won’t be able to act. This isn’t just for your protection, but Shelly’s too. The girl is too naïve, and Ian’s trust in his cousin completely misplaced.<br/>
<br/>
Shelly’s excitement is practically bursting from the seams as you step into her workshop. “I was just starting to look at the fifth spell. I have no idea what ‘pedisequos’ means. Foot follower? We need a lot of material to do this one, though. And I mean A. LOT. Dead soil, I think? That can’t be right. Anyhoo, how’d it go? Did you get Kelsey Blankenship? Was it fun? It must have been so much fun!”<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head. “It was a disaster. Coach Acuna came back to school. I narrowly missed getting spotted, but Ian was with me to make sure no one walked in while I was out. Until that point, he thought I was you. I think he’s coming over here to tell you not to trust me.”<br/>
<br/>
Shelly folds her arms. “Why did he think you were me?”<br/>
<br/>
“He just assumed and I didn’t say otherwise. I’m sorry. But you can’t let Ian tell Rich Austin anything about this. If Ian spills, we’ll get our asses kicked."<br/>
<br/>
“That explains why Ian’s been messaging me for the last freakin’ hour, saying not to talk to you until we’ve spoken face-to-face,” Shelly says. She closes the book and abruptly changes the subject. “Did you get Kelsey? And eesh, what happened to your ears?”<br/>
<br/>
“Forgot to take off Acuna’s earrings, so they materialized in mine.” You fish out the spare mask from your bag. “And I didn’t get Kelsey, either. So this one's still blank.”<br/>
<br/>
Shelly picks it up, examines it briefly, then sets it back down and opens the buffing machine. “So's this one,” she says, and springs at you.<br/>
<br/>
That’s twice you’ve been taken by surprise.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
You wake on the floor. It takes only a brief second of cold air to realize you’re in your underwear, and a very familiar figure is standing above, watching you stir. You glare up at a new Will Prescott, just as he finishes dressing in your clothes.<br/>
<br/>
“The fuck, dude,” the other you says. “You thought about using a mask on my mom.”<br/>
<br/>
“I didn’t do it.”<br/>
<br/>
“You thought about it.” The second Will leans over, jabbing a finger to his temple. “I’ve got your thoughts, man. I am you. Shit, all the way here you thought about using this mask to steal the book from the coven.”<br/>
<br/>
“But I didn’t.”<br/>
<br/>
You are answered by the briefest of shrugs. Shelly’s hurt and, fuelled by your own mind, is in a particularly mean mood. “You’re still a liar, though. You lied about knowing magic. And you lied to Ian. You lie to everyone. Shit, you even lied to yourself all summer about Lisa.”<br/>
<br/>
“I didn’t lie to you about Ian’s cousin.”<br/>
<br/>
The other Will Prescott grows a little quiet as he ponders this. “No, you didn’t. Ian messaged me again while you were unconscious, so I told him I wasn’t home and to meet at the Koffee Kauldron. You’re right, we can’t let Austin, Thomason and Rennerhoff anywhere near the<i> Libra</i>.” You watch as your twin scratches his chin in embarrassment. “I’m sorry I used a mask on you. I needed to know if you could be trusted and the only real way was to become you.”<br/>
<br/>
“What did you decide?”<br/>
<br/>
“I don’t know because you don’t know! Your stupid mind makes its own rules. But, as far as I can tell, every choice you’ve made was for a good reason. It was because you’re worried about me.” Shelly stoops down to pulls you up and then, in a moment of surreal discomfort, your double gives you a hug. “You’re just chaotic neutral, Will. You’re as lost as I am.”<br/>
<br/>
“You have no idea how surreal it is talking to myself.”<br/>
<br/>
“I have every idea,” Shelly says amid a muted laugh, head pressed against your shoulder. “Friends? And no, I’m not going to let you kick me in the nutsack for payback.”<br/>
<br/>
“Friends. Just take off the mask. It’s seriously creeping me out.”<br/>
<br/>
Shelly shakes her – your? – head. “No way! It’s fucking awesome cosplaying as you. I’m a boy! I can stay out at night as long as I want. Maybe I’ll go to the movies and see <i>Howling Skies</i> with Keith and Caleb. Werewolves and air pirates? Hell yes. Or there’s a band I heard about in class playing somewhere called the Warehouse on Friday. I can’t go, but you could probably get in. You’ve spent your life like a blank Scrabble tile, but that’s going to change. I’m Will Prescott, the goddamn Chosen One. And I’m going to be the best fucking Will Prescott ever.”<br/>
<br/>
The new you is kind of a jerk. You point to your replica’s pierced ears. “You think my mom’s not going to see that?”<br/>
<br/>
“I’d be more worried about the tennis team telling everyone about your weird crashing of their court session. I still don’t get why didn’t you just ignore the court, head back here and retrieve the mask later. You see what I mean about being chaotic neutral? So, so random. As for mom… even if I get grounded for a couple of days, it’s still better than being the real me.”<br/>
<br/>
It’s a surprising moment of honesty. “What do you mean?”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m not stupid. People laugh at me behind my back. I know it’s high school, but it doesn’t make it right. I heard your friends in the cafeteria who think I’m just a stupid freshman. And when I had Coach Acuna’s brain, I saw how she viewed me. ‘Oh, little Shelly Nolan is sweet, she gets an A for effort but a C for ability.’ Even my favorite teacher thinks I’m a loser. I don’t want that life. Not when I can take yours.”<br/>
<br/>
“You can’t take my life.”<br/>
<br/>
“I already have,” the new Will says. “Which leaves a big, gaping hole where Shelly Nolan should be.”<br/>
<br/>
You know what she’s hinting at. You shake your head. “No.”<br/>
<br/>
But, you soon discover, it’s pretty much impossible to argue with yourself. Especially when the other you has two minds, a book of spells and all of your clothes.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
You’ve never really wanted to be anything specific in life, but you certainly never wanted to become this. The ride into town – your new mom giving you a lift after you promise that you’ll stay put until she’s finished picking up Halloween supplies at Walmart – is a crazy fever dream of thoughts, feelings and memories. Michelle Nolan’s mind is like a funfair, as colorful as the pastel jacket you’ve thrown on. When she can focus, she’s brilliant. She thrives in subjects that let her imagination go wild, used to hate sports until Westside (where Coach Acuna became the first P.E. teacher to treat her as more than an inconvenience), and gets bored with just about everything else. You’re still getting to grips with the pace of her thoughts as you head into the Koffee Kauldron, where Ian is waiting for you impatiently.<br/>
<br/>
“Here I am,” you say, throwing yourself into the cushion next to him. “What’s up? Didn’t I tell you we’d get you out of detention? Awesome, right? Was Will dressed as Coach Acuna? Could you tell? What’s with the messages?”<br/>
<br/>
Ian looks at you warily. “Shell. What’s my favorite book?”<br/>
<br/>
You let your eyes go wide in excitement. A test. Shelly likes tests. Now that you can remember the full conversation Shelly had with Ian earlier today, you know she didn’t tell him about the bands. He still thinks the masks can only copy someone’s appearance, not their mind.<br/>
<br/>
“Ooh, you’re checking I’m really me?” You lean over and whisper. “It’s that one you keep telling me to read, with the internet samurai and a robot attack dog.”<br/>
<br/>
“What did you go as for Halloween last year?”<br/>
<br/>
“Duh, Ginny Weasley. Same thing I go as every year. You were Deadpool.” Before that you were always Anne of Green Gables, deliberately underplaying the one day of the year where cosplay is cool. Your mom always offers to make you any mask you want, but you aren’t interested.<br/>
<br/>
“And when did we first kiss?”<br/>
<br/>
“Ew!” you punch him on the arm. “Don’t be gross.” Shelly is truly oblivious to his very obvious crush. “We’ve never kissed. Ugh, what kind of secret question is that?” <br/>
<br/>
Satisfied, if a little disappointed by your reaction, Ian begins to explain how ‘Prescott’ is a liability and probably wants to steal the book from you. You just let Shelly’s brain handle it, taking a back seat while you squeak that you don’t want Ian to tell his cousin. Why? Because you’re the FREAKIN’ WITCH OF WESTSIDE. You can handle Will Prescott. Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone Ian, yeesh. Who cares if Prescott tricked you? Maybe don’t be so gullible next time. And yes, please, you’d like a diet soda. And one of those pink cookies. Thanks.<br/>
<br/>
Twenty minutes later, you’re still unsure if you’ve dissuaded Ian. Shelly’s mind is convinced he won’t talk, but as Will you know a kid like Ian Cowdray is going to cave sooner or later. You, Shelly and Ian are all in very real danger. You’re also certain that talking to Ian any more won’t help: all you can do is put a plan in place and hope you can cope with whatever comes next. So, when Mrs Nolan begins to hover by the door, you hop up, tell Ian to stop worrying, down your soda and rush to her side. As a final convincer, you spin around to face him, silently mouth ‘MAGIC IS REAL!’ in a pose taken from a scream queen poster, and skip out, beaming like the real Shelly would.<br/>
<br/>
It’s only during the drive back to Acheson, pretending to listen to your mom talk about Grandpa Walt’s hip replacement, that you step back from your Shelly persona and realize anyone in the café could have seen or heard you. You doubt it matters. Nobody else knows about the power of the <i>Summa Libra Personae</i>, do they?</span></div></div>


path: 11331212122121211211111
author_id: masktrixie
title: Freakin' Tuesday
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“Shelly-bean, breakfast.” Your mom yells up the stairs, and you open one eye. On the ceiling above you is a pinned astrology chart surrounded by an excess of fairy lights. On the walls are posters for your various fandoms, the books of which cram every shelf alongside tomes on the occult, or chemistry, or both. The other eye opens, staring at a cute anime plushie that’s fallen on your head. <br/>
<br/>
“Down in a sec!” you yell back. It’s your first dawn as Michelle Nolan. Now you just have to navigate being her until you can swap back. When you agreed to don the final prepared mask and become her, you did so on the strict understanding it would be for 24 hours. You sit up and look at the mirror on your dresser. A pasty, slight girl with a bad case of bed hair looks back. Will Prescott, in reality the actual Shelly, was gone by the time you arrived back home last night and had taken the book, leaving a fifth mask on the buffer. The Acuna and Ruth masks were on the wall, hidden in plain sight among your mom’s creations.<br/>
<br/>
You freefall back onto the mattress once more and take a breath. This is going to be a long day.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
“How’s the project coming?” Mom asks as you wolf down your cereal.<br/>
<br/>
“Good,” you say, managing to speak amid mouthfuls. “Gonna be ready for Halloween. Thought I’d go as something new this year.”<br/>
<br/>
“Are you going to a party? Would you like a ride?”<br/>
<br/>
Milk dribbles down your chin. “Maybe, if that’s OK. And no, all good.”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, I’m sure we can extend curfew a bit later next Friday. I’m glad you’re making an effort to fit in.”<br/>
<br/>
“Mom.” You stare at her, mortified. Shelly has a small group of friends, and she doesn’t see why she has to pretend to care about socializing with people who don’t accept her – even if she’s self-conscious about every aspect of her life.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m just sayin’. Will seemed nice. The junior boy you had over?” You drop your spoon to the table.<br/>
<br/>
“MOM. You promised you weren’t going to go in the shop.”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, honey. It’s my job to make sure you’re OK. I just wanted to check how it was going. Which reminds me, the floor is not a wardrobe, young lady…”<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
“You’re so lucky you’re not in my class. The book we have to write up is blugh.” Helen Kim is complaining as you pull out textbooks from your locker, trying to find everything you need for the next class. Nothing new there: if Helen doesn’t have something to complain about, she’ll start sabotaging her life until she does. She’s only really happy – or just content – playing in the orchestra, and is probably the best in your new year.<br/>
<br/>
“Which one are you doing?”<br/>
<br/>
“<i>The Lord of the Flies</i>. It’s about why boys are stupid.” Helen is not exactly a walking version of SparkNotes. “I’ve got to put together something from the perspective of the officer who arrives at the end by Friday.”<br/>
<br/>
“C’mon, it’s a freakin’ classic,” you say. “If it makes you feel better, I’m doing Greek myths. You can totally sum up half of them as ‘Zeus was feeling frisky one day, turned himself into a swan and lol consequences’. At least we’re covering Medea, though, so that’s pretty cool.”<br/>
<br/>
“You’re doing the media?”<br/>
<br/>
You look at her with mock horror, a strand of red hair flying over your shoulder. It took you a full hour to get the damn mess straight earlier. “Wha? NO. HELEN. MEDEA. She’s a witch, and she’s only the freakin’ embodiment of murderous feminist agency in a world of…” you’re just getting up to Shelly Nolan speed when you catch a glimpse past Helen’s shoulder. Rich Austin is storming directly toward you, a threatening gleam in his eye. <br/>
<br/>
Shelly’s heart begins to thud hard inside your chest. You can’t breathe. You feel your pale skin begin to blanche even further. And… Austin continues walking past, paying absolutely no attention to you whatsoever, unaware of who Shelly Nolan is or that his cousin gave her a magic book. Instead, like a raptor in flight, he descends on someone else a few lockers down.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh my god, Shelly,” Helen laughs, looking at your flustered face. “Are you crushing on that guy?”<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
Lunch. No sign of ‘Will’ or his friends, which is to be expected. You make your way to join the line of students waiting for the serving of whatever suspect meat is on the menu. <br/>
<br/>
“Excuse me. Hi. Are you Michelle Nolan?”<br/>
<br/>
You turn around, clutching your tray, and look wide-eyed at Kim Walsh. Oh my god why is a senior speaking to me? “Uh… yup.”<br/>
<br/>
“My name’s Kim. I understand you’re part of the mentoring program here at Westside, and that Will Prescott’s assigned to you?”<br/>
<br/>
You just stare at her like a deer caught in headlights. Playing the part of Shelly is so easy, even if she’s a terrible actress herself. “Mmmhmm.”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, I know how things can be here. I just wanted to let you know that if you want a mentor who you can talk to about things – the kind of stuff Will might not understand – it’d be great to chat sometime. My school email is on the notice board.”<br/>
<br/>
Kim Walsh is actually trying to steal you from, well, you, in a fictional mentoring program. You wonder how long it took her to track you down. “Uh, cool. Thanks.” You babble the words so quickly they blend into each other. For Kim’s part, she manages her warmest smile.<br/>
<br/>
“OK then. See you round, huh?”<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
“Shelly, come on. Focus. You can do this.” Chemistry comes easily to Shelly Nolan. It’s just a matter of remembering where everything goes, like suffixes in Latin or sigils in universe-altering magic. Physical Sciences isn’t much of a problem either. Physical Education, on the other hand… <br/>
<br/>
You glance at Caitlyn Smart, who is trying – and failing – to be supportive. You are focusing. You are trying with every fibre of every muscle in your body. But for some reason the stupid, scrawny muscles aren’t paying attention. You’re standing amid 40 other freshmen, all yelling, whooping, and sometimes just gathering into a group and kicking the crud out of each other. The assistant coaches are lost in this world of uncontrollable chaos, where the strong survive and the weak perish. You’re reminded of Helen’s <i>Lord of the Flies</i> homework.<br/>
<br/>
You throw the ball. It sails in a beautiful arc a good three foot to the right of the hoop. You hang your head down, hair forming a curtain to your embarrassment, and grunt. <br/>
<br/>
“At least it was closer this time,” Caitlyn offers. You just wobble in place. <br/>
<br/>
“Sports are so stupid,” you mutter.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
“I fucking love being you.” Will Prescott bounces around your mom’s workshop, practically shaking with excitement. “It’s amazing. I went out of school for lunch! Then I got talking to Yumi, which was so much fun because she’s super nice, then hung out with Keith. The ear thing, like, whatever, you’re going to have to take a social hit there. But it doesn’t matter because your life is THE BEST. There’s some stuff I don’t like. I mean, when did you last change your bedsheet? Oh, that’s right, too long ago. But I want to be Will Prescott forever, once I remember to do my laundry.”<br/>
<br/>
You fold your arms and give the Shelly-infused Will your best Will-infused Shelly stare. “Shelly, this is not permanent. One day, remember? I don’t want to be you all my life.”<br/>
<br/>
“And you don’t have to be! That’s the best part!” Will walks over to you. He’s got a backpack on, so presumably the book is inside. “I’ve worked out what the next spell does. I still haven’t had time to complete the translation fully, all the details of what we’ve got to do, but I’m pretty sure it creates –and this is SO COOL – a golem. So, like, a golem is…”<br/>
<br/>
Your persona’s mind screeches in excitement. Your folded arms grow tighter. “I’m currently you, Shelly, so I know what a golem is.”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, right, yeah, of course. Well, that’s what the spell is for! We can make a golem, and then if you stick a mask on it, I think it’ll become a clone of whoever. So, so, so… you can stop being me and let the golem handle it! Just let’s stay like this until we’ve done the next spell. Please. Pleeeasse?”<br/>
<br/>
You narrow your eyes. “Shelly. I want to go back to being me.”<br/>
<br/>
Will narrows his in turn. “Well, I’m the leader of the coven, and I say I should be Will Prescott.”<br/>
<br/>
“And I AM freakin’ Will Prescott!”<br/>
<br/>
“But you could be anyone. You enjoyed being Coach Acuna a little too much. I know you did. You loved just living her life. You wanted to do it permanently. With a Will Prescott and a Shelly Nolan in the world, you could go undetected as a whole new you. This is your chance at a clean slate. We could create a better Random Body Generator. You could be the hottest guy in the world, or a beautiful woman. You could be old or young, fit or lean. You decide! And if you get bored of looking that way, you could make another RBG and step into another life. You’d love it. I know how much you’d love it.”<br/>
<br/>
It’s a tempting offer. If you can last a few days as Shelly Nolan, long enough to get this supposed golem to work, then you have a lifetime of possibilities open to you. On the other hand, it would be nice to get your own life back. Shelly said previously she wanted to cosplay as someone for a day. You didn’t expect it to be you, but by your reckoning her 24 hours is up.</span></div></div>


path: 113312121221212112111112
author_id: masktrixie
title: Window Shopping
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“That does sound good,” you confess. In truth, you’d quite like to be actual people, but neither of you are willing to cross the line such a permanent imposture would cause. The idea of taking the best traits of someone, making yourself an entirely new identity, is the best you can get.<br/>
<br/>
The new Will, for his part, grins stupidly. “In that case, as you’re the Witch of Westside, you should probably be in charge of this.” He unburdens himself of the backpack, and you both get to work studying the <i>Libra</i>, exchanging snippets of the day. Apparently, Will Prescott’s standing is exactly where it was before. He won some credit for being in a mentor program no one else has heard about, and lost about the same with a rumor he tried to pierce his ears in the machine shop after classes. The new Will, high on life and living your dreams, even managed somehow to avoid being grounded. Which is just as well because…<br/>
<br/>
“Where are we going to get 400 pounds of earth from a grave?”<br/>
<br/>
“Masonic cemetery,” you reply after hours of intense study. “We’ll have to dig it up tomorrow.”<br/>
<br/>
“I’ll get some shovels. Right now, I need to get going. Keith and I are going to see <i>Howling Skies</i>, and you’ve got to be up at the house for curfew. Seriously, Will, I know I’m not me anymore, but you better be doing my homework. Dad will flip out if my GPA slips.”<br/>
<br/>
You reassure the former Shelly that her GPA is in safe hands. You’re more concerned about how to get out of her house for your cemetery expedition… but then maybe there’s a solution that means you can have some fun too. “Meet you at 9pm tomorrow,” you say. “And bring some spare clothes. Two Wills are better than one.”<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
Another school day, which feels easier. In fact, you resolve that you’re going to enjoy the experience. Yet the morning doesn’t go well. It turns out even a kid as bright as Shelly hits hurdles: you get a B minus in your Latin homework. You have enough experience to be sanguine –  <i>it’s a B minus in a class for juniors</i> – yet you know Shelly would fixate on it.<i> It’s practically a C. Which is only one letter off a D.</i><br/>
<br/>
You fake annoyance at fourth lunch. Ian comes by briefly, but soon sees what kind of mood you’re in and doesn’t linger long. Instead, he reminds you that you’ve still got to get him out of detention for Thursday and Friday, then heads off.<br/>
<br/>
“What was that about?” Helen Kim says, sitting down with a tray devoid of anything save a lump of tuna mayo and an apple.<br/>
<br/>
“Nothing, he’s just being a freak,” Samantha Fletcher answers for you. “I know you’re friends with farmer boy, Shelly, but either his head is in the clouds or it’s up a cow’s ass, there’s no in between. Oh! And speaking of freaks, what did Erin Richardson do last week? No one will tell me.”<br/>
<br/>
“Embarrassed the school,” Helen says. “She joined the East–West Club hoping for extra credit, and made the mistake of asking advice from a senior on how to shine. Some bitch on the cheerleading squad tricked her into making a ‘friendship banner’ that looked like the Westside dragon was taking a crap on the Eastman eagle. She unfurled it in the middle of club.”<br/>
<br/>
All three of you burst out laughing. It’s an idea based on a drawing you’ve seen around school for years, although you wonder which of the cheerleaders could be so imaginative to trick a freshman into repeating it.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
School is barely over when you enact your plan in one of the disabled bathrooms. Shelly Nolan goes in and Carmen Acuna steps out, dressed in casual clothes. You walk to her office, a skip in your step, and dial a number.<br/>
<br/>
“Hello, is that Mrs Nolan? This is Coach Acuna from Westside High School. I can’t find your permission slip for Michelle to help at the tennis game tonight… Yes, Mrs Nolan, she volunteered as ball girl, but if she didn’t give you the slip, then obviously… Oh, you’re sure that’s fine?... Oh, no need to pick her up. As it’s an away game, we’ll drop off the girls at home… It depends on traffic, but we expect to have her back around 11pm. It’s late for a school night, but it’s the only way we can make the schedule work… Yes, that’s right… Thank you, we certainly plan to do just that. Go dragons.”<br/>
<br/>
It’s not an away game at all, but Mrs Nolan’s desire to have Shelly fit in needs exploiting – as does the tennis meet. And so, while the real Acuna is in the changing room talking strategy with her three stars about how to demolish tennis minnows Adaburg, a false one borrows the keys from her drawer and walks to her car.<br/>
<br/>
There are limits as to what you can do. It’s still too early for a night on the town, and you don’t want to go anywhere you might see a student. You half-think about going to your identity’s home, but her brother Paul lives close by and might see the car; he’ll wonder why you’re not at the game. You half-think about heading to her church and taking confession too – a spiritual cleansing the real Carmen takes both joy and comfort from, and one that will give you a rush from playing your temporary role. <br/>
<br/>
Instead, you drive out to the Shoppes at Fell’s Lake, and spend a good half-hour window shopping from a spot outside Café Oro, a herbal tea in front of you. You see several accessories you’d like to own: the figure of a petite, dainty waitress you observe going about her day, wild dark hair gathered up in a bun above creamy skin; the perfect smile and cupid’s bow of a girl on a make-up counter, who you don’t recognize and must have gone to Eastman; the ridiculous natural fire burning from the eyes of an older blonde in a business suit, dragging what you assume is her husband around. Soon, any of these physical features could be yours.<br/>
<br/>
“Excuse me.” A man about your apparent age is stood in front of you, cleanshaven and dressed in a loose wool-knit shirt. “I don’t suppose you have the time?”<br/>
<br/>
You pull out your phone. “A little after six thirty,” you say, offering a friendly smile. The man stifles a laugh. You look down. You’re carrying Shelly Nolan’s cell, complete with Ravenclaw case decorated with stick-on stars. <br/>
<br/>
“My niece,” you explain, chuckling. “She refused to take no for an answer.” For this little lie you tap into Acuna’s thoughts and feelings. Her niece takes after her father when it comes to a stubborn refusal to back down. <br/>
<br/>
“Oh, I’m in the same club.” Your new companion fishes out a case with a soccer logo on it.<br/>
<br/>
“You’re a fan of Manchester City?”<br/>
<br/>
“I don’t even know where Manchester is beyond ‘somewhere in England’,” the man says. “But my nephew Jack is obsessed. Are they any good?”<br/>
“Very good. But, see, now we can’t be friends. I come from a long line of Manchester United fans.” You have no idea what you’re discussing, but Coach Acuna grew up in a soccer-obsessed family and is loyal to her Red Devils.<br/>
<br/>
“We’re rivals?” <br/>
<br/>
“Mortal enemies.”<br/>
<br/>
The man shakes his head. “Well, can’t have that. How about I buy my mortal enemy another of whatever she’s drinking as a peace offering?”<br/>
A little flirting can’t hurt. “Do you promise all of your mortal enemies chamomile?”<br/>
<br/>
“Of course. That way, if they fall asleep when I’m talking to them, I can just tell myself it’s the tea and not my dazzling conversation. I’m Pete, by the way.”<br/>
<br/>
“Carmen,” you reply, wondering what to do. This was supposed to be just a little diversion; you’ve got to get Acuna’s car back to Westside before the tennis match wraps up. If Kelsey and Brooke win in straight sets as expected, you’ve probably got an hour. Then you have to get out of the mask, back to Will and over to the Masonic cemetery.<br/>
<br/>
But chatting with Pete is fun. And if Shelly can use your identity to see some goofy movie, why you can’t start enjoying the masks too?</span></div></div>


path: 1133121212212121121111122
author_id: masktrixie
title: Breaking Serve
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“So, a chamomile for Carmen?”<br/>
<br/>
You smile sadly. “Alas not. I have to go. Maybe another time?”<br/>
<br/>
Pete nods. “Can’t be one of those unless you give me your number.”<br/>
<br/>
You laugh. “Oh, you’re a fast worker.” But there’s zero chance of you giving a complete stranger the number of the phone in your possession. “How about you give me yours instead. Then, maybe, I’ll call you.”<br/>
<br/>
Pete passes you a business card to some non-descript branch of a multinational. Peter Merriweather, asset management executive. You flick it around in your hand before slipping it in your trousers. Pete, for his part, smiles. “I look forward to hearing from you. Maybe.”<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
Your fun over for the evening, you head back to Westside and park Acuna’s car where she left it. There’s no noise coming from the courts to tell you who’s winning, but then it’s tennis, not football. Instead, you take from the floodlights that the match is still underway, and put Acuna’s keys back. Then it’s turning back into Shelly, who is almost clear of the building when…<br/>
<br/>
“What are you doing down here?” You find yourself face to face with a previous mask target, Kelsey Blankenship. She’s got a light glow of sweat on her brow, and she’s dabbing her hair with a towel, tennis bag hanging from her back under one arm.<br/>
<br/>
“Are we winning?”<br/>
<br/>
“Of course I won,” she replies, answering a question you didn’t ask. Kelsey’s game would have been first, but you had assumed she’d stick around to watch, not head to the lockers immediately. “I asked you what you were doing here.”<br/>
<br/>
“Nothing.”<br/>
<br/>
“Empty your bag, then.”<br/>
<br/>
“As if.”<br/>
<br/>
This is a girl not used to being refused. “You are skulking around after hours near the locker room. If you weren’t doing anything, you won’t mind opening your bag and showing me what’s inside.”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m not a thief.” You are, but not in a way Kelsey could ever imagine.<br/>
<br/>
“I don’t care who or what you are, if anything is gone from my locker you’re looking at expulsion and a police record. Now, I am telling you to open that rucksack this instant. Wait, isn’t that Coach Acuna’s bag?” She grabs it from you with ease.<br/>
<br/>
You keep up your Shelly persona, huffing extensively and fighting back, but your muscles aren’t anywhere near capable. “No. It’s my freakin’ bag. Coach returned it to me last week after I left it at school. Just ask anyone who was at the Dairy Queen. Like you were. Shoving a donut down your throat whole as if the calories don’t count when you don’t bite.”<br/>
<br/>
“Westside P.E. teachers don’t make personal trips to return junk you leave in the hall.” Kelsey’s doubt is clear, convinced the Harry Potter bag would have ended up in either lost property or, preferably, the trash.<br/>
<br/>
You’re already one step ahead. You grab at side pocket and pull out Shelly’s insulin pen kit, waving it at her like she’s an idiot. “They do if you’re diabetic.”<br/>
<br/>
Kelsey is, for a moment, woefully underequipped to reply, so you follow up with a long, flustered and largely incoherent story told at 200 words a minute. Somewhere, amid it all, you manage to pepper in a few keywords she’s heard before like ‘Will Prescott’, ‘carnival mask’ and ‘craft project’. <br/>
“I already told you, I don’t care. Now let’s see what you’ve got in here.”<br/>
<br/>
You stand, awkwardly, as she looks in the bag, pushing past clothes and a magical mask as she checks for any sign of her belongings. There are none, of course. But then she pulls out the Libra. “What the hell is this?” She looks at the book with curiosity as she drops the bag. You snatch it back.<br/>
<br/>
“Mine,” you say. Kelsey easily holds it above your reach, studying it with fascination.<br/>
<br/>
“This is old. And valuable. Too old and valuable for someone like you to afford it. Did you take this from the library?” She opens up the first page, looking for the school’s stamp, then flicks a few pages in. <br/>
<br/>
“I bought it from Arnholm’s. It’s damaged. Give me it back.”<br/>
<br/>
Kelsey looks at the Latin. You know she’s smart and has designs on an Ivy League school, but have no idea if she ever took a Latin class. You have heard her speaking French before though, and she seems to be easily fluent enough to pick up the meaning. “This some kind of spell book?” She laughs. “Oh my god, are you trying to do some kind of ritual? Is that why Will Prescott’s ears were bleeding the other night?”<br/>
<br/>
You’re frozen in place. You have absolutely no idea what to do. You’ve got the mask of Coach Acuna in the bag, and it would be easy enough to slap it on Kelsey – with all the consequences that entails.<br/>
<br/>
Alternatively, you could just stay in character. She’ll almost certainly give you the book back, but then you risk having her start a rumor about what you’re doing with who she thinks is Will Prescott. A rumor with more truth than she knows.</span></div></div>


path: 11331212122121211211111222
author_id: masktrixie
title: Smash And Return
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Rumors pale with the chaos slapping the mask on Kelsey would cause, and your mind races to an even neater solution.<br/>
<br/>
“OK, fine, I didn’t buy the book at Arnholm’s. I was given it by one of the cheer squad when they told me about the school ritual.”<br/>
<br/>
“School ritual?”<br/>
<br/>
“She told me to keep it quiet. You have to draw the sigil from the book on the ground then spin around three times wearing a mask and saying the magic words. It’s the only way you get selected for the cheer squad.”<br/>
<br/>
Kelsey holds a hand up to stop your patented Shelly Nolan babbling. You’re hoping that it’s panicked enough that she forgets the exact events on Monday and doesn’t begin wondering why the mask was in Acuna’s bag. “Who told you about this ‘tradition’?”<br/>
<br/>
“I told you, one of the cheerleaders. I’m not saying who, I’m not a snitch.” <br/>
<br/>
“Chelsea,” Kelsey surmises. “And let me guess: you had to film yourself to prove you did it right? Just like the idiot who made the ‘friendship banner’.”<br/>
<br/>
Horror. You are a freshman dupe.<br/>
<br/>
“How does she convince people to fall for such utter…” Kelsey’s voice drifts off as the book is thrust back into your hand. “Go home. There’s no such thing as magic. There’s no such thing as a school ritual. She was messing with you. Which, I hate to break it to you, also means you never stood a chance of being a cheerleader. Give it up. Try and find something you’re good at.” She gives a parting look at the book. “Preferably something that’s actually real. Oh, and delete the video. Chelsea would have posted it to YouTube and made you the laughing stock of the school.”<br/>
<br/>
You let your lip tremble, the tears well, as the audience ends with your apparent dreams shattered. The deepest smirk Shelly’s face allows only breaks loose once Kelsey has vanished into the locker room.<br/>
<br/>
The rest of the evening proceeds smoothly enough. You head to the Masonic cemetery and ditch your mask, the other Will providing spare clothes. Then, with double Will-power, you begin your excavations. Shelly, being more organized than you, has also taken your mom’s scales along, so you weigh out the earth in refuse sacks, taking an extra 50 pounds to account for errors, then drive back to the garage, taking care to dim your headlights and roll down to avoid alerting Shelly’s mom. The earth makes an impressive mound on the floor which, once your hair has been added, burns with an unnatural purple flame. You have no idea how long this is going to take, and just hope Shelly’s mom doesn’t try another snooping session before it’s finished. You’re both covered in dirt by the time you finish.<br/>
<br/>
“We should swap back,” other-Will says, surprising you. You look at him.<br/>
<br/>
“What happened to my life being so awesome?”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, it’s kind of embarrassing. You promise you won’t tell anyone?”<br/>
<br/>
“Like who? Who the hell am I going to tell that I swapped lives with someone as part of a coven using magical masks?”<br/>
<br/>
The other Will looks down at the ground and sighs. “I… miss my mom. I didn’t think I would, but I do. Your parents are fine and all, but they’re not mine. I know it’s only been two days, and it’s shorter than when I went to Summer Camp, but I just… miss them.”<br/>
<br/>
You smile at your double and rest a hand on his shoulder. “OK, Shelly,” you say softly. “There’s just one thing you should know about the past two days. Something terrible happened. You got a B minus in Latin.” <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
Morning breaks and you’re relieved to be back in your own bed, which you find now sport fresh, ironed sheets that smell faintly of fabric softener. You check your messages, and see that the false Will Prescott has, indeed, been living your best life. Your chat is full of hyped comments about how awesome that stupid movie was, not only with Caleb and Keith, but also Cassie Harper, who you apparently encountered and invited along. She hasn’t stopped messaging you since. Things only get stranger when you head downstairs and learn that apparently you made the whole family linguini for dinner yesterday. And, at school, you discover you spontaneously bought sticky tabs and organized your workbooks in a full rainbow of color-coded itemization. Otherwise there seems to be no harm done. <br/>
<br/>
You wonder what happens if you’d put on the Will Prescott mask; would you have gained Shelly’s memories of the past two days? It would have saved having this apparent memory blackout. Shelly, for her part, seemed fine with your quick summary of how you lived her life, filling her in on Helen Kim’s moans and basketball failures. She was upset about her grade, but perked up at the idea of having Kim Walsh as a mentor. There was something else you’re sure you should have said, but couldn’t remember.<br/>
<br/>
The day passes quickly. Painlessly. Blandly. Everything feels so uninteresting and mundane. Lunch outside of school is fine. Your classes are fine. Your life is fine. But nothing more than that. Your head dances with the thought of magic and lives you could step into and out of. And in your wallet, you keep Pete’s business card, unsure why you don’t throw it away.<br/>
<br/>
Thursday becomes Friday. The purple flame dies and has to be relit and again. Friday becomes Saturday. Then, on Sunday morning, you wake to find your phone buzzing.<br/>
<br/>
<i>COVEN EMERGENCY. GET TO MY HOUSE ASAP.</i><br/>
<br/>
You rush over to the edge of Acheson. There’s a squad car at the end of the dirt road, near the edge of the woods.<br/>
<br/>
“Will!” Shelly rushes over to you, tears streaming from her eyes. <br/>
<br/>
“What’s going on?” you ask, confused. <br/>
<br/>
“Someone broke into the shop last night. My mom’s freaking out, and I’m freaking out, and I don’t know if the masks are there or whether they saw the golem or where the book is or what the freak is happening and…”<br/>
<br/>
“Whoa,” you say. “Relax, I’ve got the <i>Libra</i>. Have you been inside?”<br/>
<br/>
“No, my mom won’t let me! It’s a freakin’ crime scene in there.”<br/>
<br/>
You’re still trying to get what happened from Shelly when Mrs Nolan comes by. “Do you know anything about this, Will?” she asks. Quick. Direct. To the point.<br/>
<br/>
“No, m’am,” you say, shaking your head, your genuine concern shining through. “Was anything taken?”<br/>
<br/>
Mrs Nolan shakes her head. “Nothing important. A few silicone masks I’d been working on. They didn’t take any of my tools, as far as I can tell. It’s odd, it looks like they were searching for something. Are you sure you don’t know anything that can help?”<br/>
<br/>
“No,” you say. “I didn’t tell anyone about your shop. I can’t think of anyone who would have done this.” You stretch your mind over the facts, trying to think of possible culprits. Of the people who knew about your project with Shelly, the only one you can think of is… oh shit. You were supposed to get Ian Cowdray out of detention. He must have decided to tell his asshole of a cousin about you. <br/>
<br/>
Mrs Nolan goes back to the edge of the porch, cup of coffee in her hands, hugging herself inside her sweater as she watches the police dust for prints on the forced door.<br/>
<br/>
“Ian,” you say to Shelly. She looks uncertain, refusing to answer. “Who else could it have been?”<br/>
<br/>
“We don’t know for sure,” Shelly says, eyes at the ground. You concede the point, but you can’t think of who else it could have been. You find yourself joining Mrs Nolan on the porch, watching in silence for a time.<br/>
<br/>
“Your project looks really good,” she finally says. “I don’t know how you gave it that finish. I’m going to have to start taking lessons from you.” There’s a small laugh. “I thought you were just making a mask. I didn’t realize you were making a full body sculpt. Is it going to be part of a display?”<br/>
<br/>
You and Shelly look at each other. The golem must be ready.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
The police investigation departs an hour later, and the three of you head down to the shop. Sure enough, inside the golem’s fire has stopped burning, scorching away everything until what remains looks like a rock monster. It dominates the workspace, but is no more attention-grabbing than the half-haired clown mask on the tailor’s dummy – just another prop in a store space. You make a quick mental inventory of what’s gone. Mrs Nolan seems to think several different masks of hers are absent, while you quickly note that one blank mask is gone, as are the Will and Shelly masks. The Acuna mask is still in place, hidden on the wall, as is the Ruth mask. You nod to Shelly, who quietly gathers them up from behind her mom’s back. You wait until Mrs Nolan heads back to the house before you both start to panic.<br/>
<br/>
“What the hell are we going to do?” Shelly says, freaking out. “Oh my god, they’ve taken the masks of you and me! They could make themselves into our evil doubles! We’ve got evil twins, Will!”<br/>
<br/>
Evil twins that, once they don the masks, will know about the book and every detail of your lives. You look at Shelly. You need to track down whoever broke in quickly. They might not have used the masks yet and, given they stole some of Mrs Nolan’s and left the golem, it’s possible they don’t know what they’re doing yet. Ian Cowdray’s farm seems to be the place to start. <br/>
<br/>
But you still have the advantage. The book is in your possession, and without the sigils they can’t make any more masks. You also have a golem, if you can get it to work. And, with the golem complete, the next page of the <i>Libra </i>will have unlocked. Maybe you should take time to study before you strike.</span></div></div>


path: 113312121221212112111112222
author_id: masktrixie
title: The Paranoid World of Prescott and Nolan
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“We should use the golem,” you say. “If we can get it to work, that means there’s three of us.”<br/>
<br/>
Shelly suddenly backs away from you warily. “Hold on! How do I know you’re really who you say you are? Maybe you’re just trying to trick me to show you how to use it.”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m the one with the <i>Libra</i>. I don’t need to trick you.”<br/>
<br/>
She still doesn’t look convinced. You think. The masks create perfect replicas, but you can’t separate something from the mask. You learned that the hard way when you had to straighten Shelly’s damn hair; the strands just seemed to evaporate. You take a pair of scissors from the workbench and snip off a lock, handing it to her. <br/>
<br/>
“There. Proof enough? Also, there’s no way evil-me could know what we talked about after you took the mask off. So only I know that you didn’t tell me you asked Cassie Harper on a date.”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, no I didn’t,” Shelly says. “I recognized her because pretty much half my clothes come from Thrifty Nifties. She was just in town, asked what we were doing and started talking to me, I mean you, <i>a lot</i>. So I said she could come too. It wasn’t a date.”<br/>
<br/>
You doubt Cassie interpreted it that way, but you don’t say as much. Instead you hand Shelly the scissors. She pulls one of the trailing red strands over her shoulder and snips a good inch off. It doesn’t vanish as it falls to the floor. <br/>
<br/>
“At least we know who we are. From now on, we both carry scissors and always check when we speak. Especially if I ask you about magic. Now, stock check. What do we have?”<br/>
<br/>
“Everything that wasn’t out on the table or in the doohickey machine,” Shelly reports. “Ruth, Coach Acuna, two masks with bands we made, and one band we were going to use with the mask that was stolen.”<br/>
<br/>
It’s not as much as you had, but more than enough to get to work. You start with the golem. You doubt the Ruth mask would work, given it’s just an appearance, and as the rest of your identity masks are gone, that leaves Coach Acuna. You think for a moment before draping a sheet over the body, then placing the mask on the creature. The golem sits up and stares wide-eyed. Shelly, for her part, bounces on her feet. Even though the morning’s ordeal has been terrifying, it’s hard to get over how freakin’ cool this was.<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, do you speak?” you ask. Coach Acuna’s double looks at you.<br/>
<br/>
“Yes.” <br/>
<br/>
“Would you like some clothes?”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes.”<br/>
<br/>
Shelly grabs a bundle and throws them over. “Sorry, coach,” she says instinctively. <br/>
<br/>
“That’s all right, Shelly. Are you OK? This must be pretty strange for you.” <br/>
<br/>
Shelly doesn’t know how to reply as you both turn your back. The animated lump of soil and human debris dresses. <br/>
<br/>
“So, what do I call you?” you ask. <br/>
<br/>
“What would you like to call me?”<br/>
<br/>
“Coach. No. Carmen. Carmen’s better. Is that OK?”<br/>
<br/>
“Absolutely. You can call me Carmen, I don’t mind.”<br/>
<br/>
“Do you remember anything about Wednesday night?”<br/>
<br/>
Carmen laughs. “Like Pete?”<br/>
<br/>
“Who’s Pete?” Shelly asks.<br/>
<br/>
“Nevermind, Shelly,” Carmen says. “So, what are we doing here, Will?”<br/>
<br/>
“We’re just working that out,” you reply. “Carmen, how does this work? Do you have to do whatever I tell you?”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, I can try and help you with your drop shot, but… honestly, Will, there’s some things even practice won’t fix.” Sass from your monster. Nice.<br/>
<br/>
“Hop on one leg,” Shelly says. Carmen looks at her.<br/>
<br/>
“Shelly, I’m not your little monkey.”<br/>
<br/>
You chew your lip. “Let’s try something more useful. We obviously can’t keep doing magic here, and we can’t move anywhere that Shelly or I know. So, Carmen, think like you’re a golem masquerading as a high school P.E. teacher. Where would you create a magic laboratory?”<br/>
<br/>
“My house,” your golem replies. “I’d kill the original and take over her life. Then you could do what you wanted.”<br/>
<br/>
“Wow, I never knew Coach was so insta-stabby,” Shelly says, clearly uncomfortable.<br/>
<br/>
“Carmen Acuna would think I’m a demon, a vile agent of the devil set forth to destroy the lives of men. Murder isn’t a problem when you’re out to corrupt the world.”<br/>
<br/>
You interject. “No murder. Let’s try this. Where does Carmen Acuna know that would work as a temporary lab?”<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
You bring in the stuff from the car, carrying it down rickety wooden steps into a space that reeks of damp and tetanus. You have to admit, this is a cool location. It didn’t take long for Shelly to convince her mom it was good for her to get out of the house for a few hours, and while Carmen took the jogging track back to the main road, you packed up your belongings and relocated. You had to leave the industrial buffer behind, but security is paramount.<br/>
<br/>
“This is such a cool place,” Shelly says. “I mean, totally freakin’ creepy and thematic, and really, really wrong. But wrong in an awesome way. A sort of taboo kind of way. I feel like a cool kid. Like Addison Ricci or Austin Ritter.” You tune out of her babble and look around in the dim light. Once you got past the offer of casual murder, Carmen came up with a great idea. Aside from some dusty tables of some kind shoved in a corner, you have a small, gloomy basement to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
“I can make a copy of the key for you both before I return the set,” Carmen says. “And don’t worry, I don’t think anyone except me has been down here for months.”<br/>
<br/>
Carmen Acuna’s connection to her church is close. So close that she agreed to be in charge of its youth sports outreach program… a program she soon found comprised of two broken table tennis tables, one chewed table tennis bat, and a deflated basketball. Every year the church holds a charity drive to try and reignite the program, but every year the money gets put into different projects instead. As such, the church storage space is completely unused.<br/>
<br/>
Within an hour, you’re set up and back in business. Now you have a suspect to interview.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
Ian Cowdray, surprisingly, comes to talk at Shelly’s request. He ambles in to the Kauldron with an almost casual air, taking a seat where the previous meeting was held. “What’s up, Shell?” he asks.<br/>
<br/>
Shelly Nolan greets him with all the enthusiasm of a parole board. She looks at him seriously, direct in the eye, and reels off a handful of facts about his life to convince him it’s her. “Ian. This is about the thing.”<br/>
<br/>
“I figured. It’s been all you’ve talked to me about in a week.” He’s surly, like a wounded animal or a kid who found out his superhero is just special effects.<br/>
<br/>
“Ian, I’m sorry I didn’t get you out of detention. My life’s been freakin’ crazy lately. And this is new, and hard, and super-awesome and super-scary at the same time. And Will…”<br/>
<br/>
“Shell, you gotta stop trusting this senior kid. We don’t know him. You saw what the seniors did to Erin. I know she ain’t the sharpest tool but they don’t have our best interest at heart. Where is he, anyway? Off doin’ magic?”<br/>
<br/>
Shelly gestures to the far end of the Kauldron, where Coach Acuna seems to be sitting enjoying a herbal tea. “Ian, this is important. Have you told anyone about what I can do? Especially your cousin.”<br/>
<br/>
Ian looks awkward for a second, eyes fixed on the apparent coach. Shelly rises, crosses the table, and sits down next to him. <br/>
<br/>
“Please, Ian. I know you want me safe.” Eventually he caves.<br/>
<br/>
“No. I didn’t tell anyone. I wanted to, after you left me like that. But I know how Rich can be. I’ve seen him demolish kids. Like, <i>bam bam bam</i>. I just wanted you safe is all.” He sighs. “I just wish I’d never given you that thing. I know you love it, but it ain’t natural what it can do. You’re right, I was only half-in your group ‘cause I was scared – both for you and of you, a little. And Prescott. I’ve been thinking about it all. I just want both of us out.”<br/>
<br/>
He sounds sincere, and Shelly instinctively hugs her friend, heads together. Ian closes his eyes and sighs.<br/>
<br/>
It’s at that point you lean over from behind and slap the mind band on his head, before going back to the beaten paperback you’ve been pretending to read. Nobody notices, least of all the barista busy making your chai latte. A few moments later, he calls your name.<br/>
<br/>
“Order for Ruth?”<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
“I told you we could trust Ian,” Shelly says, once you’re all back at the church and the mind band is on. “He didn’t tell anyone. Also OH MY GOSH he is totally in crushing on me. Which is, just… what. WHAT? I did not want to know that.” She’s turned bright red, shielding herself from the world by ducking her head in her cardigan.<br/>
<br/>
“Shelly, focus,” you say. “We have no idea who broke into the shop. Two total strangers have those masks. We need to hide out until we can track them down. Find new identities, then solve this. We can’t rely on any masks we’ve used before.”<br/>
<br/>
Shelly stops flapping around and nods. Both of you will need to be replaced by golems and find new disguises so you can evade – and track down – the real culprits. You can start work on that tomorrow. But, right now, you’ve only got one golem. Until you can make another, one of you will have to brave staying as Will or Shelly.</span></div></div>


path: 1133121212212121121111122221
author_id: masktrixie
title: The Girl who Played with Magic
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“This is SO FREAKIN’ AWESOME!” The two Shellys are holding hands and bouncing, staring at each other intently. They spin around to the point that, if they weren’t wearing different clothes, you wouldn’t know which is which. A quarter of an hour earlier you both used the masks again, which potentially means there will be two sets of your doubles walking around. Good you, actual you, and – somewhere, lurking – evil you.<br/>
<br/>
“Shelly.” The twins stop their jumping around and look at you.<br/>
<br/>
“C’mon, Will. This is cool. I’ve got another me.”<br/>
<br/>
“This is like in Harry Potter and the...”<br/>
<br/>
“No,” you say, stopping the golem in her tracks. “This is real. Right now Shelly and I are in danger. We don’t know who has the masks and we can’t track them down. Your job is to be Shelly’s decoy, in case they come back. You see anyone doing something suspicious, you call me. You see or Shelly or me, what do you do?”<br/>
<br/>
The golem holds up the scissors, rolling her eyes. “Call you or test you’re who you say you are. I know.”<br/>
<br/>
“Other than that, just... live your life. Be Michelle Nolan. Tell Ian you got rid of the book and you won’t hang around with me. Oh, and tell Kim Walsh you want her as a mentor. She’s one of the few people at school who’ll actually look out for you.”<br/>
<br/>
The golem looks disappointed. “Fine. I was just hoping I’d get to be the Witch of Westside. You’re taking everything awesome that’s happened to me, ever, and telling me to act like it doesn’t exist. Which I totally can do, but it kind of sucks.”<br/>
<br/>
You turn to the real Shelly. “Hope you can keep yourself busy while I’m gone.”<br/>
<br/>
“Duh, I’m going to do magic. And don’t worry, I have my insulin pen, and if I need to get something to eat I’ll wear the Ruth mask.”<br/>
<br/>
“Just stay safe. I’m going to drop the replacement off then make sure my life’s still in one piece. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”<br/>
<br/>
The new Shelly Nolan talks all the way home. About magic and how awful it feels to be left out of the coven. How it’s gross Ian is into her and she doesn’t know what to do. How the past week has been, hands down, the greatest freakin’ week of her entire freakin’ life. She’s still going by the time you reach the lane.<br/>
<br/>
“Good luck, Shelly.” <br/>
<br/>
The golem smiles. “Thanks, Will. For what it’s worth, I’m really happy you’re the Chosen One.”<br/>
<br/>
You laugh. “See you round. Oh, and give Mrs Nolan a hug for me.”<br/>
<br/>
You watch as it walks down the lane, straight up to its apparent mom, resting on the porch of the house, and squeezes her tight. Then you head the short distance to your own house, coming in through the front door as usual. “Anyone home?” <br/>
<br/>
Your mom sticks her head around the corner. “Oh, hey, honey. I thought you were back already and up in your room. I’m making a sandwich if you want one.”<br/>
<br/>
The words hit you like a bullet. You can’t breathe. <br/>
<br/>
“Will?”<br/>
<br/>
“No, ah… no sandwich. Thanks.” You rush up the stairs, straight to your room and burst through the door. Nothing’s changed. Nothing’s been disturbed. No one has been here. You check the rest of the house, every room in a blind panic, as your mom walks out of the kitchen and watches you bemused.<br/>
<br/>
“You lost something?” she asks, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. You look at her and feel the cold bite of doubt in the pit of your stomach. How do you even know this is your mother? <br/>
<br/>
You stare, jaw slack, unsure what to do. You can’t exactly cut her hair to see if it vanishes. You flounder for words.<br/>
<br/>
“No,” you say in the end. “I thought I had. But everything is right where it should be.”<br/>
<br/>
Your mom shrugs and goes back to the kitchen. You decide to get out of the house again. Somewhere. Anywhere. Just not here.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
You take your time getting back to the church storage. Shelly’s working in the basement, and the golem is probably finishing the epic paper you started about why Medea was justified in murdering... you can’t remember, but when you were Shelly you felt very strongly about it. <br/>
<br/>
Instead, you end up heading over to Northgate and hang around, trying to get your head straight and think of a way to track down the thieves. You fail: the masks didn’t come with a homing beacon and you have no leads. You doubt the police are going to do much either, although you suppose you could always change that. Just become the chief and make it the number one crime in Saratoga Falls.<br/>
<br/>
You’re still laughing at this dumb idea as you go back to the church and Shelly. You need the levity given you’re now too scared to go in your own home. If the thieves have used the blank mask to replace your mom – or anyone else in the house – they could get you in your sleep.<br/>
<br/>
“Shelly, I’m back.” The basement is quiet when you come down the stairs. At first you wonder if your coven-mate is out, but the frazzled lightbulb still casts its dim glow, and she would have turned it off when she left. Yet again, your heartbeat pounds and but you feel cold. There’s no way someone would have thought of this hideout to track you down. Not unless they thought of using the blank mask on Coach Acuna… <br/>
<br/>
“Shelly?” You rush down the stairs of your new lair, convinced you’re in jeopardy again. Your eyes try and adjust to the gloom, turning broken ping pong tables and stacks of boxes into potential threats and enemies. You bound forward, noting the book out on the table… and the small figure strewn on the floor.<br/>
<br/>
“SHELLY!”<br/>
<br/>
You rush over to pick her up, but she doesn’t move. She’s petrified, her entire body hewn into stone, soil loose over her. You grab at the torso, terror in your eyes as your fingers touch cold stone, a sculpture of Michelle Nolan.<br/>
<br/>
Because it is her.<br/>
<br/>
Because she’s turned into a golem.<br/>
<br/>
You rush to the book. It’s open at the sixth spell, Shelly’s hastily scribbled translation next to it. <i>Duh, I’m going to do magic.</i> In her brilliant, racing mind, she must have soared ahead to the next incantation, the familiar words and phrases coming easily to her. You can tell that the spell must turn a living person into a golem. Shelly must have misinterpreted it or thought that it would help you both somehow.<br/>
<br/>
There’s got to be a way to undo this. You turn the page in desperation, the next spell releasing and revealing itself. Your brain translates the Latin seeking a countercharm, but it’s just another fucking mask spell.<br/>
<br/>
The book wanted this to happen. The evil fucking book that you bought at Arnholm’s. That was stolen from you. That was returned to you. That you buried. That was exhumed. That was given to Ian Cowdray. That was given to Shelly Nolan. That tricked her into doing this.<br/>
<br/>
You grab the <i>Libra</i> and hurl it against the wall. Then collapse next to Shelly, screaming until your mouth aches, sbbing until you’re blinded by tears.<br/>
<br/>
You sit, cold and alone in a storage basement, and wish you could turn back time.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 11331212122121211211111222211
author_id: masktrixie
title: The Wildcats of St Xavier's
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You have a fever. Certainly your head feels like it’s on fire. You don’t want to eat, or drink, or speak, or think. Right now you just want to crawl into someone else’s life and get the fuck away from Will Prescott and the stupid book and… and…<br/>
<br/>
And Shelly Nolan. Stone on the floor. St Francis Xavier’s Church is holding the Sunday evening mass, and you can make out the muffled sound of hymns. Once a month they bus in the rich assholes from the prep school to sing as a choir. You’re tempted to slip into Carmen Acuna’s skin and listen, maybe light a candle or go to confession. But no. You need to focus.<br/>
<br/>
You pick the book up. There has to be an answer to Shelly’s condition, a spell to reverse the process. Even if the book doesn’t have the answers, you’re certain there must be a way to break the sigils down and understand them. The <i>Libra</i> is to magic as a recipe book is to cooking, and cooking can be learnt the hard way. <br/>
<br/>
You get on with what you have to do, making a new mask with ease. Once finished, you take a cloth and begin to buff it. You don’t have the buffing machine any more, and if you’re right this is going to take days of work. It’s easy to consider it a penance.<br/>
<br/>
Then you hear someone at the door.<br/>
<br/>
Shit – nobody was supposed to come down here. You drop the mask and grab the book from the table, trying to find a place to hide in the gloom. There’s nowhere except behind the beaten ping pong equipment. You shove the first table to the side, squeezing into the far corner as best you can. Then you hold your breath and try to be invisible.<br/>
<br/>
From your hiding place, you see a pair of shiny black shoes descend, followed by white socks pulled high, then a pleated skirt and green blazer. The figure stops on the stairs.<br/>
<br/>
“Jesus Christ, didn’t I tell you to turn the light off when you come down here?”<br/>
<br/>
“I did leave the light off, I promise.”<br/>
<br/>
The first figure continues down the stairs and a girl comes into view. She’s perhaps a little older than you, and looks like something out of a dream – the vision of an angel, with brilliant chestnut hair framing a face of perfect, radiant innocence. An angel, you soon discover, with a vicious streak.<br/>
“You know, I can’t think of a reason why I still let you hang around with us. You’re unable to follow even basic instructions. Press light switch. Turn off light. Save planet.”<br/>
<br/>
“Sorry, Abi. I’ll be more careful in future.” <br/>
<br/>
You can now see a trio has entered the room. The angel, Abi; an overweight girl with darker skin she was addressing; and a tall, lean girl with sharp, raven-like features.<br/>
<br/>
“What’s that on the floor?” Raven-girl says. You keep quiet as Abi walks toward Shelly.<br/>
<br/>
“How should I know? A statue of one of the saints?” Abi pokes Shelly’s face with a toe. You want to rush out and club her to death.<br/>
<br/>
“I guess whoever came down here last left the light on. I knew I’d turned it off last month,” the overweight girl says, hanging back.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh my God, Kristen. You’re always second-guessing yourself. Ten seconds ago you were apologizing for<i> not </i>turning it off. No wonder you won’t stop comfort eating.” <br/>
<br/>
“Must be upgrading this dump,” raven says, ignoring her companions to walk over and give Shelly a hearty kick. “Ouch. That’s solid stone. Guess this is where our tuition goes.”<br/>
<br/>
“C’mon, let’s just get what we’re here for.” Abi heads directly toward you, pulling the table tennis table out. For a moment you’re certain you’re spotted – there’s no way she could miss someone even in this dim light – but for some reason your corner hideaway seems to be in enough shadow to conceal your presence. You watch as she stands on the metal strut of the table and pulls herself toward the roof beam, patting her hand around its surface. When she climbs down, she’s holding a small bag with pills inside.<br/>
<br/>
“Jackpot. Delivered as promised.”<br/>
<br/>
“This place is too risky,” the raven girl says. “If someone’s finally using this space they could find the drop. Remember last year, when they found a condom in Johnny Fairclough’s wallet? A single condom. Full dorm search, cancel of all exeats…”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m a <i>prefect</i>, Vee. I<i> run </i>their stupid honor system. I’m the one <i>doing</i> the dorm search. They let me <i>write</i> the exeat forms. And if I can’t get one, I just smile sweetly. It’s how I got permission to go to the country club Tuesday night. ‘<i>Oh, please, Mr Fitzherbert, I know I’m supposed to oversee study hall but it’s the only time I have free this week…</i>’” She drops the act and laughs, then walks squarely up to Kristen and begins to shove the bag down her waistband.<br/>
<br/>
“What are you… Hey! Abi! Get off me!”<br/>
<br/>
“Just hide it until Friday. Pretend you’re a smuggler concealing it under your rolls of fat and away from the sniffer dogs.”<br/>
<br/>
The scene occupies your attention to the point that you don’t notice the raven-like girl, Vee, has wandered over your makeshift lab.<br/>
“Hey, Abi. Arn’t these like those masks Todd bought? I wonder what they’re doing down here.”<br/>
<br/>
Abi finishes with Kristen and pushes her aside, turning to look at what Vee’s holding. “They’re only like the ones he’s going to use for decoration. The full head masks he showed me are way better. Come on, let’s get out of here… and Jesus, Kristen. Can you try and walk, or waddle, back to the bus normally for once?”<br/>
<br/>
You wait as Kristen, Abi and Vee depart, turning off the light and locking the door behind them. You are amazed you weren’t spotted, but finally you’ve had a stroke of luck. Now you know where the masks are – with someone called Todd at The St Francis Xavier School.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
The St Francis Xavier School. Endlessly ridiculed by both Westside and Eastman as the Professor Xavier School for Gifted Christians. You’ve never been there: its expansive grounds are off the ’44, down by the Mohegan bend north of Lattyville. It’s an elitist boarding school, scooping up anyone in Van Dief County that satisfies two of three requirements: Catholic, rich enough to pay the (extortionate) fees, or smart enough for Georgetown. And by Catholic, it means Irish Catholic. You’ve seen its students around town, dressed in their impeccably neat green and gold, looking down on just about everyone. If Westside and Eastman are more or less equal, Xavier’s views Agape Christian Academy in the same way the Harvard views a community college. Now you have to find a way inside. <br/>
<br/>
“Oh, cool! I know someone who goes there!” The Shelly-golem reports when you meet her at school on Tuesday morning. She seems as happy as the original. Her mom has got a new lock for the garage; she’s told Ian she’s quitting magic; and she went to see Kim Walsh, who assigned her a girl on the basketball team who’s part of the official Westside Mentoring Club.<br/>
<br/>
Your life has been less fun. The past 24 hours have been beyond exhausting. You returned home from the church broken, with an ashen face that had your mom in a panic. You called in sick on Monday and sat in your room, polishing the mask while you learnt the seventh spell: the sooner you can get it going, the sooner you can try and find a cure for Shelly. You’re pretty sure it turns a person into a temporary golem. Tonight, once the new mask is ready, you’ll modify the Will mask. With luck, that’ll let you switch with someone at Xavier’s and leave them under a mask of you.<br/>
The sooner you can do that, the better. You didn’t realize how painful it would be to encounter the Shelly golem. It looks, and acts, just like her. Its very existence brings you straight back to the basement and the stone body of your friend. You couldn’t bring yourself to use a mask on her.<br/>
<br/>
“Will? Seriously, I know how to get inside!” the golem is rocking back and forth with Shelly’s nervous energy. You still haven’t told it what happened to the original. You don’t know if you can.<br/>
<br/>
“How?” you ask, trying to put the thought behind you.<br/>
<br/>
“Niamh!”<br/>
<br/>
“Niamh?” <br/>
<br/>
“Yes! Niamh Stirland, my next door neighbor! She’s super-nice. You know I told you about Tina Stirland, when we made the Ruth mask? Niamh’s her younger sister. She’s a senior, like you, goes to Xavier’s as a day student. Oh man, I wanted to go to so freakin’ bad, because it’s basically Hogworts and I could get an academic bursary, but we’re not Catholic so I ended up at Westside. Niamh really loves it, though. She’s trying for pre-med, and I think she wants a Fullbright and is going over to the UK for…”<br/>
<br/>
You let your fictional version of Shelly talk, the words washing over you. At least now you have a plan. Tonight you’re going to use the seventh spell and replace someone at Xavier’s. The only question is who. You know the devilish Abi’s going to be at the country club tonight, and she already has a lead on where the masks are. But Niamh is another good option. And, as Shelly’s next door neighbor, you’d be in an ideal place to keep watch on the golem… if you can stand the painful memories it triggers.</span></div></div>


path: 113312121221212112111112222111
author_id: masktrixie
title: The Fallen Angel
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You arrive at the country club as Ruth. It makes things more of a hassle when it comes to sorting out the masks, but Will Prescott really doesn’t have much chance of convincing the staff he belongs. Nor, sadly, does Carmen Acuna, given she has the wrong skin tone for the old money elite that frequent this place. You saunter up to the desk in unisex sports clothes that, at a stretch, that will also fit Golem-Will once you make the switch. The Random Body Generator has a little bit of weight on her belly, but her arms are athletic and she looks WASPy enough to fit in.<br/>
<br/>
“Can I help you?” The receptionist is experienced enough to recognize who’s new and who’s not. While the country club has an extensive membership, guests are typically accompanied by one of the known families. It’s too late for golf, and you’re not dressed for the salon or veranda. <br/>
<br/>
“Hi,” you say, still disoriented by Ruth’s voice. There’s enough of Mrs Nolan in there to give it familiarity, along with a little flick of Irish, presumably from Tina Stirland. “I booked a day pass for the spa tonight. Ruth Hedgecote-Wilde?” You got the name from a random upper-class generator on the internet and already regret it, but you figure double-barrelled buffoonery doubles your chances of getting in.<br/>
<br/>
The receptionist types your name. “Ms Hedgecote-Wilde. Yes, we have you for a two-hour pass. It’s down the corridor, changing rooms on your right. Towels are to be returned to the baskets provided, and the use of the sauna and steam room is included. Have a pleasant evening.”<br/>
<br/>
You smile and take the towel as suggested, tucking it over your bag. Even with the online discount, the spa wiped out every last penny you had, including the remains of Shelly’s science fund. Shelly Nolan and Will Prescott are flat broke. Not that it really matters. You take the card and walk to the changing rooms to scout the place. It’s not going to work – too many people are coming and going. Your best bet is the disabled toilet in the main corridor. There, you loiter for a short time, smiling as guests walk past. The only person who bothers you is one of the older gentlemen, dressed in a navy suit, his back arched into a hump and frail hands shaking as he points to you and exclaims “That woman is wearing jogging bottoms!” Fortunately, his wife leads him away. <br/>
<br/>
Your target arrives after 10 minutes. You hear her before you see her, cheery voice greeting the reception desk as if they are lifelong friends. Then she’s coming at you, strolling down the corridor with a beatific grace. She’s in a pink polo shirt and skirt, a squash racquet under one arm, kit back in the other. You feel turned on just seeing her, as out of breath as if Lester had just socked you in the gut.<br/>
<br/>
“Hello!” she says as she approaches, giving you a wave as if she’s walking past the oldest friend she’s ever had. It’s a complete transformation from the bitch in the cellar, as different as night and day.<br/>
<br/>
“You’re Abigail, right?” you say. It’s all you can think of to stop her, and you’re guessing no one would just call their child Abi. She comes to a bouncing halt in front of you.<br/>
<br/>
“Yes, m’am. Abigail Steiner.” Butter wouldn’t melt.<br/>
<br/>
“Ruth Hedgecote-Wilde. I attended the St Francis Xavier School,” you say. “Not as a prefect, mind, but I’m on the board of trustees.”<br/>
<br/>
“Really?” She beams dazzling white teeth. Her personal magnetism is incredible. You feel as if you’ve just found a long-lost daughter. “Thank you so much for everything you do. We know how lucky we are. If it wasn’t for your support, we wouldn’t have been able to send the fourth form Spanish class to Mexico this summer.”<br/>
<br/>
“You’re very welcome. Here to hit the courts?”<br/>
<br/>
“Squash league,” she confirms. “It’s club-organized so I’m sure who I’m playing. I don’t suppose it’s you, m’am?”<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head. “No, I’m just here for the spa. I’ve been working all day at St Francis Xavier’s church. We’re trying to get funds for the outreach program, and I’ve been making an inventory of the storage spaces. Dusty work. And you’ll never believe what I found down there.” You reach into your bag.<br/>
<br/>
“I couldn’t begin to guess.” Abigail looks genuinely curious, hanging on your every word. You thought that would get her attention. <br/>
<br/>
“You.” It’s enough a shock to her system that she doesn’t have time to react as the mask goes on.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
You stare at your new reflection in the mirror. You’ve known some beautiful girls in your time, but 18-year-old Abigail Steiner is a whole new category. You don’t just know her, you are her. And you are gorgeous. Your chestnut hair falls down naturally like a model’s, while your blemishless face naturally falls into a smile that lights up the room without effort. Your nose is perfect (although, admittedly, not your original – a birthday present); your eyes are hypnotic. You trace your hands down your new body, turning to the left and right, chewing on your finger and thinking of how many people have fallen for those curves.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Bite down harder. So hard you almost draw blood.</i><br/>
<br/>
Despite appearances, Abigail Steiner is messed up. She enjoys two simple pleasures in life: being adored (including by herself) and doing whatever she wants. The good girl act comes from hundreds of hours in front of a mirror, talking to herself, learning how to fake sweetness and light in an instant. It’s astonishing just how ignorant St Francis Xavier’s staff are of her true character – and just what she gets away with. When she was picked to be one of the six prefects last year, the school thought they were selecting a (literal) choir girl. How wrong they were.<br/>
<br/>
<i>The responsibilities of a prefect: school discipline under an honor system; signing exeat forms so students can go into town; ensuring students do not have any contraband (especially related to drugs or alcohol); overseeing study hall. <br/>
<br/>
The responsibilities of Abi Steiner: bullying everyone else with threat of the honor system; demanding services for exeat forms so students can go into town; ensuring you and your friends have all the drugs and alcohol you want; overseeing study hall.</i><br/>
<br/>
Behind you, Will Prescott stirs, blinking into life. You turn around and look at the former Abi, now you, and wonder if your control is complete. <br/>
<br/>
“Nice, boss!” the new Will says, gesturing to your body with a cheesy thumbs up. It’s all the confirmation you need. For the next few moments you both scramble to get your clothes on in the disabled bathroom: Will the attire you arrived in, you into your gym kit. While you do so, you give the new Will the same briefing you gave the Shelly golem. He leaves a few minutes later with the Ruth mask and clothes, and you take a deep, satisfied sigh. It feels very good to be free of the burden of the past weekend. Tonight you’re just going to enjoy your new life.<br/>
<br/>
It’s with this thought that you skip down to the squash courts, racquet in hand, to see who you’re playing. You have to track down the masks, of course, but Abi’s mind knows they’re in the possession of Todd Baldwin, who’s planning a Halloween bash in the Xavier Backwoods. She didn’t ask where Baldwin got them from, but it won’t be hard to convince him to give up the masks.<br/>
<br/>
<i>In fact, it’ll be a lot of fun for both of us. It was the last time.</i><br/>
<br/>
The thought of Todd occupies your mind so completely that you virtually forget about your former life… which makes your encounter at the courts so jarring.<br/>
<br/>
“Hello, Abigail.” The words aren’t particularly warm and friendly as you meet Kelsey Blankenship again, now as a fourth different person in two weeks. You access Abi’s thoughts, and know these two have gone head to head enough times for Kelsey to penetrate Abi’s good girl impersonation. It’s a shame; Abi ticks two of Kelsey’s friendship criteria of ‘beauty, brains and wealth’. Unfortunately, Kelsey only meets one of Abi’s ‘rich, stupid and someone I can use’.<br/>
<br/>
<i>The car salesman’s princess. How quaint.</i><br/>
<br/>
“Hi, Kelsey,” you chirp, maintaining your perky masquerade as Abi would. “Are we playing tonight? That’s so great, we always have a good match.”<br/>
<br/>
“Let’s hope so,” Kelsey says, returning your smile if not your body language. <br/>
<br/>
“I heard Westgate managed to make it through to the next round of the cup, congratulations!”<br/>
<br/>
“Westside. And thank you. Sorry to hear you were eliminated.”<br/>
<br/>
<i>Fuck. You. </i>“You can’t win them all, I suppose.” <i>Because Hope O’Malley’s nowhere near as good as she thinks she is, and I can’t carry a team by myself.</i><br/>
<br/>
“Of course,” Kelsey says. “Let’s get started, shall we?” She steps through the glass door into the court, pleasantries over. <br/>
<br/>
“Just give me a moment to tie my hair back,” you say, smiling warmly as you mentally assess your chances. Kelsey is supreme on the tennis court, but Abi’s much more evenly matched in squash. Even so, Kelsey has the edge… <br/>
<br/>
<i>Unless you give yourself a little advantage. </i><br/>
<br/>
You feel a tightening in your throat as you search Abi’s thoughts. She’s got a special boost in her racquet case for such emergencies. Take one, and Abi is confident that she can beat Kelsey with only a few, fun, side effects. But although she’s an experienced hand at recreational substances, you aren’t; do you really want to start popping pills just to win a squash match?</span></div></div>


path: 1133121212212121121111122221111
author_id: masktrixie
title: This is Your Brain on Drugs
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You’re hesitant, but Abi’s mind is telling you that she doesn’t stand a chance against Kelsey without some magic of her own. If you’re going to pretend to be Abi convincingly, you’ll have to embrace all of her lifestyle. You take a deep breath, tie your hair back into a ponytail with a scrunchie, and slip a yellow disc out of a pocket in the racquet case.<br/>
<br/>
You hold the little bit of bliss on your tongue. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Nothing. </i><br/>
<br/>
You trace a pattern on the soft hairs at the back of your neck until it prickles all tingly. <br/>
<br/>
<i>It doesn’t do anything. </i><br/>
<br/>
You crunch your jaw and feel wonderful. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Silly useless pill. </i><br/>
<br/>
Now, what are we about to do?<br/>
<br/>
<i>We’re going to humiliate this plebeian bitch. </i><br/>
<br/>
Kelsey is waiting for you, and hits the double yellow ball to start warming it up. You do likewise, smacking it around, letting it gain heat, letting it feel as warm as the glowing little furnace now burning in your chest. A heart pounding fire…<br/>
<br/>
“Ready?”<br/>
<br/>
You blink. It’s been almost five minutes already. You spin the racquet to determine serve. Best of three so others can use the court.<br/>
<br/>
“C’est moi,” you say with a giggle as it lands pointing in your direction.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, would you like to play in French?” Kelsey asks in the language, almost a little too casually. <br/>
<br/>
“Why not?” You reply in kind, before serving without warning. It’s harsh, but Kelsey is more than up to it, darting forward and returning straight, inches above the board. You let it bounce and drive a backhand, retreating as Kelsey moves forward to control the T. She returns again, dropping it right against the far corner. You rush over but can’t get there. First blood Blankenship. You slap the ball back to her for service.<br/>
<br/>
You blink again. <i>Time is in effluence. Is that from a song? What was that song…</i><br/>
<br/>
“Out. 4-1, I retain service.” The world judders and jolts. You can hear the glass flowing like a supercool waterfall as this whore dares to defy you. Not a chance. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Focus, Abi. Let time slow down… Slow. Down. Watch. The. Ball.</i><br/>
<br/>
“Your serve.” Better. Keep it going, supercool liquid, burning fire, supercool liquid, burning fire. Sweat trickles off your brow. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Sweat all over the mask of this lovely face. A mask of Abi Steiner. No. You’re Abi now. Abi doesn’t wear a mask unless it comes with a whip.</i><br/>
<br/>
“9-5. Your game.” Kelsey’s face looks like thunder as she catches her breath, walking over to wipe her hands on a towel, chest heaving as she pants heavily. “You’re better than last time,” she says in English. “Been training?”<br/>
<br/>
“Un peu.” You bow with a smile and a laugh, eyes wide and wild as you feel the power, insane power, surging through you. You flick away a sweat-slick strand of hair, combing it down into your ponytail. God you fucking love being Abigail Steiner.<br/>
<br/>
<i>You love being me. I love being me. I love being you loving being me…</i><br/>
<br/>
“9-2, and that one’s mine.” Kelsey says, barely out of breath, a little smirk as you’re back talking French. You just zoned out for an entire game. You’re both equal again.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Why haven’t I put this spoiled trash in the gutter where she belongs? </i><br/>
<br/>
Rage. Frustration. Sweat beads on your arms, trickling around in shapeshifting drips. You grip the handle of your racquet so hard you feel like it’s going to snap in your hand. Crumble like stone. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Stone. Shelly. Stone cold Shelly. All Will Prescott’s fault. Nothing to do with me.</i><br/>
<br/>
You open your eyes. The ball has flown from the front wall and is bouncing on court just ahead of the short line. Kelsey is rushing to the T. You back up, swing a vicious forehand and drive the ball straight into her spine.<br/>
<br/>
“Agh!” Kelsey slams to the floor and looks at you with rampant ire, nostrils flaring.<br/>
<br/>
“Let,” you say without apology. “5-5, I retain serve.”<br/>
<br/>
Kelsey gets off the floor. The gloves are off now. 6-5. Swap service. 6-6. Swap service. 7-6. 8-6. “Match point.” Swap service. 7-8. 8-8. <br/>
<br/>
“We play to 10,” you hiss through gritted teeth.<br/>
<br/>
She hits the ball so damn hard it goes bouncing through your legs. You scowl. Kelsey smiles. <br/>
<br/>
“Match point.”<br/>
<br/>
You skid across the court and manage to whack the ball hard into the right corner. It falls perfectly, spin costing it momentum, and bounces twice. Kelsey comes to a halt. Squeaks of trainers on the floor. You’re both soaked in sweat, shaking with fatigue, both at the edge of everything you can do.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I wonder if she wants to make out as badly as I do?</i><br/>
<br/>
Backhand. Forehand. Forehand. 9-9. “Match point,” you say, mimicking her inflection. Who cares about magic and masks when you can feel this good every day? And, serving with a final, deep swing, you watch as Blankenbitch can’t get to the ball in time. <br/>
<br/>
<i>I am Abigail Steiner, and I serve aces. I am Victory. Now kiss me, Kelsey.</i><br/>
<br/>
You throw down your squash racquet and inhale, sucking all of the color out of the room to fill your mind with rainbows. You rotate, and see that the hundreds, thousands, millions of onlookers you thought were hanging on your every movement are absent: there’s no one behind the court’s glass. The only person who saw this, will ever know about this beyond a score posted on a notice board, is Kelsey Blankenshit. And that’s more than enough for you. <br/>
<br/>
You cough, lungs full of hot air, then gather your racquet and walk over to shake her hand. She takes it warily, eyes narrowed. <br/>
<br/>
<i>An enemy for life. How fun. Let me slip my tongue down your throat.</i><br/>
<br/>
“Good game,” you both say, smiling. Neither of you mean it. <br/>
<br/>
You jolt yourself back to reality in the shower, warm water and dry mouth that tastes of vomit. In your car, a little too fast down Highway 37, windows down so you feel the wind in your hair and laughter in your throat, then through two stop signs in Lattyville and over to the ‘44. Into the single dorm room, door closed, bag containing some old book and your gym clothes down on the floor.  Alone. You stare at your reflection, pulling off your pink polo, sliding out of your jeans.<br/>
<br/>
“The body of an angel,” you mutter, shimmying in a little dance, a deep smirk on your astonishing face. “I’m a devil in the body of an angel. I’m the devil in a devil in the body of an angel.”<br/>
<br/>
<i>Welcome to the world of Abi Steiner, Will Prescott. Fuck it up with your stupid book and I’ll tear out your goddamn eyes.</i><br/>
<br/>
You can’t really remember who Will Prescott is, or why that old book matters, but you mean every word. Doesn’t that make it a glorious night to be alive?</span></div></div>


path: 11331212122121211211111222211111
author_id: masktrixie
title: Of Masks and X-Men: Part I
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You wake up in your dorm room, stretching out in a single bed. The buzz has worn off, and the world feels a paler place for it, but at least your mind is clear. You’ve just got to masquerade as this girl until you can get the masks back from Todd. <br/>
<br/>
You lift the comforter and slip out, blinking in the sunlight. The carpet is green and scratchy, but it's the best room in Founders Hall. As prefect, you get a corner room with windows on two sides, and you've got it—and the computer desk, sink, and flat-pack cupboard—all to yourself. Abi’s alarm clock reads 6.25am. No time to waste. You’ve got a full day ahead as her. <br/>
<br/>
You stand and stretch, picking up the sports bag from where you discarded it and tucking it instinctively in the bottom of her dresser, taking the Libra out as you do so. Then, standing with one foot on the sill, one foot on your sink, you climb up to the loose brick and pull it out. Dorm searches never think of going up rather than down, so this is where Abi keeps everything that really matters. A few pills to come up, a few to come down (nothing as good as the stuff Kristen is holding), a few toys and just enough space for the <i>Libra</i>. The book and brick goes back in, and you hop to the ground. Time to comb your hair for the next eon and make yourself perfection personified.<br/>
<br/>
By the time the breakfast bell sounds at 7am, you’re near-immaculate in your school uniform, straightening your tie, brushing the sleeves of your green blazer and picking a loose thread from the school crest on your breast pocket. Most of the school ties are the standard forest green with gold stripe, but the prefects wear green with small crosses, style indicating house. Apart from head boy Marius Hall, you are right at the top of the school social strata. You give yourself one last look in the mirror, posing like a cover girl, before you open the door and let Abi’s fake good-girl persona cloak you.<br/>
<br/>
After rousting the girls of Founders Hall, you enjoy the usual early-morning walk to New Hall, where the lower forms bunk.<br/>
<br/>
“Rise and shine,” you shout into each dorm room in turn, your nostrils catching the offending scent of unwashed gym clothes as students roll out of bed. “Whoever’s socks those are, get them down to the laundry room.” You do a quick mental roll call as you go. “Where’s Beatrice Ross?” you demand when you spot an empty bed.<br/>
<br/>
"The Stables," someone yells. <i>Just where I want to go</i>. You nod and walk out again, heels clicking down the east stairs and toward the main hall. Already students are milling about, some half-dressed and scruffy, others almost as neat as you. You let your natural, resting smile sit as the crowds part for you. <br/>
<br/>
“Can I get an exeat for tonight?” Ryan Hall, a fellow sixth former, intercepts you on your way to the Stables.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s a little short notice, Ryan.” You take the form he’s offering and look at it, then up at him. He’s thin faced, cheeks with pocks from a latest bout of acne. Exeats are a stupid rule Xavier’s stole from British and Commonwealth boarding schools, essentially a hall pass on steroids. You sign it and hand it back. “All right, just this once. Have a great time!” <br/>
<br/>
The honor system means the six prefects have as much power to grant excursions outside the grounds as the house masters. It mostly only applies to the weekend boarders or those who want to go into town past 9pm on a weeknight; about 75% of the school board, either during the week or throughout the entire term. Abi is no fool; she knows she can’t charge everyone for exeats. Extortion needs finesse. Besides, she already knows Ryan’s game: he’s dating someone working at one of the pizzerias and heads out to see her as often as possible, paying for his gas by bringing back McDonalds or Taco Bell and selling it to starving underclassmen at inflated prices.<br/>
<br/>
Ryan dealt with, it’s out of the chaos and into the chill morning. You find yourself at the rear of the main building, shoes crunching on the gravel path around the Master’s Lawn. From here you can look straight out to the river, the view spoilt only by the Greek Amphitheatre. It’s a beautiful sight – a still morn, beads of dew still fresh, a slight mist drifting to filter the dawn’s light, and the wilderness of the county laid bare – there’s nothing between you and Russian Lake, some 20 miles away. Abi can’t wait to get out of here, and already has designs on the University of Miami (and its beaches), but you’re not sure if you’ve seen a better vista in your life. You turn and head toward the Stables, spotting a slight figure with blonde hair as she skulks around the corner.<br/>
<br/>
“Beatrice Ross.” You call out to her, walking over. “You’re up early.”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, hi, Abi…gail.”<br/>
<br/>
You keep the sweetness in your voice. “It’s OK, Beatrice. You can call me Abi. What are you doing? You know the Stables are off limits until after second period.”<br/>
<br/>
Despite their name, the Stables have nothing to do with horses – <i>you have a horse!</i> – which are these days cared for at the Darin Riding School a few miles past Lattyville, toward McGuffey City. Instead, the ‘Stables’ have been converted into break rooms and study spaces. <br/>
<br/>
“I thought I left my books in the… ah…”<br/>
<br/>
<i>Jesus fucking Christ you are an amateur. I already know what you’re doing. Why didn’t you go around the back of the amphitheatre where it’s tacitly ignored?</i> “Hand it over.”<br/>
<br/>
A vape pen is produced. You look shocked and appalled. “I thought you knew better than this? And don’t these things have cartridges, too, or something?” The rest of the kit is produced. “Oh, Beatrice. You’ve let me down, the school down and yourself down. You know I’ve got to give you detention for this.”<br/>
<br/>
“Please, Abi. I swear I won’t do it again! I got it at the weekend and I was just trying it and…” <br/>
<br/>
You look grave. “I’ll think about it. For now, get to breakfast.” <i>Oh, you’re mine now. I don’t know what I’m going to make you do, but you’re mine.</i> Beatrice gone, you open the door to the Stables and walk up to the study room, where you feel a pair of hands grab you. Spinning around as they entwine around your waist, you nuzzle into the interloper’s neck, even as your hand slips to his chest. His grip rises and runs through your hair, so you push back a little and kiss him hard on the lips. You murmur quietly as you pull back, bodies still close. The Will part of you is disturbed how easy, and comfortable, you found your first make-out session with a guy.<br/>
<br/>
“Good day, sunshine...” <br/>
<br/>
“Too early for the Beatles,” you say to your boyfriend, Chris Fiore, although you consider it a firmly open relationship. Neither of you ever bother with breakfast (you don’t want to end up like Kristen), so that gives you a short window of free time every morning. <br/>
<br/>
“It’s never too early, or too late, for the Beatles.”<br/>
<br/>
“Opinions differ. Here, I bought a gift from an idiot who tried vaping outside.” You hold up the items you confiscated from Beatrice. “Fuck knows what flavors she has, probably bubblegum, but they’re all yours.”<br/>
<br/>
Chris takes the gift with a kiss. “Busy tonight?”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m going to check out where Todd’s setting up for Friday. I want to make sure he hasn’t picked the east glen. You’d be able to see the lights, not to mention hear the music, right up to the main hall.”<br/>
<br/>
“Working on directional sound to prevent that,” Chris says. “Plus I’ve got the keg and cups in my car already. Anything else we need?”<br/>
<br/>
You purse your lips and wrap your hands around his neck, hanging off him a little. “Anyone who’s invited needs to get an exeat by the end of the day. Ideally, from someone other than me, Todd and Lucas. We want the X-Men to think we’re all in town, and if everyone gets their slip from the same people it’ll look suspicious.” The X-Men, Abi’s mind tells you, are the faculty – everyone on campus knows the school has a stupid name. <br/>
<br/>
“K, babe. I’ll handle it.” You suddenly, irrationally, feel a rush of anger, and slap his hands away from your body, shoving him hard against the wall.<br/>
<br/>
“Don’t ever call me babe. You’re mine, not the other way round.” Chris just smiles in a stupor as you push him again with your fingertips, enjoying the nature of your relationship. You press your body and your lips against his one last time, then walk back to the main building before you’re missed.<br/>
<br/>
Today is going to be an interesting experience – you’ve been Abi for about 12 hours and you’ve already kissed a guy, taken drugs, broken multiple traffic laws and hit Kelsey Blankenship with a rubber bullet. But the insane ride you’re now part of can’t distract you from your goal: you need to get the masks.<br/>
<br/>
The question is whether you need to use the <i>Libra</i>. If you took the book down to the chem lab now, and used the machine shop for buffing, you should be able to get a mask or mind band ready for tonight. It might come in useful if Todd is less than forthcoming. And, you suddenly realize, the eighth spell would have unlocked too – maybe it contains a cure for Shelly.<br/>
<br/>
But Abi’s life is just too spicy to ignore. Perhaps you could trust in your current guise, leave the <i>Libra </i>safely hidden, and just convince Todd the old fashioned way...<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 113312121221212112111112222111112
author_id: masktrixie
title: Of Masks and X-Men: Part II
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“X-Man, Two O’Clock,” Vee reports. Davina Macklin – Vee – has been your ever-present extra set of eyes and ears since you were at middle school together. She’s the ideal sidekick: whip-smart, capable of acting on her own and so pinned to your cause her loyalty is beyond question. She’s obsessed with Marius Hall, and as much as Abigail would love to do very dirty things with him out of spite, such a fun distraction isn’t worth losing someone as valuable as Vee.<br/>
<br/>
Her warning is a prime example of why. The moment she speaks, you and Todd both adopt your prefect personas.<br/>
<br/>
“I was thinking about a 5k run for disaster relief,” you say cheerily. It’s amazing how Abi’s brain changes so quickly; even your muscle memory shifts to the point that you start eating your lunch differently. “Perhaps in mid-November, before it gets too cold.”<br/>
<br/>
“Great idea,” Todd replies. “We could talk to the pep squad and…” the act becomes redundant as Mr Welert moves on.  “… thanks, Vee.”<br/>
<br/>
“What I’m here for.” She goes back to her soup. You’ve cornered Todd Baldwin for lunch, pinning him down on a bench with thin Vee on one side and dumpy Kristen Wright-Wallace on the other. Vee you’re always glad to have with you; Kristen is baggage. However, her cloying, desperate need to please means she has her uses. You lean over and push Kristen’s bowl of pudding away from her.<br/>
<br/>
Kristen, have you considered taking up, I don’t know, bulimia? Abi’s mind supplies the line, but you’re still Will and can’t be that harsh.<br/>
“Kristen, have you considered maybe, I don’t know, not grabbing dessert at every opportunity?”<br/>
<br/>
She mumbles an apology, so you turn back to Todd, a prefect for Washington along with Marius. Darkly handsome, mainly because he was the first senior to get stubble, he’s tall, strong and ideally built as a rower. If there were a male counterpart to Abi in this school, he’d be it… if not quite as successful. You saw him earlier trying to persuade Niamh Stirland to do his assignment on the Thirty Years’ War. Stirland, like her sister, seems somehow inoculated against the games of Xavier’s, and has never bought your good girl – or his good guy – mirage. You think today might be the first time someone other than you told Todd to go to hell all year, and it took all of Abi’s composure to not break character and laugh.<br/>
<br/>
“So what’s up with the business lunch, Abi?” Todd asks. You flick your hair. <br/>
<br/>
“Halloween. I want to see where you’ve picked.”<br/>
<br/>
“You don’t trust me?”<br/>
<br/>
“She’s not that stupid,” Vee comments. <br/>
<br/>
“Actually, I think it’s probably fine. But I want to make sure there’s no way we can be seen. This isn’t the size of our usual little get-togethers. And I am not going to risk everything I’ve earned here because someone gets wasted and brings down the X-Men.”<br/>
<br/>
“Hence the masks,” Todd says. Compulsory Halloween masks for all attendees. No names.<br/>
<br/>
“And that,” you say, quietly sliding your heel up his thigh from under the table, “is another thing. The batch I’ve picked up to make things more fun is the real deal. I don’t want some newcomer tripping balls at all the masks and freaking out.”<br/>
<br/>
Todd smirks, and widens his legs to let your heel go even higher. “Fair point. They’re great quality, though. Professional shit. I don’t want them to go to waste.”<br/>
<br/>
“Where did you get them, anyway?” Vee asks. Great – now you don’t have to.<br/>
<br/>
“Three wannabes on the verge of dropping out from Westside,” he sighs, turning to Vee. “Turned up at a little party I was at looking to unload them fast. Doesn’t matter. I’ve got a mask for Abi, me and Chris. You’ll have to fend for yourself.”<br/>
<br/>
“Those masks aren’t the ones that worry me,” you say. “Those weird blue ones face ones, like we’re in some kind of space cult, are the issue. They won’t disguise who we are, and…”<br/>
<br/>
“I already told you they’re decoration only…”<br/>
<br/>
“… and I don’t want them used to decorate the space in case someone starts bugging out.”<br/>
<br/>
“Fine. I won’t use them.”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh no,” you say, once again shoving Kristen’s pudding out of her reach. “I remember Summer Ball. I’m not going to trust you again. I’m going to take the masks off you tonight.”<br/>
<br/>
“I could take them,” Kristen chips in, trying desperately to be involved as she retrieves the rest of her lunch.<br/>
<br/>
“Nobody asked you, Kristen. Go back to your feed bag. You want to help, why don’t you try one of the batch after classes and make sure they’re as-advertised.” You turn back to Todd and give him the ‘I am not asking, I’m telling you’ stare.<br/>
<br/>
“Fine,” Todd says. “I’ve got them stored in the woodshed behind the Master’s Lodge. Wisner never checks his own back yard. Meet me by the Master’s Lawn after football practice and they’re your problem. Then we can go out to the party site.”<br/>
<br/>
You smile, and instantly revert to Angel Abi, even as your leg retreats down his calf and back to the floor. You stand up, signalling for Vee and Kristen that it’s time to go. “Thanks, Todd. You’re the best! And I’m going to start a group chat about that 5k, all right?”<br/>
<br/>
Looks like getting the masks back will be a piece of cake.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
“You ready to head out?” you ask. Abi’s afternoon classes have been surprisingly enjoyable: a mix of easy subjects and a film studies course similar to your own. 5pm rolls around quickly and you meet Todd as arranged, on the gravel path past the Master’s Lodge, where the it skips away from the school and heads toward the Backwoods. You come direct from athletics, dressed in your running kit and the white trim of Adams house.<br/>
“Sure thing. It’s not far, but don’t worry – I’m not stupid enough to use the east glen.”<br/>
<br/>
“Good. Sooner we get there, more time we have in this ‘secret’ lair. First thing’s first, though, let’s pick up those dumb masks.”<br/>
<br/>
Todd looks at you for a moment in confusion. “I already gave them to you.”<br/>
<br/>
You stop dead in your tracks. “I haven’t seen you since lunch, Todd. What do you mean you ‘gave them to me’.”<br/>
<br/>
“I handed them to Kristen before practice. She came up and said you told her to…”<br/>
<br/>
“The fuck I did!” You snap. Your Will mind is used to the strange way the masks seem to dance around you, but Abi is fuming – that you’re denied the masks, but more importantly that she has been disobeyed. “I wouldn’t trust that useless truffle-hunter with tying her own shoelaces. Wait here.”<br/>
<br/>
“I’ll come with you.”<br/>
<br/>
“Into the girls’ wing? Just… wait there, Todd, fuck.” You take off along the gravel. Fortunately, you’re in the perfect clothes for a sprint, and Abi’s cardio regimen means it’s a breeze to cover the ground rapidly. For some reason you stick to the school rules and run around the master’s lawn, rounding the corner rather than cutting directly across the blades of grass, and dart into the main hall. Then it’s up the stairs, through the fire doors, past C dorm, your own room, and up a tight, narrow passage to where Kristen Wright–Wallace shares a room with Vee Macklin. <br/>
<br/>
<i>I am going to rip her eyes out. Rip. Her. Eyes. Out.</i><br/>
<br/>
You burst through the door, slamming it behind you as you rush into the room. “What did I tell you…”<br/>
<br/>
The words vanish from your mouth. You, stand there, stunned. On Kristen’s bed are two of the masks, ready to be hidden away. The bag from the church basement is there, too, its contents scattered on the sheets from where they’ve been dropped suddenly.<br/>
<br/>
But the real nightmare is sat up on the floor, amid a pile of books and junk ripped loose from where he collapsed. There, dressed in a plus size St Francis Xavier girl’s uniform, is an exact double of Will Prescott. He’s staring at his hands, a look of pure terror etched on his face.<br/>
<br/>
“Abi,” Will says, looking up at you in desperation, “what the hell is in those pills?”<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 1133121212212121121111122221111121
author_id: masktrixie
title: The Other Girl Who Played with Magic
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You don’t even hesitate. In a moment you grab the nearest defensive weapon you can find – which happens to be Kristen’s softball bat – and begin to swing it at the apparent intruder on the floor. Kristen, wearing the Will mask, shields her head as you strike, your hair going wild as the bat strikes the side of the desk, then the side of the bed, swooping inches from Will’s ducking and diving.<br/>
<br/>
“Who the fuck are you, you goddamn fucking pervert!” You scream, amazed at how thrilling Abi’s mind finds this unexpected diversion. <i>Smash them like a pinata. Break a bone.</i><br/>
<br/>
“I’m Kristen! Abi! Abi stop, I’m Kristen!”<br/>
<br/>
“Why are you in her clothes, you fucking creep! Are you getting off dressing up as a girl? Are these the only clothes that fit you in this school, you sick fuck?” <br/>
<br/>
You keep swinging, occasionally striking an arm, creating havoc in the room. For her part, Kristen starts a monologue of secrets she’s told Abi. It’s virtually a personal life history, and with each anecdote or example of your current persona’s vindictive streak, you let the bat slow.<br/>
<br/>
“How do you know all of that?” you ask, the chaos subsiding, your hair in your eyes from the unexpected exertion. Given the commotion, it’s unsurprising that others might rush to the scene. Fortunately, the first is Vee. She takes one look at the carnage strewn across her dorm room.<br/>
<br/>
“Who the hell is <i>that</i>?”<br/>
<br/>
“Vee, go block the corridor. Tell anyone from B dorm who overheard it’s nothing to worry about.”<br/>
<br/>
“<i>Who is that</i>?”<br/>
<br/>
“Vee. Go and block the corridor.”<br/>
<br/>
Your right hand does as she is ordered. You prod the door shut with the bat and then Abigail Steiner, weapon in hand, advances on the quaking, terrified Will Prescott. You push aside the debris: books, a laptop, bedding and a soft toy. Once you’re standing over him and he’s fully backed against the wall, you take a deep breath and regain your composure, flicking your hair out of your eyes.<br/>
<br/>
“Speak.”<br/>
<br/>
“I know! I know this sounds crazy! But, Abi, it’s me. It’s Kristen. And I’ve turned into a boy.”<br/>
<br/>
“Bullshit.”<br/>
<br/>
“I swear! I just put one of the masks on. Everything went dark, and when I woke up I was a boy.”<br/>
<br/>
“That’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”<br/>
<br/>
Will nods. “I know. That’s why you’ve got to believe me.”<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
You’re sat on Vee’s bed while she stands guard at the door, now closed and locked. Across the room, a complete wreck, is Kristen Wright-Wallace in the body of Will Prescott. For some reason she hasn’t got your memories and is struggling to pull out even basic facts about you. So far she’s managed that she’s Will Prescott and from Saratoga Falls. Every time she comes up with a new fact, you’ve tried to push that she’s really this ‘Will’ in a psychotic episode and demand to know how and why he got here. At no point do you, or Vee, ask what’s been done with the real Kristen. At no point do you tell anyone to go and tell Todd he can stop waiting for you in the dark.<br/>
<br/>
“So, you took one of the batch and, because you can’t handle your shit, thought it’d be funny to put on one of Todd’s stupid masks. You fainted, woke up, and now you’ve grown a cock and lost 100 pounds.” It’s nowhere near that amount but Abi is feeling vindictive today.<br/>
<br/>
“Basically.”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, take the mask off, then.”<br/>
<br/>
“I tried, I don’t know how. I can’t feel it on my head, it’s not like it comes off without the magic words.”<br/>
<br/>
“So now we’ve got magic masks and magic words. You see, Kristen, if that’s who you really are, this isn’t difficult. Say the words.”<br/>
<br/>
“I can’t remember them!”<br/>
<br/>
“Jesus Christ. You’ve finally done something right in your life, and all you need to do is remember a stupid phrase. Maybe we can get it off another way. Vee, do you still have that Swiss army knife?”<br/>
<br/>
“WAIT! I’m trying.” Will grips his head, “I think it’s something like…”<br/>
<br/>
And suddenly a mask appears, the body of Kristen Wallace-Wright collapsing back into her bed with a thump. Vee leaps back against the door in shock, while you casually shift your legs as Kristen’s body rolls off the cot and face-plants onto the carpet.<br/>
<br/>
“Holy shit,” Vee says. You bite your bottom lip and nod, stepping over the body to pick up one of the other masks. <br/>
<br/>
“Interesting. I wonder what this one does,” you say, casually tossing it in your palm before you slam it on Vee’s unprepared face. She crumples to the floor and begins the process of metamorphosis into Shelly Nolan. <br/>
<br/>
You flick your hair and take a seat among the strewn bodies and wrecked dorm room.<br/>
<br/>
Vee and Kristen are perfect for a coven. They’re unflinchingly loyal to Abigail Steiner who, it just so happens, is now you. If you keep up the masquerade of pretending to be Abi, even if you wear different masks, you have yourself several pawns in your goal of rescuing Shelly, and the run of St Francis Xavier’s, the perfect hideout for magic. Of course, ‘Abi’ isn’t supposed to have the book, so you’ll have to pretend to steal it from ‘Will and Shelly’ – currently both golems under your control. You could vanish for half a day and claim to have tricked them yourself, coming back with the <i>Libra</i> – that would ensure you always keep hold of it. And Abi is pretty good with languages, so you can fake being able to decipher whatever spells you need with ease. <br/>
<br/>
But dispatching Vee and Kristen to trick ‘Will and Shelly’ might be a better route. You can brief your golems on how you want them to fake being fooled, and you’re certain Vee and Kristen will return the book to you – their leader, Abigail Steiner – without incident. You just need to get the book out of Abi’s room and to the golems before the theft occurs.</span></div></div>


path: 11331212122121211211111222211111212
author_id: masktrixie
title: What Chance Have You Got Against a Tie and a Crest
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>(By Masktrix and Seuzz)<br/>
<br/>
Thursday study hall. You sit at the front of the library and watch your charges. The boarders of the fourth form are sat in groups doing their homework. At least, that’s what they’re supposed to be doing: you’re confident half of them are just surfing the net or talking to their friends on messenger. <br/>
<br/>
Your plan was simple. Early this morning – and with a lot of complaints – your Will golem made it out to St Francis Xavier, where you handed him the <i>Libra</i> for the Shelly golem. Both were under instructions to be ‘tricked’ by any Will or Shelly that turned up. Then you dispatched Vee and Kristen, armed with the masks, to dupe the idiot Westside duo.<br/>
<br/>
The phone goes. Fortunately, it’s the end of study hall. You let the fourth formers file out then step into the corridor to answer it. Vee is waiting for you outside. You slip the phone back into your blazer.<br/>
<br/>
“How’d it go?” you ask.<br/>
<br/>
“It was surprising,” Vee says. “Come on.” She beckons you to follow, across the corridor and into the Jefferson laundry room. You slip inside a dimly lit space where dryers rattle and moist clothes hang above hot steam pipes.<br/>
<br/>
“Well? Do you have the book?” You ask expectantly. Your phone goes again. You pull it out of your pocket and glance at the messages from an unknown number.<br/>
<br/>
<i>THEY KNOW.</i><br/>
<br/>
“Oh, we have the book,” Vee says, barely able to restrain a smile breaking across her face.<br/>
<br/>
<i>THEY KNOW YOU’RE NOT HER.</i><br/>
<br/>
“We just found some other things, too.”<br/>
<br/>
Four strong hands grab you from behind, lifting you straight off the ground and pinning your arms as they twist your elbows into a wrestling hold. You don’t have time to react before ritualistic words are crossing Vee’s lips, and her bony fingers are reaching up to rip the mask from your face.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
It's dark and stifling when you awake, and your back is very sore. You mutter and kick, and find that your feet seem to be tied at the ankles. You cuss, then gasp as a sack is yanked off your head. Your mind spins with nausea.<br/>
<br/>
You're in some kind of storm drain, it looks like. A concrete bunker, anyway, with a slimy floor and some oil drums against the nearby wall. Moonlight shines palely through a grill overhead. A metal ladder leads up and out, and in the far corner something gleams like wet metal. A metal chute?<br/>
<br/>
A hard blow to the rib knocks you almost double. You want to puke.<br/>
<br/>
“Don't do that,” a voice says. It sounds very familiar. “It’s not like he’s going anywhere.”<br/>
<br/>
You suck in a deep, heaving breath and look up sideways. Four shadowy figures loom over you. There's just enough light for you to make out their unfriendly faces. Vee Macklin. Chris Fiore. Todd Baldwin.<br/>
<br/>
And Abi Steiner.<br/>
<br/>
You don’t know what went wrong, but clearly something very bad has happened.<br/>
<br/>
“Will Prescott, I presume,” Vee says. “The third one I’ve met today. But you'd be the original?”<br/>
<br/>
You nod.<br/>
<br/>
“So, you thought you’d steal my life,” Abi says. Her lip curls. “It was a good plan. Just one flaw.”<br/>
<br/>
“That little ginger bitch," Vee says, "is the worst actress in the world.”<br/>
<br/>
As you gape at them, Todd grabs you by the hair and punches you in the jaw. Your head rings.<br/>
<br/>
“I told you to stop that,” Abi says.<br/>
<br/>
"Why are <i>we</i> explaining things to him?" Todd retorts. "He's the one who should be answering questions."<br/>
<br/>
"We've already got the answers, Todd," Vee says. "The book, the masks, the answers. And any answers he doesn't give us we can get out of him another way." She bends over to pinch at your forehead, as though ripping a bandage away. "Slurp," she says. "Everything he knows, we'll know."<br/>
<br/>
You shiver all over.<br/>
<br/>
"So what were we standing around here for?" Chris asks. "If you've got a thing that can copy what he knows—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because we <i>don't</i> have one," Vee says. "Yet. We have to <i>make</i> it."<br/>
<br/>
"So—"<br/>
<br/>
"Let Vee handle things," Abi tells Chris. She grips him by the chin and turns his face to hers. "You and me, we should—" She takes his lip between her teeth and chews on it.<br/>
<br/>
You glance away, your head in a whirl. It's not hard to guess what's going on. It's a lot harder to guess what's coming next.<br/>
<br/>
Or maybe you just don't want to guess.<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks for everything, Will," Abi says after breaking away from Chris. "You dirty fucking pervert. You tried to steal everything I had. But I forgive you. You’ve given me the greatest present I could imagine. The book. I think we’re all going to find it very useful.” She runs a finger along Chris's jaw.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, sounds like it's going to be fun," Chris says. "Oh, and Prescott," he adds, "not that I didn't enjoy yesterday—" He turns back to Abi. "But there's nothing like the real thing." They kiss again.<br/>
<br/>
"You guys go on up," Abi tells the others when they break off. "I'll meet you back inside." She pats Chris on the butt. "I've got a few things I want to say to Will. In private."<br/>
<br/>
"You gonna be okay?" Todd asks.<br/>
<br/>
"You tied him up good, didn't you? Then yeah, I'll be okay." She watches as her friends ascend the ladder, their shoes ringing on the metal bars. The grate clinks and rattles, and the moonlight dims as one by one they loft themselves out. Abi waits, watching, until the grate clangs back into place. Then she turns to gloat down at you.<br/>
<br/>
“Did you like being me, Will?” she asks. “Did you touch yourself? Tell me. Tell me how much you loved being me.”<br/>
<br/>
She’s a lunatic. You look up at her, as you chafe against your bonds. She smirks at you.<br/>
<br/>
But somehow it’s not the smirk of someone who is used to smirking.<br/>
<br/>
And that’s when you realize the truth.<br/>
<br/>
“How long do you think it’ll take them, <i>Kristen</i>, to figure out you’re not really Abi?”<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes widen. Then she laughs.<br/>
<br/>
“But I am Abi, Will. I am Abigail Fucking Steiner. And I deserve to be her more than you ever did.” She holds your eye.<br/>
<br/>
"Why?"<br/>
<br/>
“Because Abi Steiner was a bitch!" She catches herself, then leans over to growl in your face. "She treated me like shit. Humiliated me. Belittled me. You know that. You did it too, when you had the chance." Her lip curves in an ugly way, and for a moment you're frightened that she'll kick you in the ribs.<br/>
<br/>
"What happened?" you ask through lips that are suddenly very dry. "How did you figure out that—?"<br/>
<br/>
"That you weren't really Abi? It didn't take much. You tried so hard getting the masks away from Todd, like you were scared to leave them with him, like you knew something about them already. And I started wondering after you told me and Vee to go out and get that book. Maybe I was just being paranoid about people being in disguise. But it turned out I was right.<br/>
<br/>
"And then when I met up with your Hermione wannabe, it was just so obvious that something was up. She played everything so dramatic, so unreal. 'Oh my God, Will, it would be <i>soooo</i> dangerous if any of these things fell into the wrong hands. There's people running around pretending to be us, we have to be <i>soooo</i> careful'."<br/>
<br/>
She snorts. You wince. In retrospect it seems obvious. The Shelly golem is only as good as the real Shelly, and the original couldn’t manage to be Coach Acuna for even five minutes.<br/>
<br/>
"So I called Vee and met up with her. Told her what I was thinking. Together it didn't take us much trouble to wrestle Shelly to the ground and pull a mask off ... whatever that weird, lumpy, rock thing is." She eyes you. "Then we went out to see 'Will Prescott'. That's when we found Abi."<br/>
<br/>
"And what did you tell her?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing! We slapped the mask back onto her and sat on her. Argued about what to do. I was getting your memories pretty good by then, good enough I could see what we <i>could</i> do. We had a blank mask, and we had Abi, so—" She hugs herself and smiles.<br/>
<br/>
"And Vee went along with it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. Abi's not much nicer to her than she is to me. We figured out we could take turns being her. We did rock-paper-scissors, and I got first turn.<br/>
<br/>
"But this is just the beginning," she groans. "After we figure everything out, after we've figured out that book and everything that <i>you</i> know, well— There's four of us to have fun, and a whole school to have fun in. So many people to be, here at St. X or someplace else. Maybe Vee will find someone else to be and will let me be Abi permanently. I'll be rich and beautiful. I'll have everything I want and I'll know how to get more."<br/>
<br/>
She shivers as she rubs the sides of her body. "I really can't blame you, Will, wanting to be Abi. I mean, Jesus, here I am doing the same thing you were." She lapses into a shuddering sigh.<br/>
<br/>
You dive at the opening. "Yeah. So, if we're all basically on the same level, how come you gotta leave me like this? Why can't I join your club? Make it five instead of four?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be stupid," she snaps. "You think any of us would trust you after—? Besides," she interrupts herself. "We already know what we're going to do with you."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" A lump forms in your throat.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. I guess you will be part of the club. Sort of."<br/>
<br/>
The lump swells.<br/>
<br/>
"Like, if I'm going to be Abi, who's going to be me? I mean, Kristen Wright-Wallace can't just disappear."<br/>
<br/>
"That's true," you admit. "So, if you want me to pretend to be you—"<br/>
<br/>
"Exactly!" she says. "And as soon as we figure out what kind of enchantment you put on Abi, to make her forget who she is, we'll put the same thing on you, and turn you into me!"</span></div></div>


path: 113312121221212112111112222111112121
author_id: seuzz
title: Vee Is for Visit
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You've read stories about people who are tied up and left to freeze on a cold, hard floor for hours at a time. None of those stories even began to convey the agony and the boredom you are soon to suffer.<br/>
<br/>
You twist inside the cords that bind your wrists and ankles. But they're knotted too tightly—who was the fucking Boy Scout who tied them?—and you quickly exhaust yourself.<br/>
<br/>
The floor is very hard under your bony, unpadded ass, and it's wet and cold, and a damp, chilly stain slowly forms and spreads across the seat of your pants. Speaking of which, whose clothes are you wearing, exactly? You're dressed in dark slacks and a stiff, itchy coat. Something extra from one of the boys' wardrobes? The assholes didn't give you any socks and shoes, and your feet are soon numb from the cold, and your fingers swell and lose all feeling.<br/>
<br/>
If only the numbness would spread to your lower back, where a low, persistent ache soon forms.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You fall asleep at some point, chin on your chest, for you jerk awake with a start to find a patch of yellow sunlight blazing against a wall. Your hands and feet are truly dead, and your limbs are petrified. Your prison looks no better in the dim daylight. It's a concrete box. Metal rungs set in a wall lead up to a metal grate; another wall is pierced by a small chute. Low entryways at opposite ends lead off into dark tunnels.<br/>
<br/>
Hours pass with nothing to do but watch that patch of sunlight drop from the wall and crawl slowly across the floor. It reaches your feet, but is too feeble to warm them.<br/>
<br/>
Are you getting a fever? Your thoughts begin to drift in circles, touching on but never settling firmly on the same cluster of worries. <i>What is happening with your golems? They tried warning you. Are they looking for you? Can you hope for rescue before it's too late? But how can they find you when you yourself have no idea where you are?</i><br/>
<br/>
At some point you doze off again.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're wakened by the scrape of metal against concrete, and open your eyes to darkness. Even the moon is down. But gone too is the gnawing hunger that tortured you throughout the day. But you've got a burning thirst.<br/>
<br/>
Shoes clink on the metal rungs of the ladder, and a pale shadow drops to the floor before you. A circle of light blazes into your eyes, then is dimmed. "How are you doing there, Will?" Vee asks when she lowers the light. <br/>
<br/>
"Not good." You can barely make out your own slurred reply.<br/>
<br/>
"What's that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nngh!"<br/>
<br/>
She sets a bulky object on the oil drums, touches it, and a light winks on—an electric lantern. "I thought I'd keep you company," she says, "while I do some work." You close your eyes and sigh.<br/>
<br/>
She ducks into one of the tunnels and returns with a folding chair, which she sets up by the drums. "We're turning that book of yours into a real research project," she says as she starts to unpack the contents of a plastic bag. "We almost got in a lot of trouble in the lab when we tried out the first spell. Whew! What a stink! But we made a mask. Now we just need to polish it. How long will that take?"<br/>
<br/>
When you don't answer, she says, "We'll get the answer out of you, Will, whether you want to tell us or not."<br/>
<br/>
"Water," you mutter. "Water!" you shout when she asks what you said.<br/>
<br/>
"Hasn't anyone been down here to see you?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Nn-nhn."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuckers. Todd said— I'll be right back." She scrambles up the ladder.<br/>
<br/>
But it feels like a very long time before she returns, to kneel beside you with a bottle. She's brought a coarse blanket, too, which she throws over you. "You look cold," she says as she tips the water into your mouth. "It probably doesn't matter. We just have to put the new mask together, and you'll be out of here."<br/>
<br/>
"Kristen," you mutter after she withdraws the bottle.<br/>
<br/>
"Hmm? Oh, yeah. She told me she told you what's going on. Who she really is and what we're going to— Shit." She breaks off. "That's probably why Todd didn't come down to feed and water you."<br/>
<br/>
"How come?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because I bet Kristen—excuse me, <i>Abi,</i>—told him not to. In case you tried telling him who she really is."<br/>
<br/>
"He's going to find out anyway."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, maybe."<br/>
<br/>
"And him 'n Chris'll be pissed at you, too. Because you went along with it."<br/>
<br/>
Vee stares down at you. Her lips twitch.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, maybe," she says.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Why isn't she scared?</i> you wonder as she tucks the blankets around your legs and shoulders. "Why did you go along with it?" you ask. "Kristen says you hate Abi just as much as she does. But—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh!" Vee laughs. "Kristen's sweet, isn't she? You know she wanted to push Abi, the real one, in front of a train?"<br/>
<br/>
"She <i>what?"</i><br/>
<br/>
"No kidding." She plops herself into the chair and resumes unpacking the sack. "She wanted to haul that pretend copy of you out to the railroad tracks and push him in front of a train. Squash Abi <i>and</i> you at the same time. I told her not to be stupid." She takes out some metal instruments and frowns at them.<br/>
<br/>
A hard shiver—a delayed spasm of horror—rattles your teeth. If Kristen had done that, you wouldn't have a life to return to even if you did get loose!<br/>
<br/>
"Then we figured out we didn't have to do that," she continues, bending her head over her work. "Those pretend things you and Ginny Weasely made? We could just order them around. Right? They thought you were Abi, so all we had to do was put on a mask of Abi and then they'd obey us. It's much more convenient that way. <i>So</i> convenient," she adds in a low voice that makes you shudder.<br/>
<br/>
You say nothing for a long time, even though she didn't exactly answer your question, and you watch as she scrapes and chisels away at something on the oil drum. <i>A mind band,</i> you think. <i>She's making a mind band so she can copy my memories. Then she'll know everything I know.</i><br/>
<br/>
At the very least, you can try to make it a trade, so after a lengthy silence you resume the conversation. "So you and Kristen are going to swap Abi's identity back and forth, huh?"<br/>
<br/>
"No." She blows away some metal shavings. "But I told Kristen we would, so she'd think that's why I went along with her."<br/>
<br/>
"So why are you going along with her?"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you really that stupid, Will?" Her voice floats on a wave of contempt. "I guess you were just getting settled into Abi's memories when we caught you, or else you'd— Though I gotta say," she interrupts herself, "you were doing a first-rate impersonation of her, considering you didn't know her. I mean, Kristen knows Abi really well, but she was totally over the top last night. I'm gobsmacked that Chris didn't twig to her not being Abi, the way she was all over him. At least she finally got into character this morning."<br/>
<br/>
"So what is your plan, if you're not going to share Abi with Kristen?"<br/>
<br/>
Vee raises her head. The lantern illuminates only part of her face, so her expression is unreadable.<br/>
<br/>
"The same thing Abi would have done if she'd got this stuff." She turns back to her work. "Do you know who some of the kids are who go to school here? No, of course you probably don't. Mathilde Ambard," she says. "Name ring a bell?"<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
"She's a snooty, stuck-up bitch. Though she's got a right to be." Vee pauses. "One of her ancestors was cut down by the English longbowmen at Agincourt. Ask her, and she can tell you the name of every single, fucking, faggoty Frenchmen between her and him." She wipes her fingers across the unfinished mind band, and falls into a grim silence.<br/>
<br/>
"And that's who you want to be?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, that's who Abi would have wanted to be. Me, I'm not sure yet. There's a girl down in the first form, Sherri Watson, who's got a trust fund that could buy Massachusetts. But I'm not sure I want to go through puberty again. And there's a sixth-former whose dad is a Hollywood producer or something. A couple of hops, skips and jumps, and I could be the star of a cinematic universe or something. But he's got a dirty little dick, and I don't know how long I'd be stuck with it before, well—" She trails off.<br/>
<br/>
"Is that what Chris and Todd want, too?" you ask in a croaking voice. "Money? Celebrity?" It sounds like a stupid question with an obvious answer.<br/>
<br/>
"We haven't talked about it. And I'm still in the daydreaming stage myself. I mean, <i>fuck!</i>" She looks up to stare at the wall opposite. "There's a whole book to get through! What's the use of making a plan before you know everything you can do? You know? But maybe we'll turn ourselves into some of the X-men in the meantime, or into some other people who aren't stuck in school, then figure out the book before we do anything else." <br/>
<br/>
She gives you a quick, direct glance. "But that's what you were planning to do, wasn't it? That's why you and your girlfriend tried worming your way into Xavier's?"<br/>
<br/>
"You think that's what we were trying to do?"<br/>
<br/>
"Of course. So which one is she, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
"Which one is who?"<br/>
<br/>
"Which one of the students here is Shelly pretending to be?"<br/>
<br/>
Her questions seems to suck the air from your lungs. "What makes you think—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because she tried warning you last night," Vee says. She turns sideways in her chair."<i>They know, they know you're not her.</i> We found the texts on Abi's phone last night, but I guess you didn't see them in time."<br/>
<br/>
She leans forward. "Or is there a third person who knows about all this stuff? Someone named Ian Cowdray?"</span></div></div>


path: 1133121212212121121111122221111121211
author_id: seuzz
title: Pulling a Switch on the Old Switcheroo
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You don't dignify Vee's question with a reply. What would be the point? You could tell her the truth about what happened to Shelly, but that wouldn't help you, and she is going to find out anyway.<br/>
<br/>
She seems to have the same thought. "Keep it buttoned up if you want, Will," she says. "It's not going to do you any good. Sluuuuuurp!" She waggles the uncompleted mind band at you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You've pissed her off, you can tell, because she stops talking to you. For your part, you don't feel like talking either.<br/>
<br/>
Also, you're starting to feel feverish.<br/>
<br/>
It starts with a sweat that pops out all over your body. Your forehead burns, and your throat is scratchy. You sigh and smack your mouth, and you try to get comfortable within your bonds, but your arms and legs are like wood, and except for a persistent ache in your lower back and the back of your legs, you're numb from the neck down.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe you lose consciousness at one point—the swirling darkness is like a vortex sucking you down—but you snap awake again at the bang of metal against concrete. A heavy weight drops to the floor in front of you. <br/>
<br/>
"Veeeeee!" a deep, masculine voice groans. "You're missing the best of the party!"<br/>
<br/>
Vee yelps as the figure bends over her. "Get! Off! <i>Todd!</i> Are you drunk?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just buzzed. Buzzed and horny."<br/>
<br/>
"Well go— Quit it! I'm working!"<br/>
<br/>
"Psss! You're such a— What's the word?" Todd's voice is slurred. "Prissy little perfect straight-A bitch."<br/>
<br/>
"Fucking lucky for you! If I don't get you A's on your homework, how're you going to graduate?"<br/>
<br/>
Todd mutters something under his breath. Vee says, "Yes. I was just finishing up when—"<br/>
<br/>
Todd takes something from under his jacket. His back is to you, so you can't make out what it is. But it impresses Vee. "Wow," she says. "Is it done?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Chris got a bug up his ass, used of one of those, whatchacallems?" Todd snaps his fingers, and sways. "Janitors polish floors with 'em."<br/>
<br/>
"A floor polisher?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah! So how 'bout we—?" He paws at her. She squirms and slaps Todd away. <br/>
<br/>
But she also mutters "Fine," and gets to her feet. "Stay put, Will," she says, and grabs onto the ladder. Todd slaps her on the ass as she ascends. "Bottom's up," he chortles. Then, with an agility surprising for one so drunk, he scuttles up after her. The grate in the ceiling clanks back into place.<br/>
<br/>
She's left the electric lantern on. Balancing on the oil drum, staring at you, is a mask. It glows with an inner, bluish light.<br/>
<br/>
The world begins to swim again, and under the masks' eyeless gaze, you fall back into the darkness.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're suffocating when you wake. A great weight is pressing down on you, and there's  a labored rumbling in your ear. It's dark, and for a dreadful moment you're convinced you've buried alive.<br/>
<br/>
A memory flashes: Chris and Todd, leaping out at you with a bag and a rope in their hands. Vee smirks at you.<br/>
<br/>
But what the hell is this thing on top of you? It pulses and rumbles and saws in your ear as it crushes you beneath itself. You squirm and pant and grunt, trying to twist out from under. That's when you realize that your hands are free.<br/>
<br/>
So are your feet.<br/>
<br/>
Suddenly, that rumbling in your ear sounds an awful lot like snoring. You freeze as a ghastly idea suggests itself—one borne from the sense that this is not the first time you have felt that kind of a weight atop you, or that kind of a buzzing in your ear.<br/>
<br/>
You have Abi's memories again, you realize, and as you hesitantly pick at them, you understand that you must again be wearing that mask that you made of her— the one which Todd and his friends ripped from your face.<br/>
<br/>
You have to stifle a shriek as a horror that prefers uncomprehension struggles with a horror that knows the answers. <br/>
<br/>
You grit your teeth with loathing as you try to push off the thing that is crushing you. Your fingers slide over rough fabric—a sports coat, you'd guess—but you can get no leverage, and the thing is far too heavy. So, as gingerly as you can manage, you start to squirm, trying to slip out sideways. Fortunately, the strength has returned to your arms and legs, and after a long, panting minute of wriggling and sliding, you pop out from beneath it.<br/>
<br/>
It groans, and your heart pops into your throat as it flops over onto its back. By the light of the electric lantern, you make out Todd Baldwin's face. He rips out a single long snore, then sinks back into a gentler buzz without waking.<br/>
<br/>
His clothes are disheveled in a way that makes your stomach heave. Both his coat and his shirt are open, exposing the firm torso with the washboard abs, and his slacks are unzipped and splayed open. Inside—<br/>
<br/>
You wheel and clench your eyes shut. Maybe the dark patch was his boxers. But you're pretty sure it was a bushy patch of bristly hair, with his hog-like cock nestled within.<br/>
<br/>
With infinite loathing you reach down to touch the front of your own trousers. They are still hanging around your hips, and the top button is undone. But the zipper is still up.<br/>
<br/>
You sag against a concrete wall, and stifle a gasp of relief. Apparently Todd passed out before he could—<br/>
<br/>
You retch, and push away the wall of hair that falls into your face.<br/>
<br/>
<i>The fuck was he thinking?</i><br/>
<br/>
Oh, the answer to that is pretty clear, and the longer you stare at that answer, the clearer it becomes. Todd, drunk and horny, brought Abi's mask down here and put it on you with the intention of having fun. All of Abi's outrage and loathing gushes up your spine and drowns your reason, and you can barely restrain yourself from kicking the unconscious sixth-former in the head.<br/>
<br/>
But self-control prevails. You are free again—Todd had to untie you if he was going to have his way with you—and there's not a trace of stiffness in your limbs. Your head is cool and clear as well.<br/>
<br/>
From above drifts the distant thrum and grumble of techno music. <i>So the Halloween party is still raging,</i> you think. Kristen and the others will be busy with it, and Todd is passed out at your feet. You've only to get back to Abi's room, change into real clothes, and then you can race away from St. Xavier's. This is your chance to escape.<br/>
<br/>
But as you turn to grasp the the rungs of the ladder leading up and out, your eye falls onto Vee's makeshift work table. Resting on it are the new mask, the new mind band, and a small plastic tub. <i>Mask sealant?</i> Vee made it sound like they were working straight through the book, and the spell for making sealant comes before the spell for making mind bands.<br/>
<br/>
<i>That's lucky,</i> you think, <i>And if Kristen has the book in Abi's room too, and I can get everything and get away!</i><br/>
<br/>
Before you can make another move, though, there's another rumble from Todd. You turn to stare at him.<br/>
<br/>
<i>A mask. A mind band. Sealant.</i> Here are all the ingredients here for disguising yourself as Todd Baldwin.<br/>
<br/>
And if you can find a place to hide him, you could stay within St. Xavier under deep cover. If you're unlucky enough not to find the <i>Libra</i> in Abi's room, that might be the only way to retrieve it and all the other stuff, and to shut down these assholes' plans.</span></div></div>


path: 11331212122121211211111222211111212111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Leader of the Pack
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Your hands are all atremble as you lunge for the mask and mind band that Vee left behind; almost they slip from your fingers. <i>Get a grip, Abi!</i> you hiss to yourself. <i>This is your best chance to—<br/>
<br/>
Run!</i> another voice interrupts. <i>Get the fuck out while you can!<br/>
<br/>
No!</i> the first voice countermands. <i>Use the stuff to get back at these assholes! This one especially! Shut them down!</i> <br/>
<br/>
You waver.<br/>
<br/>
Then you drop to your knees beside Todd, who is snoring like a buzzsaw from his gaping mouth. But he abruptly falls silent when you mash the mind band into his forehead.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"<i>Hhwwaaaaaaarffff!</i>" The puke firehoses up your esophagus and splatters into the corner of the storm drain. You rock back and forth on your hands and knees as your stomach heaves. Again you vomit, and a black stink envelops your head. The putrid remains of Todd Baldwin's last meal steam in the cold night air.<br/>
<br/>
"You're so disgusting."<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up, bitch," you snarl at Abi Steiner, who is kneeling on the floor behind you. "If you hadn't pounded back those cheeseburgers—"<br/>
<br/>
Your head swims, and you shake it to clear it. <i>I'm Todd Baldwin,</i> you remind yourself. <i>I'm the one who pounded back three cheeseburgers and followed them up with half a bottle of vodka.<br/>
<br/>
Moron.</i><br/>
<br/>
You sit up with a groan, then lurch unsteadily onto your feet. You are still dizzy, but you feel a lot better. Now you're just buzzed again instead of blackout drunk.<br/>
<br/>
And Todd Baldwin knows how to handle a buzz.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't look at me like that," you growl at Abi as you snatch up Baldwin's loose-fitting slacks. Her eyes fall. "I know you're pissed at me, but we're both in the shit." <br/>
<br/>
<i>Actually,</i> the thought helplessly forms, <i>we're in the storm drains beneath the school amphitheater. "The Catacombs."</i> <br/>
<br/>
You belch at the golem—it's Todd under Abi's face—as you button and zip up the khakis. Nothing about the girl who hunches in front of you, frowning behind a tangle of hair, is the least bit arousing. And insofar as you can "remember" dropping through the manhole and popping a mask onto Will Prescott, then unbuttoning yourself so you could bang a copy of Abi Steiner, you can't even recall getting an erection.<br/>
<br/>
 "Abi," you slur at her. "You have to do what I tell you. You <i>want</i> to do what I tell you." She looks up, and most of the fire drains from her expression. "You know who I am. I have to be Todd, but I was you. I know you want to—"<br/>
<br/>
<i>—cut off my cock with a pen knife and make me eat it.</i><br/>
<br/>
"—hurt me. But I'm trying to help both of us. I'm gonna get you out of here and then I'm gonna follow you, and then we—" <i>And then what?</i> "And then we'll see," you lamely conclude.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, boss," Abi says, and clambers onto her feet. There is still disdain in her voice, but at least she's calmed down. <i>I sure am glad I went ahead and put that special stuff inside her mask when I had the chance,</i> you think. Physically, you could handle a Todd Baldwin trapped inside Abi's body. But the special stuff makes the girl an ally. <br/>
<br/>
Albeit, an ally you have to send away. Xavier's is too small for two fake Abi Steiners. It could barely hold the real one.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's 3:32 AM by your—that is, Todd's—cell phone when you and Abi emerge behind the Greek amphitheater. She needs fresh clothes, but it's too dangerous to send her back to her room, so you order her to make for the boat house, there to wait thirty minutes (as best she can gauge it) before raiding the laundry room for a fresh uniform. <br/>
<br/>
"I'll clear the coast then call a ride for you," you tell her as you sway on your feet. "It'll be a white truck. Go wait on the main road for it." You hope you'll be able to roust "Will Prescott" and convince him you're on the level with your instructions.<br/>
<br/>
After she's away, you spend a couple of minutes sucking down the cold night air, trying to sober up. Because now comes the hard part. Not that it'll be hard to impersonate Todd—it's like his personality is trying to grope you from the inside. But without breaking character you have to get rid of the guy who's watching the path Abi has to use to get away.<br/>
<br/>
It's dark and you're still badly buzzed, so it's a wobbling, weaving journey you make over uneven ground. <i>Shouldn't be able to hear the music this close to the school,</i> you think as you shamble toward the woods. <i>Too close. Sound carries at night.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Halt, who goes there," a voice challenges from the dark.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck!" You spin on your heel. "Fiore?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, Dogberry." A hand grabs the lapel of your jacket as you lurch sideways. "Everything okay with the prisoner?"<br/>
<br/>
"'The prisoner?' Fuck! You sound like Reeves!" You slap the hand away. "Got a cigarette?"<br/>
<br/>
"Those things are terrible for you."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck you! Now what are you, my fucking coxswain?"<br/>
<br/>
"Easy there." Again, Chris grasps your lapel.<br/>
<br/>
Instinct takes over, and you swing into the dark. Your knuckles brush against something soft, but you've thrown yourself off balance and fall to your hands and knees with a loud grunt. "God. <i>Dammit!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"You're a bad drunk, bro."<br/>
<br/>
"Go fuck yourself! I'm gonna puke. Again." The jog across campus was bad for your guts and bad for your head. You belch as your stomach starts burning again. But this time it comes up more gently, in globs like thick lava that you burp out onto the grass.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Christ," you moan as you fall onto your side. "Hail Mary, full of—"<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, Baldwin, you can't pass out here."<br/>
<br/>
"Not gonna pass out. Just gonna sit here an'—" You squeeze the bridge of your nose. You feel like you did before, hot and burning and a little light-headed. "Keep you company." You burp. "Again."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, okay." Leaves crunch as Chris settles down beside you. "So how was the party?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, <i>killer,</i> brah. Sorry you had to miss it. Bu' thanks for keepin' look out." You put out a fist for a bump.<br/>
<br/>
"You're not heading back?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hff? Nah, 'm too wasted. No, I'm not wasted enough. I got wasted, came out th'other side. Christ. No fun goin' back." You settle onto your elbow and groan. "You should go. Get what you can out've it 'fore it winds down. I'll take watch."<br/>
<br/>
"You'll pass out."<br/>
<br/>
"'Whaz'it fucking matter? No one's comin' out'a check." Your head lolls. "Music's too loud. They's gonna check, they'd'a come out by now." Again, you belch.<br/>
<br/>
You expect Fiore to demur. But to your surprise, he scrambles onto his feet. <br/>
<br/>
"Thanks," he says. "I'll take you up on that." You grunt at him, and chew on a cheek as he shuffles off through the dead leaves.<br/>
<br/>
You wait ten minutes—struggling to stay awake—before calling your old cell phone. It rings a dozen times before a sleepy but irritable voice answers.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Wake up! Wake! <i>Up!</i> You! Dumb! Shit!"<br/>
<br/>
You groan and roll your eyes open. Your cheek feels like gauze, so that the stinging slaps hardly register, but your head rings like a gong. The world reels and swims. But gradually it clarifies.<br/>
<br/>
You're very stiff and cold as you clamber up onto an elbow. "Macklin?" you mutter at the girl who is glaring into your face. "Time'zit?" You shake your head, then gasp at the sheet of pain that tears through your brain.<br/>
<br/>
"That guy is gone!"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Wha' guy? Wha're you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, we'll deal with it later," another voice cuts in. It's Fiore, bending over you. "We'll be late for morning dorm check if we don't hustle."<br/>
<br/>
You let them help you up, but insist on tottering back under your own power. You ask what Vee was yelling about, and she tries telling you, but Chris shuts her down.<br/>
<br/>
You can guess what it's about, though. Vee has found her prisoner flown.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>One o'clock.</i> Thank God Saturday morning classes are over. Your head is pounding, but lunch, aspirin, and coffee have you feeling more human. You probably look like hell, though. The others certainly do.<br/>
<br/>
There are four of you—Chris, Abi, Vee and yourself—perched in Vee's room. She shares it with Kristen, and Kristen would be with you if she wasn't (so the girls' story pretends) back in Saratoga Falls selflessly impersonating a gink named Will Prescott.<br/>
<br/>
"It's not just Prescott who's gone," Vee is saying. "<i>Everything's</i> gone!"<br/>
<br/>
"Even the book?" Chris asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, no," Vee admits. "Just all the stuff we made yesterday."<br/>
<br/>
"What stuff is that?" you demand. "And whose fucking bright idea was to keep it all in one place?"<br/>
<br/>
"We weren't keeping it in one place! I was down there working on it—"<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck why?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Guys!" Chris raises a hand. "Um, aren't we overlooking the most important part of all this? Prescott didn't just run off with our shit. With the shit he took, he can make himself another disguise, like he did with Abi. Right?" <br/>
<br/>
He looks around. Vee hangs her head, but doesn't deny it.<br/>
<br/>
"Which means," Chris says slowly, "he could be hiding out anyplace. Anyplace at school. Anyplace in the city. He could even be—"<br/>
<br/>
His voice cracks, and he falls silent. Four pairs of eyes shift about the room. All, clearly, with the same thought.<br/>
<br/>
<i>He could be one of us.</i><br/>
<br/>
You'll have to test each other for masks. You see it in Chris's expression. The fucker is going to suggest it. And you'll be exposed.<br/>
<br/>
But Todd Baldwin plays football, and he knows that the best defense is usually a good offense.</span></div></div>


path: 113312121221212112111112222111112121111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Pop Quiz
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"So no one else is gonna say it?" You snort as the other three turn pale faces toward you. You stab at the air with a stiff forefinger. "I'm not gonna sit here for one more <i>goddamn minute!</i> Until I know who I'm sitting here with!"<br/>
<br/>
No one moves.<br/>
<br/>
"Macklin!" you bark. "You were down there with him the longest!"<br/>
<br/>
"You were the last one to see him," Chris retorts.<br/>
<br/>
You wheel on him. "So come at me, bro, if you think—"<br/>
<br/>
"Stop it!" Vee shrieks. "It's not one of us! He isn't! The masks aren't that good!"<br/>
<br/>
"I thought you said they're perfect!"<br/>
<br/>
"For f-faces and bodies, yes," Vee stammers. "The memories don't work as good. It takes time to get them. You have to concentrate, and they don't come fast." She slips Abi a sidelong glance. "Besides, when did Prescott have a chance to get at any of us?"<br/>
<br/>
"Todd left the party early," Chris says. "He went back to the Catacombs to check on Prescott." He turns a hard look on you. "And you were down there with him a really long time."<br/>
<br/>
You come halfway out your chair. "I was down there like five minutes!"<br/>
<br/>
"More like fifty!"<br/>
<br/>
"I came back here first! To my room!"<br/>
<br/>
"How come?" Vee asks.<br/>
<br/>
You glower at her. <br/>
<br/>
"Had to get something," you snap. "Alright, I came back to get that mask we took off him! The one of—" You cast a slit-eyed glance at Abi.<br/>
<br/>
Which gives you an idea.<br/>
<br/>
"Speaking of which, you're awful quiet over there, Steiner," you hiss. "Rest of us are yapping our heads off and you're Little Miss Church-mouse." She shrinks into herself. "Afraid you might say the wrong thing? Maybe the memories are coming a little too slow to be convincing?"<br/>
<br/>
Vee jumps between you and her. "She was with me all night, after I went back to the party with you!"<br/>
<br/>
"How do you know? Everyone was wearing a mask! Maybe she—"<br/>
<br/>
"Let's just check, Vee." Chris pinches the bridge of his nose. "It's the only way we'll be sure. Just check us all out, see if any of us are—" He chokes on his own words.<br/>
<br/>
"Start with Steiner," you say. "She was the one that fucker went after first. And if he got away with the mask of her again, maybe he put it back on and—"<br/>
<br/>
"Alright, just shut up!" Vee bunches up her fists.<br/>
<br/>
You can't help smirking as she turns to Abi. Both girls are very pale, and it looks like they're trembling. <i>End of the road for you, Kristen,</i> you think. <i>Maybe you're not Prescott, but when Chris sees who his "girlfriend" really is—</i><br/>
<br/>
Abi sinks into a chair and shakes her hair out. Vee leans over her. She whispers something you can't make out, and Abi gives just the tiniest nod.<br/>
<br/>
Vee spreads her hand across Abi's brow, and Abi closes her eyes. Vee grips Abi by her temples, and mutters. Her fingers tighten, her knuckles whiten—<br/>
<br/>
And her grip slips. Abi's face remains attached to the front of her skull.<br/>
<br/>
Vee straightens up. "No mask," she says, turning to you with a prim expression of triumph.<br/>
<br/>
You feel your own expression fall. <i>The fuck? That has to be Kristen, she </i>confessed<i> she was Kristen, Vee </i>said<i> she was Kristen!</i><br/>
<br/>
"Okay, Todd," Vee says. "Your turn." She raises a claw-like hand at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Hold it! Fiore first," you bark. "He left lookout after I said I'd relieve him."<br/>
<br/>
"I went to the party!"<br/>
<br/>
"You went off, I didn't see which way you went. You don't touch me," you tell Vee, "till you check out him!"<br/>
<br/>
Chris flushes a bright red but drops into the chair next to Abi. Vee grabs him by the face. She straightens up a second later. "He's clean," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Now you."<br/>
<br/>
"We're all gonna get checked out," Chris snarls. But he turns to his girlfriend. "Abi?"<br/>
<br/>
Vee flashes you a very sour look as she takes the seat that Chris vacates. Abi, looking cool with relief, bends over her friend. <i>Sloppy,</i> you think as she fumbles at Vee's face. <i>It's like she's not even trying.</i><br/>
<br/>
Then you think, <i>Oh!</i><br/>
<br/>
"Okay, you asshole," Vee sneers as she leaps back to feet. "You put it off long enough. Why, what are you scared of?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not scared, just careful. One of us's gotta be ready to take down the imposter." You drop into your chair. "So let's find out if it's me."<br/>
<br/>
Vee smiles—a sharp-toothed, snake-like thing—and advances on you. You can't stop your heart from beating wildly as her nails dig into your temples. <i>Jesus, it's like she really is trying to tear the skin and bone away.</i> Your eyes water as she murmurs to herself and her fingertips work. Your vision goes blurry, and for an instant you think the mask must be coming loose.<br/>
<br/>
Then her hand slips. "Hang on," she mutters, and wipes her fingertips on her shirt. "I have to—"<br/>
<br/>
"Nah!" You slap her away. "You had your chance. You took your best shot but I'm still standing."<br/>
<br/>
"My hand slipped!"<br/>
<br/>
"Did your hand slip when you tried it on Steiner? You got one go at her, you take one go at me. Or else we <i>all</i> get another shot. Better yet, go get the goddamn book, show <i>all</i> of us how the thing works, and we each take turns trying to tear each others' faces off!" You flex your fingers. "I'll go first on Abi."<br/>
<br/>
"It's alright, Vee." There's a tremble in Abi's sigh. "Todd's right, it was a good enough test. It's him." She gives you a half-smile from behind her lank, unwashed hair. "He's being too much of an asshole not to be the real guy."<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks." You grab her and pull her to your chest. She gasps. "Hey Fiore, mind if I kiss your girl, show there's no hard feelings?" He doesn't answer, but Abi punches you in the side. You chortle at her.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Tempers are still fraught, despite trust supposedly being established all the way around. The meeting breaks up, though not before Vee suggests a system of "sign and countersign" to be exchanged any time two of you are alone. "The good'll that do?" you demand. "If Prescott manages to catch and copy any of us—"<br/>
<br/>
"Because like I said, the memories are kind of spotty," she says. Her eyes dart. "He won't be as fast with the answers as the real us."<br/>
<br/>
<i>God, I hope she really believes that,</i> you think as you swagger out of her room.<br/>
<br/>
You celebrate your success with a hot, soapy wash in the communal showers. You have them to yourself—it's early afternoon—but it's not like Todd is shy about shedding his clothes. He's a tight end on the school football team as well as a rower, and the muscles coil and writhe pleasurably under taut skin as you lather yourself all over. Afterward, at a sink with a towel wrapped around your waist, you admire rippling abs and plate-like pecs as you drag a wet comb through your thick brown hair.<br/>
<br/>
Chris is loitering outside your dorm when you return, still wrapped only a towel. "Washington," he murmurs as you stick the key in the lock.<br/>
<br/>
"Shit, we're really doing this? Okay, Washington." <i>Sign is the other person's house; countersign is the first person's house.</i> You push the door open, and Chris follows you in. "Leave it open," you order as he starts to shut the door behind him. "In case you ain't you." You grin at him. He makes a face, but leaves the door ajar.<br/>
<br/>
"Why'd you take Abi's mask from my room?" he asks from behind folded arms.<br/>
<br/>
You shrug and let the towel drop to the floor. "I was drunk. Seemed like a good idea at the time."<br/>
<br/>
"You like taking stuff from my room when you're drunk?"<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up, bro. You wanna know what I was thinking, I was thinking I was doing you a solid."<br/>
<br/>
"How?"<br/>
<br/>
You shrug again, and open the flat-pack cupboard where Todd keeps his fresh clothes.<br/>
<br/>
"What you were telling me last night," you say. "About you and Abi and the, you know." You glance at the doorway as there's a rush of feet in the halls; multiple doors fly open and slam. "The thing we took off Prescott. Remember what you were telling me? About how maybe you could put it on and then you and Abi could—" You waggle your eyebrows at him as you whip on some boxers.<br/>
<br/>
"Shit."<br/>
<br/>
"It's a fucking sweet play if you do it. 'Cept you can't do it now, right? Not 'til we find Prescott and get the stuff back from him." You pull on fresh slacks. "Anyway, I was moving it out to the Catacombs, so you'd have it there when you and Abi wanted to do it. I mean you don't want to do it here, where someone can catch you."<br/>
<br/>
"It't not your job to keep track of my—! My—"<br/>
<br/>
"Your sex toys? No. But I told you I was drunk. Hey, what's going on out there?" you shout as there comes another elephant-like charge through hallway. You brush past Chris and step out the door, almost colliding with Dalton Reeves. "What's up?" you demand.<br/>
<br/>
"Dorm sweep, Baldwin." Your fellow prefect turns a cold face at you. "Illicit party last night, and I'm checking my house for contraband."<br/>
<br/>
You grin at him. He knows you set up the party, but you're not in his house, so he can't touch you.<br/>
<br/>
"You think maybe they brought doggie bags home?" You laugh. "Lemme have some if you find anything."<br/>
<br/>
Reeves glares, then steps past to bang his fist on the next door down. "Dorm sweep! Open up!" He grabs the knob and pushes inside.<br/>
<br/>
You suck in a cheek. Vee is in Reeves's house, and she'll have to clear out of her room for the sweep. This might be your best chance to make your own sweep of it.</span></div></div>


path: 1133121212212121121111122221111121211111
author_id: seuzz
title: Search for Tomorrow
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Listen, man," you tell Fiore after ducking back inside your room. "I'm sorry I took your thing. I promise I won't touch it again if we get it back for you. We cool now?" Fiore grimaces but nods. "Brah." You punch him in the shoulder. "We'll get it back, we'll nail that guy's ass to the ground, and then we'll have some fun. You know?"<br/>
<br/>
You cross the room to gaze out the window at the traffic circle below, where a dozen of the Jefferson kids are milling about while Dalton searches their rooms. "That book," you muse aloud. "Abi and Vee still have it?" Your heart races in anticipation of the answer.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, I guess."<br/>
<br/>
"Whaddaya mean, you guess?" You wheel from the window, to pull a fresh shirt from the cupboard. "They checked? Like, since Prescott went AWOL with our shit?"<br/>
<br/>
"I guess so," Fiore repeats, but his tone is cautious.<br/>
<br/>
You give him a very steady look.<br/>
<br/>
"Confirm," you tell him as you button up your shirt. "We need to know where it is at <i>all times.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sure they got it covered."<br/>
<br/>
"Famous last words, man. Ask them where it is, then come tell me."<br/>
<br/>
"Why do you need to know where it is?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Damn.</i> In your eagerness to locate the <i>Libra,</i> you may have pushed too hard. You cover your discomfort by pretending to concentrate on knotting your tie. <br/>
<br/>
"I guess I don't," you admit. "But I also guess I'd like to know. Fucking valuable piece of property, right? Don't <i>you</i> wanna know where it is? Like knowing where your car is?" You cinch up your tie. "If we figure out how to do half the shit that gink figured out, that'd be <i>fine!</i>" You slap Chris in the chest and drop onto the bed to pull on socks and loafers.<br/>
<br/>
Fiore nods unhappily, and says he'll go talk to the girls. "And while you're at it," you add as he turns to go, "ask 'em to check in on Kristen. I know we're in a panic about Prescott hiding out here, but he's probably running for home. They told us Kristen is at his house, pretending to be him, right?"<br/>
<br/>
Chris nods.<br/>
<br/>
"Then what's he gonna do if he goes home and finds an imposter there? Ten to one he takes her out to the river and pushes her head under the water."<br/>
<br/>
Chris turns very pale. "You don't really think he'd do that, do you?"<br/>
<br/>
"What would <i>you</i> do," you ask as you pull on your jacket, "if you went home and found a, a whatchacallit, an evil twin, living at your house?" Fiore's lips disappear. "I know what I'd do. I got a Glock back home, tucked up safe where even my dad doesn't know about. I'd take it and the fucker out to the marsh that backs onto our land and—" You mime shooting Chris in the head. <br/>
<br/>
"Tell Abi we don't want Kristen taking any chances," you continue. "We need her back here anyway. Dalton's gonna start wondering how come she's dodging dorm checks."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're pleased with your talk with Fiore, and especially with the brainstorm about pulling Kristen back inside Xavier's. It'll really fuck with her plans to impersonate Abi. But you want to sweep Macklin's room anyway.<br/>
<br/>
You're a prefect, so you don't get so much as a second glance as you stalk into the girls wing. The room that Vee and Kristen share is at the very end, directly across from Abi's. You listen at Abi's door, then at Vee's, before rapping a knuckle on the latter.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I thought you were Dalton," a voice gasps behind you. You look over. Tammy-Lynn Ackers has stuck her head out of the dorm next door.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Fuck!</i> If you find only part of your shit in Vee's room, and "Tell-All Ackers" tells Vee she saw you at her door, there could be hell to pay.<br/>
<br/>
"What are you still doing in your room, Ackers?" you coldly demand. "You're in Jefferson, and Reeves is doing a dorm sweep."<br/>
<br/>
She flushes. "I was just leaving." <br/>
<br/>
"Then get your ass downstairs and out front before I write you up. I'll see if I can roust Macklin and Double-Wide." <i>Will that explain your presence outside Vee's room?</i> "Now!" you bark as Tammy-Lynn hesitates. She jumps, pulls the door shut behind her, and scampers away.<br/>
<br/>
Once she's gone, you test Macklin's knob. It turns, and you slip inside.<br/>
<br/>
It's furnished in the usual style. Two beds, headboard to headboard. Two narrow desks against the wall opposite. A flatboard cupboard at the far end. It's one of the nicer rooms, too, with a large, north-facing window.<br/>
<br/>
You make a fast sweep, checking the cupboard first, but it is empty of everything save clothes. (At least it's not a total waste. You put a fresh pair of panties to your nose, and sniff.) You search the desk drawers and the spaces behind the desks. (Nothing but power cords, connected to the laptops and charging stations.) Under the beds? Not even dust bunnies. You pat the coverlets and slide your hand under the pillows. Nothing.<br/>
<br/>
Hands on your hips, you glare at the two footlockers. They should be open, so that Reeves can inspect the contents, but they're locked, which means that Vee and Kristen haven't been back to prepare for the sweep. That means any contraband—including your stuff—should still be in the room. Betting odds are it's inside the lockers.<br/>
<br/>
But there's no point in brooding over it. You lift your eyes to study the walls and cornices. The room is bare of panelling, but Abi has a loose brick she hides her pills behind, and there are persistent rumors of secret panels and passages, leftovers from the days when Founders Hall was the mansion of a nineteenth-century robber baron. But you'll be damned if you can spot anything that looks like a loose board.<br/>
<br/>
You're about to give up when a wrinkle in one of the bedspreads gives you an idea. There's nothing under the beds or under the sheets. But under the mattresses?<br/>
<br/>
"Jackpot, brah," you mutter to yourself as you pull a mask from between the mattress and the box springs. The name WILLIAM MARTIN PRESCOTT floats over its inner surface, and Shelly's name floats inside the second mask you pull out. Neither one is sealed with special sauce—these are the disguises that Vee and Kristen used when visiting your golems.<br/>
<br/>
But the <i>Libra</i> isn't with them, and you shove the masks under your jacket when you hear a hard rap on a nearby door. "Dorm sweep!" A door rattles open, but the hall is empty as you duck out and hustle away on tiptoes, the two masks inside your jacket, tucked up inside your armpits.<br/>
<br/>
You don't get far, though. You've just swung into the central hallway when Scott Ricci bursts out of the south wing and falls in beside you.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey man," he pants. "I, uh, got that project paper for you to look at. Back in my room?" He gives you a wet and worried look, and jerks his head back the way he came.<br/>
<br/>
<i>What project paper?</i> you almost ask. Then you read the thought behind his desperate stare. He should be downstairs, out front, with the rest of the poor bastards whose rooms are being searched.<br/>
<br/>
<i>There must be a ton of contraband in the place,</i> you think, <i>if Ricci and Tell-All are risking Reeves's wrath by loitering on the second floor when they should be outside.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Okay, let's look at it," you reply, and follow him back into the south wing.<br/>
<br/>
There's a fat book bag resting on his bed, and it clinks and sloshes as he unzips it. There's at least three bottles inside, plus a carton of cigarettes, and God only knows what buried at the bottom.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, man, you lift all that from the party?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"No. Jared and Sean got their stash, and me and Rob got ours. We usually slip it to Chan and Knight when there's a raid, but they went into town." <br/>
<br/>
He turns worried, puppy-dog eyes up at you. "Can you take it back to your room till the sweep's over? Name your price."<br/>
<br/>
You hesitate. Technically, Ricci shouldn't even be subject to a sweep. He's in your house (Washington), and Reeves only has direct jurisdiction over Jefferson. But Ricci's roommate is in Jefferson, so Ricci's stuff has to get searched too. Todd typically looks out for his charges, and they reward him with loyalty. Taking Ricci's bag is exactly the kind of solid Todd would do for him.<br/>
<br/>
The masks are slipping from beneath your armpits, so you end the conversation with a nod. "Thanks, man," Ricci gasps in relief. "Whatever I can do—"<br/>
<br/>
"You can get out of here before Reeves catches you up here. I'll close up."<br/>
<br/>
Ricci nods, tosses off a quick salute, and scurries out, mouthing a fast "Thanks again!" at you from the doorway. You let the masks slip down and clatter to the floor. <br/>
<br/>
Then you scoop them up with a soft cuss word. <br/>
<br/>
You now regret letting yourself be panicked into running off with them. You still need to find the <i>Libra,</i> and Vee and Kristen will go on high alert when they find the masks missing. But you can't sneak them back into their room, at least not yet: Reeves locks up after his searches.<br/>
<br/>
You could just put them in your own footlocker, or take them back to Saratoga Falls, and deal as best you can with the paranoia you will have stoked by taking the masks.<br/>
<br/>
Or, it occurs to you as you glance around Ricci's room, you could feed that paranoia, and at the same time throw a smelly red herring across the pursuers' path, if you planted and "discovered" the masks here, in Ricci's room, after ordering your own sweep of Washington dorms. That might smoke Vee and Kristen into bringing the <i>Libra</i> back out where you could grab it.</span></div></div>


path: 11331212122121211211111222211111212111113
author_id: seuzz
title: The Conspirators
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Scott Ricci's footlocker is open—as it should be for inspection—so it's the work of three seconds to shove the masks to its bottom. Then you sling Ricci's book bag, with its clinking contraband, onto your shoulder and carry it down to your room.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You chew the inside of your cheek and massage the knob of the shift-stick as you swing through the last curve outside Lattyville and head into the straight-away. <i>Chancy chancy chancy,</i> you think.<br/>
<br/>
Then: <i>Fuck it.</i> You push the accelerator in. Its purr rising to a roar, Todd Baldwin's Mustang leaps ahead, surging past the sixty mph mark and hugging ninety before you modulate the gas intake. You chew your way through three miles of interstate in a shade under two minutes before braking back beneath the speed limit as you enter the first curve on the other side.<br/>
<br/>
You study the rear-view mirror and grin: <i>No cops.</i><br/>
<br/>
It's a risky thing, speeding along the short stretch of highway between Lattyville and Saratoga Falls in a red sports car with out-of-state plates, and Todd's been busted three times already.<br/>
<br/>
<i>But damn! it feels good to play with his toys.</i><br/>
<br/>
Todd Baldwin comes from a peculiar and nearly unique intersection of the elite and blue-collar worlds. His grandfather built a small hardware store into a regional chain of home-improvement and supply warehouses in Pennsylvania and upstate New York before selling out (for a fortune) to Home Depot. Then he and Todd's father—who had earned a business degree at a state university—grew that fortune through sharp Wall Street wheeling dealing. Both of them brag of having never lost touch with a hard-scrabble youth of long hours and short meals in the muddy back fields of rural Pennsylvania.<br/>
<br/>
And so here is Todd, raised in the scrubby countryside by two hard-knuckled men (and their quiet, cowed wives) to claw and pummel his way to success—best at peewee football, best at soccer, best at basketball in his hole-in-the-fields elementary and middle schools—while being pampered with electronic games, expensive sports equipment, private jungle gyms, and (since puberty) an expensive private-school education. Rich enough to hold his head up with the trust-fund babies; hard enough to put down anyone who gets in his face.<br/>
<br/>
And spoiled enough to think he deserves to have whatever he wants to take.<br/>
<br/>
So when a bedraggled Abigail Steiner—looking like she hasn't washed or even brushed her hair in a week—crawls out of Will Prescott's truck behind the St. Francis Xavier church, you loose a hard guffaw and advance on her with exactly the medicine you know will make her feel better.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, get off!" she exclaims, and turns away in disgust as you take her shoulders in both hands and press yourself onto her. "Todd!"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, shh, come on!" You grip and knead her shoulders. "I'm trying to make you feel better."<br/>
<br/>
"She's had a tough day," Shelly says as she and your replacement twin join you. "My mom's been in and out of the workroom, and she's had to hide out in the woodshed a couple of times."<br/>
<br/>
"No wonder you look like shit," you tell Abi with a chortle. "No, seriously, you look fine," you tell the golem as you stand back to give her a critical gander. "Very fine," you murmur.<br/>
<br/>
There is something very alluring about her dishevelment. Instead of the poised and arrogant girl in her crisp uniform, you're holding a surly, glowering wildcat dressed in calf- and arm-baring sweats and t-shirt. The clothes (Shelly's, you'd guess) are too small for her, and it's easy to imagine the fun that'd come with peeling them off her and pressing fingers and other appendages into her soft and grimy parts. You do drop a hand to pinch her ass, and she squeals and twists away.<br/>
<br/>
"God," you exclaim. "I never fantasized about seeing you like this, Abi, but I think I'm gonna start. Every night."<br/>
<br/>
But before you can start drooling, Shelly interrupts you. "Boss," she says, "shouldn't we be taking care of business?"<br/>
<br/>
You sigh and release Abi while pulling hard on Todd's reins. <i>It was the drive in the Mustang that did it,</i> you tell yourself. <i>A hot car, a hard body, and this dirty girl at the end of the drive. Gimme a ten-ounce steak and a good beer, and this would be Todd's idea of heaven.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Okay then," you growl. "Got the keys to the storeroom? Let's go in."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It all goes pretty quickly, like it needs to. There were no problems moving things and people around this morning, the golems report. The one that looks like Will Prescott successfully picked up the one that looks like Abigail Steiner at the school, and with her and the supplies you stole off Vee made it back over to where the golem that looks like Shelly Nolan is living. They have brought themselves and the goods with them to the church, where your other supplies are. Once you're inside, you take a moment to pull the masks off the golems, just to double-check that everyone is where they are supposed to be.<br/>
<br/>
Then you take out the special stuff that puts a golem inside a mask. You paint it on the inside of the mask of Shelly, and move it onto Todd.<br/>
<br/>
That leaves you ready to take stock.<br/>
<br/>
Abi and Todd are now sidelined, being hidden under the obedient faces of Will Prescott and Shelly Nolan. You have a spare mask of Abi, one that will obey your commands, and you have a spare golem that will also obey your commands. You have a mask of Westside's Coach Acuna, and a mask of a woman ("Ruth") who doesn't actually exist. You also have the supplies to make more masks—<br/>
<br/>
But you don't have the <i>Libra.</i><br/>
<br/>
That's a real bitch.<br/>
<br/>
But you do feel like you've got a good handle on the situation now. For the first time since those assholes grabbed you, you feel like you don't have to improvise just to stay safe.<br/>
<br/>
You give Abi's mask to Shelly with orders to hang onto it, and you order her and Will to keep you posted on anything that they hear from the others at Xavier's. Then you return to the school.<br/>
<br/>
You get a text from Fiore on the drive back, and when you hit the straightaway you call him back direct. "What's up?"<br/>
<br/>
"Bad news," he says. "The girls say they can't find the book."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You bang on Abi's door with the side of your fist, then without waiting for an answer you twist the knob. It's locked. You give the door a savage kick. "Steiner!" you roar. "I know you're in there! Open the fuck up!"<br/>
<br/>
Chris lays a hand on your shoulder, but you throw it off.<br/>
<br/>
Then the door behind you opens, and a hateful voice hisses, "We're in here, dumbass!"<br/>
<br/>
You wheel with a glower and throw Fiore aside as you stalk into the room that Vee and Kristen share. The two girls glare back at you. But not until Fiore closes the door does anyone speak.<br/>
<br/>
All at once.<br/>
<br/>
You shut the others up by shoving a pile of books off a desk, sending them crashing to the floor. "Todd, you asshole!" Vee spits.<br/>
<br/>
"What is this bullshit about losing the book?" you yell.<br/>
<br/>
"That's what we're trying to tell you!" Vee retorts. "Dalton must have confiscated it."<br/>
<br/>
"Bullshit! Why would Reeves—? And have you asked him? Steiner, you're a prefect, why the fuck don't you go ask the son of a bitch about it?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're a prefect too!"<br/>
<br/>
You wheel for the door.<br/>
<br/>
"Wait!" Vee says. "We don't want to be associated with it!"<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck why not?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's <i>Satanic!</i>" she hisses. "That's how come he would'a taken it! It's got a pentagram on it and everything. Magic sigils! You know Reeves. I'm not saying he's religious, exactly, but he is a fanatic about rules!"<br/>
<br/>
You grab the door handle anyway. "Well, I can still ask him if he took anything from your room. I'm not tied into it."<br/>
<br/>
"Dr. Shutt will have it by now!" Vee says. That's the Jefferson house master. "Or Dr. Wissner." That's the head of the whole school.<br/>
<br/>
"Then you're fucked for having Satanic literature in your room. But I can still confirm with Dalton he lifted it."<br/>
<br/>
The two girls seem paralyzed, and neither can object when you stalk outside.<br/>
<br/>
Fiore catches up to you in the main hallway. "You're not going to really ask Reeves if he— Uh, are you?" he asks as he patters.<br/>
<br/>
"Why not? It doesn't matter. He's gonna say he didn't take shit off'a Macklin."<br/>
<br/>
"Why's that?"<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos he didn't. Oh, open your fucking eyes, man." You wheel on Fiore. "They're covering up. Fucking perfect for them, having that dorm search staged. I'll bet money they asked Reeves to do it."<br/>
<br/>
"What?" Chris's brow furrows. "Why would—?"<br/>
<br/>
"To cover up for themselves! They ain't sharin' the book with us, man. And that Prescott gink ain't hidin' out here. Macklin let him go. Put the fear of herself into, then sent him scampering home. Or she's got him stashed someplace, pumping him for info about how the stuff works." <br/>
<br/>
You sigh as Fiore's expression grows even more puzzled.<br/>
<br/>
"They're pretending the book got confiscated in the dorm search," you explain to him, "'cos they don't wanna share it with us. They're probably gettin' ready to bug out with it." You jab in in the shoulder with a hard finger. "Go ask your girlfriend, one on one, what happened. See if you get a different story out of her. But it's just way too convenient, the book disappearing right when there's a dorm search, and when, like, we're all in a panic. They're jumping for the lifeboats, man. And they ain't saving room for you in one of them."<br/>
<br/>
You hope you've put Fiore into a proper, paranoid panic with your conspiracy mongering.<br/>
<br/>
So do you really need to stage a dorm search of your own? To turn up those masks you hid in Ricci's room?</span></div></div>


path: 1133121212212121121111122221111121212
author_id: seuzz
title: The Sorceress's Apprentice
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>(with an assist by Masktrix)<br/>
<br/>
"Shelly's gone," you tell Vee. "You don't have to worry about her."<br/>
<br/>
"Where'd she take off to?" Vee asks.<br/>
<br/>
You are suddenly very hot, and your forehead starts to burn. <i>Is it guilt?</i> you wonder.<br/>
<br/>
"She didn't take off anyplace," you reply. "She—" Your throat briefly closes. "She did something to herself. Something bad."<br/>
<br/>
There's a dead silence from the other side of the bunker. It's like a void has opened, swallowing up all sound.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh-huh?" Vee finally says. "Wanna tell me about it?" There's a scrape of metal against metal.<br/>
<br/>
Your brain is starting to overheat. <i>What's the point of fighting anymore?</i> you wonder. They've got you lashed up tight, and once Vee finishes that mind band you won't have any secrets from her. She and the others will know all about Shelly and what happened. Probably they'll think it's funny. <i>Dumb Ginny Weasley wannabe fucked herself up good.</i><br/>
<br/>
But you can at least offer a kind of confession before everything ends for you.<br/>
<br/>
"She turned herself into a golem."<br/>
<br/>
The scraping stops. "What's that?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's the things we left behind, to pretend to be us. Well, sort of. You told me you pulled the mask off Shelly? When you went to see her?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. There was like a lumpy rock thing underneath." <br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh. That's a golem. Well, that's what we called them. The book has another name for them." You feel dizzy and the room starts to spin. "You'll read about it, when you find the spell. Takes a fuck-ton of dirt to make one. From a cemetery."<br/>
<br/>
"So where's Shelly?"<br/>
<br/>
You let out a deep sigh, and slip a little further into darkness. "She tried a spell on herself. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. Dumb—" You catch yourself before you can make the "Ginny Weasley" joke yourself. "It's like the spell that makes the golem. It comes after it. It fucked her up. Turned her into a statue."<br/>
<br/>
The room is spinning hard now, and you are numb from the neck down. A voice spirals out of the darkness, but you can't make out the words, and you don't care.<br/>
<br/>
Fire explodes across your scalp, and your eyes jerk open. A pale face presses close to yours.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't pass out on me, Will," Vee hisses at you, and she pulls your head up by the roots of your scalp. "What did you say? About a statue?"<br/>
<br/>
"A statue," you repeat. "Ginny turned herself into a statue."<br/>
<br/>
"Ginny? You mean Shelly?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Looks just like her. I hid her out in—" <i>Where did you move her?</i> "The Catholic church. 'Cos Coach Acuna—"<br/>
<br/>
"In the basement?" Vee says. She pulls harder at your hair, until you gasp. "A statue that looks just like her?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah!" You blink tears away. "Oh yeah!" The memory swims back from the depths. "You found her! You and Abi and— You went down into the basement and were looking around. I saw you! You didn't see me, though."<br/>
<br/>
"That was Shelly? The real Shelly Nolan?" Vee lets go of your hair, and your head falls.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah." A lump forms in your throat. "She killed herself. With magic. Fuck." You screw your eyes up against the tears. "It's a bad book. It'll fuck you up."<br/>
<br/>
You try to stifle the wave of horror and self-pity that washes over you. Vee says nothing. Her feet scrape across the concrete.<br/>
<br/>
But even the nauseating horror you feel at thinking of the pale, wide-eyed expression on Shelly Nolan's stony countenance can't hold back the darkness that, like a surging tide, rises to engulf you.<br/>
<br/>
Once, you think you hear the clink of metal scraping and banging against concrete. But it's probably just a dream.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wake to feel someone rubbing and squeezing your calves. You lift your head, and find yourself sprawling face-down on a blanket. Hair falls into your eyes. Through it, you can just make out a grayish patch of concrete.<br/>
<br/>
The rubbing ceases. "You're awake?" a hatefully familiar voice says.<br/>
<br/>
You whip over and scramble back, kicking. Vee jumps away from you.<br/>
<br/>
"Easy there, Will," she says, her unwinking eyes flashing. She holds up a knife, its tip pointed at you. "I'll use this if I have to."<br/>
<br/>
You lick your lips, and push long locks of hair from your face. Only after you and Vee have stared at each other for a solid minute do you realize that you feel fine. Refreshed, even.<br/>
<br/>
There's a flutter at Vee's throat as she swallows. Then she lowers the blade.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm being nice to you, Will. Extremely nice. A hell of a lot nicer than I probably should be. You understand? I could have left you tied up until Kristen was ready for you. Right?"<br/>
<br/>
You nod. You can't even find the words to form a question.<br/>
<br/>
"So you don't run off. We're going to leave campus, and you're not going to run off. There's something in it for you if you don't. If you do run off, there's nothing for you. We'll come and we'll get you. Right? You'll never see us coming. But if you stick around, do what you're told, there'll be lots—"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I get it!" you exclaim. Your voice sounds like a shriek.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, stand up," Vee orders as she gets to her feet. You rise too—<br/>
<br/>
And find that you're half a head shorter than her.<br/>
<br/>
You glance down just in time to see the slacks slump to your ankles. The sports jacket hangs open, and a pair of small but perfectly shaped boobs peek out.<br/>
<br/>
Your hands, when you lift them, are tiny, with tapered fingers.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Okay, you can sit up now," Vee shouts. You throw off the blanket and sit up, blinking, in the back seat of her car. Again, you have to brush the loose curls from your face as you whirl to look out the back window. The campus of the St. Francis Xavier School is vanishing behind you into the morning fog.<br/>
<br/>
Holding up the comically oversized slacks in one hand, and clutching shut the voluminous jacket with the other, you had hurried over to Vee's car after she brought it around in front of the Greek amphitheater (under which she and the others had been hiding you). You hid in the back under the blanket as she drove off campus, and are now on your way to Lattyville, the closest village to the school. Vee has told you she's going to put you up in a motel room.<br/>
<br/>
"Just for a day or two," she says, and repeats her warning about not running off. "Until we can get Kristen's mask made."<br/>
<br/>
That would have been a threat last night, when she had you tied up. Now— Well, it's still a threat of a kind, but it's a much less awful one.<br/>
<br/>
Because Vee is not going to let them turn you into an obedient duplicate of Kristen.<br/>
<br/>
"I want your help, Will," she resumes now that you're away on the road from St. Xavier's. "And you need mine," she reminds you. (It seems to prey on her, the thought that you'll run off or otherwise betray her.) "You help me and I'll help you."<br/>
<br/>
"Right," you say, impatient for her to come to the point.<br/>
<br/>
Still she hesitates, and licks her lips. "I'll help you fix Shelly," she says, "and I'll hide you from the others. We'll put Kristin's mask on Gail Lattimore. No one will know it isn't you."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Gail Lattimore</i> The girl whose face you are now wearing.<br/>
<br/>
"Why do you want to fix Shelly?" you ask. "What makes you think she can be unfucked?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know if she can be. And I don't give a shit, either. But I know you want to unfuck her. And I know you'll help me if, you know, I promise to help you."<br/>
<br/>
<i>As if I'm going to believe you,</i> you think.<br/>
<br/>
"Also," she says, "I need a study partner for the book."<br/>
<br/>
<i>The fuck?</i> you think.<br/>
<br/>
"What you told me about Shelly," Vee continues. "Last night. It got me thinking. What happens if something like that happens to me? Or to Abi and them," she adds (but it sounds like an afterthought). "We need a back up. A fail safe. Someone who can, maybe, unfuck us if something goes wrong."<br/>
<br/>
This is unendurable. "And you trust me to unfuck you if you fuck yourselves up?" you demand before you can stop yourself.<br/>
<br/>
She whips around long enough to show you a white, haggard face. Fury boils up in her dark eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"We're not going to fuck anything up," she hisses as she turns her face back to the road. "We're going to be super careful, and if we do have to try anything dangerous, we've got a <i>whole fucking school</i> we can try it out on! But—" She takes a deep, shuddering breath, and masters herself. "It's always good to have an insurance policy."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh."<br/>
<br/>
"Besides," she says, "like I told you last night, I don't want to share Abi with Kristen. I want someone else's life. And I want <i>you,</i> Gail, to help me find them."<br/>
<br/>
You slump and fold your arms. <i>Shit.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wait in the car while Vee gets you a room in a sooty little motel. She's got one more thing to tell you after she's put you in it.<br/>
<br/>
"I know you, Will, even though you think I don't." She points to her temple. "But I know everything you know, and everything you remember." You suck in a sharp breath. "That's how come I know you'll do anything to help Shelly.<br/>
<br/>
"It's also how I know that you're not the good guy you think you are. You're no better than me and my friends. That's how come you'll be happy to be Gail, once I finish making her disguise for you. And why you'll be happy to pick out another life for yourself, after you've helped me pick out one for me."</span></div></div>


path: 11331212122121211211111222211111212121
author_id: masktrixie
title: Vee for Vendetta
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The motel room is cheaper than any place you’ve ever stayed in, and almost certainly cheaper than any place Gail Lattimore has stayed in. “You know I could just run, right?” you say. “I could just phone me – or rather, Abi-as-me – and get her to come pick me up. Or the Shelly golem.”<br/>
<br/>
Vee looks almost disappointed in you, shaking her black hair dismissively. “Oh, Will, don’t make me disappointed in you. I already messaged them,” Vee says with a shrug, tapping her head again. “Your brain, remember? Last night Kristen almost called ‘em up trying to play at being Abi, but I told her to take her fun elsewhere. They won’t look for you unless you tell them to – and you’re not going to do that. Because, if you do, I’m going to fuck up your world.” She smiles. “Think about it. I’ve got the book and I know everything you do. Mom, Dad, little Robert. I could ruin any of their lives. Or maybe I’ll make things hard for Caleb or Keith. Really, Will, you’d be surprised how…” her voice trails off. “Fuck,” she hisses.<br/>
<br/>
“What?”<br/>
<br/>
Vee chews her a lip a moment, sucking those narrow lips even narrower as she mulls over the idea that’s just flashed through her mind. “Never mind,” she snaps. “Just because I’m helping you doesn’t make us confidantes.” She stands up, straightening her posture, that raven-black hair and sharp, vicious nose casting a strange silhouette in the early morning light. “For now, sleep tight. I’ve got classes until lunchtime, and you’ve had a traumatic experience.” She pats the side of your head, poking Gail’s thick locks against your cheeks. “I’ll be back later with some clothes, a little money, and a cell for you to use.” She fishes out a twenty. “That should cover ordering a pizza for lunch.” She walks to the door and pauses once more. “And don’t try to contact anyone. I’ll know. I’ve been very good to you. I didn’t need to be. And if you keep behaving, we’re both going to get everything we want.” Without another world, Vee heads out – leaving you to wonder what the hell she’s planning.<br/>
<br/>
You scratch Gail’s chin, wondering what plan hatched in Vee’s mind while you were watching. You wonder what you’re going to do. Right now, the best option seems to be to play along with Vee. Shelly’s death seems to have scared her, and the fact that you’re alive and not under her control suggests you might be able to make it out of this situation. She’s not the study partner you want but, perhaps, in a twisted way, Davina Macklin is the study partner you need. She’s clearly whip-smart, and if she can help you unravel how to rescue and restore Shelly, you don’t really care if she takes the book and transplants herself into another life. She’s made it clear you’re just a stepping stone for her – and that suits you just fine.<br/>
<br/>
You walk over to the bathroom, and stare into the mirror. Gail Lattimore isn’t a looker. Her eyes are too large for her head, and her nose is like a stub in the center of pasty face with wild, thick hair on either side. You think about grabbing a shower, but you’ve barely walked a step before the wave of mental fatigue hits you. The storm drain, the fever, the delirium… it’s all too much. Instead, you slump on top of the motel room mattress, the springs giving way under your slight body, and close your eyes.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
“Wakey, wakey, Gail.” You stir, rolling off your back, a tiny trace of drool hanging out of the corner of your mouth. Gail, it seems, is a dribbler. You blink yourself awake, and see the unexpected form of Abigail Steiner standing over you. The brunette smiles, hands threaded behind her back innocently as she looks down at you.<br/>
<br/>
“Vee?” you ask. Abi rolls her eyes, but the smile remains there.<br/>
<br/>
“Who else?” she coos. “I want to keep Kristen thinking we’re going to share Abi, so I decided to take a turn. Funny, her memories don’t seem to have come through for me, either. What’s the trick?”<br/>
<br/>
“No trick,” you say. “I don’t know why I get the memories faster than everyone else. For me, stepping into Abi’s life was like… I dunno. Slipping on a pair of shoes. It just kind of happened.”<br/>
<br/>
“Hmm.” Abi narrows her eyes a moment, then shrugs. “I believe you. Chris and Todd'll have to pick carefully, then. They're currently scoping out possible mask candidates to play around with. It’ll keep ‘em busy for a few days. Long enough to enact my plan.”<br/>
<br/>
You fold your arms. “This where you’re going to monologue like some supervillain?”<br/>
<br/>
“Ha!” Abi hops onto the bed next to you. For a split second you consider ripping the mask off her and laying Vee out cold, but it’s too risky. “Why can’t I? You’re practically the only person I can share things with.” She grins like a vulture appraising its next carcass. “It came to me while I was thinking about reprisals if you crossed me. I realized that, if I could screw up yours I could screw up someone else’s? And that’s when the identity I want hit me, like a million-watt bulb burning straight into my brain. An identity that solves two problems at once.”<br/>
<br/>
You tilt Gail’s head to one side, wondering if Vee is going to get to her point. There’s an ugliness to how she thinks in Abi’s skin.<br/>
<br/>
“This book is going to take me all the way to the top, and that means ditching Todd, Chris and Kristen. But I can’t abandon them at Xavier’s without raising suspicions. Even if I became little Sherri, heiress to a fortune, it’s not like I could leave the school unnoticed until Christmas at the earliest. But! I know a girl with all the money in the world who could run off to LA or New York and nobody would think it unusual for a second. Better yet, before I steal her face, we can make sure she gets what’s coming to her.”<br/>
<br/>
“Who’s that?” you ask, Gail’s eyes blinking a little. <br/>
<br/>
She practically chews out the name. “Alex. Day.”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, who?” If that was supposed to be a dramatic reveal, it’s fallen decidedly flat.<br/>
<br/>
“Alex Day?” She asks, Abi’s eyebrows knitting in uncertainty. “You gotta know her. She lives in Saratoga Falls. Has to go to your school. Our age, short, rebellious? Got some weird graffiti artist kick?”<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head. “No clue,” you say. “Doesn’t sound like anyone who goes to Westside. Maybe she’s at Eastman.”<br/>
<br/>
“Holy shit,” Abi laughs, “Saratoga Falls is big enough for two high schools? Westside and <i>Eastman</i>? What would the third be? Northgate? Southrise?”<br/>
<br/>
You give her a hard stare, then, instinctively flinching away from Abi’s hazel eyes, just look down and shrug.<br/>
<br/>
“Well, no matter. I guess your first job is to get into Eastman, then. Gail’s face will help you there.” She gestures over to the bag. “I’ve bought you some clothes, a cell, a little money. Should be enough until you can replace your first target. I’ve bought you two masks, too. One is all ready to go. The other’s got Kristen’s fat face and mind in it – plus a strand of my hair, naturally.” Vee flicks at Abi’s fingernails, her fingers twitching a little. You watch and wonder if the body she’s borrowed is starting to suffer withdrawals.<br/>
<br/>
“So you want me to slap the mask on this Alex girl, turn her into Kristen, then call you?”<br/>
<br/>
Abi groans, sighing a little. “No, Gail. A few years ago, Alex <i>fucking</i> Day went against me. I managed to get her thrown out of St. X, but that little whore didn’t even seem phased by it. So you are not going to replace her right away. Instead, you’re going to burn down her fucking life. I want you to use your Gail face to get close to someone Alex trusts and swap into them – and don’t even think about using the mask to hide from me, I want a selfie as soon as you’re in your new identity or all bets are off. Whoever the fuck you end up as can be our new Kristen, which should keep Todd and Chris nice and calm. Everything’ll be copacetic and we can move on to stage two.”<br/>
<br/>
“Stage two?” you ask, perhaps the tiredness creeping into your mind. “What exactly do you want me to do once I’m Alex’s bff?” Once again, Abi’s look is one of disappointment.<br/>
<br/>
“Gaslight the bitch. Take your time. Find her weaknesses. Exploit them. Together, we’ll turn her world upside down. Once she’s broken, once all her friends are stripped away and her reign of bullshit is over, I’m going to stand there and laugh when we take away the last thing she has: her very identity.”<br/>
<br/>
You have no idea if the plan is from Vee’s own mind, Abi’s influence, or a twisted combination of both of them. But something about it makes you feel very cold inside. “And what do I get in return?” you ask.<br/>
<br/>
Turning on a dime, Abi’s seriousness twists to a warm friendliness. “While you’re tormenting Day, I’ll see if I can figure out how to fix Shelly. Then, once I’m ready to step into my gateway to the stars, you can pick any life you want as a thank you. Hell, Will. You do a good job with this, I’ll even let you be the new Vee Macklin…”</span></div></div>


path: 113312121221212112111112222111112121211
author_id: masktrixie
title: A Gail Blows Into Town
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You think for a moment, snorting air out of Gail's nose. "Well, I guess I'm in," you say. "Beats sitting around here waiting for you to do whatever. When do I start?"<br/>
<br/>
Abi beams. "That's the spirit! And you can start right away, if you like. I'm heading into Saratoga Falls to get some more supplies - just for myself you understand, no need for the rest of 'em to know about it - and then we're golden. In the meantime, you need to get ready." She points to the bag with a fresh pair of clothes.<br/>
<br/>
You nod, and walk to the bathroom, quietly scooping the bag Abi - Vee - brought with her. Two masks, a change of clothes, a wallet with about $50 and what she probably considers a cheap-ass smartphone. You shrug and begin to get changed, wondering if you're really going to go through with this. It's more vicious than anything you or Shelly would have done. Sure, you've borrowed people's lives, but you've never really done it with malice. If you do this, you're going out of your way to trash this 'Alex Day'. You wonder what she did that was so terrible to make someone like Vee Macklin come after her. Then again, you're not sure you really want to know. The one reassuring fact is that, once you do this, the real Alex won't have to live in anguish for long: Vee's plan seems to be to assume her life without the others knowing. <br/>
<br/>
And it's there, you realize, she's just made her first major mistake. She told you the plan wearing the <i>Abi</i> mask. As it's her first time, and she's still waiting for the memories to come, she hasn't realized that everything she said will change owners with the mask - and Kristen will discover everything Vee intends in short order. You think for a moment about warning her, but then decide against it. Maybe it'd be best if you just let that one play out. Instead, you just walk back into the room. <br/>
<br/>
"How do I look?"<br/>
<br/>
Abi's face is a picture. "Well, for a pervert who seems to like pretending to be girls, you're not very good at it. I'm going to have to do your hair. If you're going to pass as a new girl in town, I can't have you turn up looking like <i>that...</i>"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
Your arrival into Saratoga Falls isn’t heralded. Abi drops you off almost without a word, and you find yourself walking into the center of town, past Arnholm’s and the rare books case that caused all the trouble to begin with. Instead, you head to the Koffee Kauldron to try and get your thoughts together, sinking onto the ‘moon’ table and wondering how you’re going to find your target, nevermind how you’re going to replace them. Alex Day has a Facebook, of course, so you sit with a coffee and browse it. It’s friend-locked, and the public posts are mostly a mix of art she admires along with a few selfies, half of which she has her tongue stuck out toward the camera or seems to be in a tangled mess of bodies. One, in particular, jumps out at you: a photo with her hanging off the neck of a far taller, relatively handsome guy with a small goatee beard and leather jacket. You hover the cursor over, and it pings him as ‘Lane Overstreet’. Your instinct is that it has to be a pseudonym, but you click on his account anyway. It’s hard to get much – he seems to hang out at the north end of town – but if he’s dating Alex he is almost too perfect. Can you assume that much from one photo, though? You keep it to the back of your mind and return to Alex’s account.<br/>
<br/>
She has far too many friends to narrow down who she’s closest with, so you instead rely on likes and comments. The likes aren’t helpful – they seem to be scattered throughout the school – but there’s one commentor she seems to reply to frequently: Isobel Santos. So, you grab a square of caramel shortbread and move to her page instead. How identity thieves ever worked before Facebook is beyond you.<br/>
<br/>
Isobel’s account is also friends-only, so you’re screwed there. But at least there’s a few photos of her with Alex – pictures of the two girls falling over on a couch, legs and arms flailing – while another girl with bleach blonde hair looks on disapprovingly. Isobel herself seems to be a firecracker, a Latina girl whose hair is half-dyed purple, half black, with oversized lips that bunch up against her nose. She seems pretty close to Alex, and so you mark her down as a possible option to get close to your target.<br/>
<br/>
You go back to your web-stalking, peering through mutual friends to try and ID the blonde. She’s the tallest of the group – although as best you can tell, Alex seems to barely grace five foot – and has a completely different style, one that compliments a figure that’s lean rather than buxom. You zoom in on her, chewing your lip as you figure out who the hell she might be.<br/>
<br/>
“Yew falla’a inshag ham? Yah, rayzfookinotlak, cooshitckapropa yunew?” You glance up, only to be met by a grinning boy dressed in a Liverpool soccer shirt. You blink. Did he just talk nonsense, or was it you?<br/>
<br/>
“Huh?”<br/>
<br/>
“Rayzinshagham,” he says with a jab of his finger. You look at the girl, then back at the boy, only to suddenly find him flanked by a pair of red-headed twins. <br/>
<br/>
“Yeah, we follow her too,” one of them says with a crisp British accent. “Fuck you doing in town, anyway, Gail? Thought you full board lot were stuck at the whims of the X Men.”<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh shit they know this girl!</i> “Yeah, well. I got a ride from Abi,” you bluff.<br/>
<br/>
“Abe! Fook’inohpass!” the kid with the speech impediment says. “Howzafookyama nagat?”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh,” you continue, ignoring the interruption. “She said she had to do some errands, and I asked if I could get a ride in. And she said yes, as long as I do some favor for her later.”<br/>
<br/>
“Ah, fuck, Gail,” the left twin says, swinging down. “She’s got you now.”<br/>
<br/>
“Tom’s right,” the other twin agrees. “I know you’re only a fourth former but you’ve been there longer than us, thought you’d have figured out how the economy works by now.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah, well…” you look at the trio. The twins are definitely British, and you assume the other one is too: it’s probably some impenetrable accent. “You three have got your own thing going on. The rest of us don’t.”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, there’s strength in numbers, isn’t there?” Tom says. “Besides, I swear Harry and I are the only people in this entire state who understand what our scouse colleague is saying.”<br/>
<br/>
“Fookov,” the third says, frowning. “Kanadlee’ellpeikifa gaabivanagsen.”<br/>
<br/>
“Anyway,” Harry – you assume – says. “We’re fans of Rae Caldwell ourselves. In fact, we were hoping to meet her at the Warehouse tonight.”<br/>
<br/>
“Angayubssshishta. Fookin dirtee.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes,” Tom says, nodding. “Izzy, we know. Don’t worry, you’ve got dibs.” He turns to you. “You going to be there tonight?”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh,” you think for a moment. “Sure, I mean. Maybe? I hadn’t really thought about it. Plus I’d need to get a ride back.”<br/>
<br/>
“Right,” Harry nods to his brother. “We’d let you stay at ours, of course, but somehow I doubt my parents would approve. I hear rumors there are beds upstairs in the Warehouse, though, if you’re desperate.”<br/>
<br/>
“Nahman,” the boy interrupts again. “Yewcanfookinsugg’ estat. Jusadosshouzinnee, fookin’ shkabbeeeassheee.”<br/>
<br/>
Tom shrugs. “Yes, it’s probably a little unhygienic up there. Hey, you want some company? I’m sure we can all squeeze in.”<br/>
<br/>
As much as the boys might be useful for information, you can’t risk it: you aren’t Gail, and they clearly know the real one. So, instead, you shake your head and stand up. “Sorry, I need to get going. Maybe I’ll catch you later tonight?”<br/>
<br/>
“Probably,” Harry – at least you think it’s Harry – says. “If you do pop down to the Warehouse, we’ll be there are a few pre-drinks. One of the benefits of being a local boarder – we get to sleep off Saturday nights in our own bed before heading back to school on Sunday.”<br/>
<br/>
“Later,” Tom adds, before an incomprehensible “Tarraaaagggghhh” from the third in the trio. You wave to them all, and head back to the streets, hastily putting in ‘Rae Caldwell’ into a search. Sure enough, an Instagram account with about 15,000 followers comes back as the top hit. Opening them up, you see the tall, thin blonde in model poses clearly taken downtown – often with a cup of Cherry Brook’s coffee in her hand.<br/>
<br/>
It’s been a strange afternoon of detective work, but at least you have some leads. As best you can tell, the two people closest to Alex – or at least in her orbit – are Lane Overstreet, Isobel Santos and Rae Caldwell. All you’ve got to do is find one of them and replace them. At a guess, they’re all going to be at the Warehouse tonight, although swapping with any of them there could be hard.<br/>
<br/>
That said, you could try and find one of them now. You know Rae’s preferred coffee house, and you might get lucky and be able to grab her there. And, you think with growing excitement, you aren’t just limited to using your Gail identity either. Vee told you not to contact the golems, but you’re only a few blocks from the church basement – where you’ve got a Carmen Acuna disguise waiting, complete with mind band. It might make your approach even easier.</span></div></div>


path: 1133121212212121121111122221111121212112
author_id: masktrixie
title: Coffee and Cigarettes
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You decide Rae is going to be your ‘in’ with Alex. She seems as friendly with her as anyone, and of all the options is probably the body you’d prefer to end up in, should Vee stick you somewhere. Sure, it’s being a girl again, but Lane looks to have a faint hint of desperation, while Rae’s Instagram posts seem to suggest she’s destined for things bigger than Saratoga Falls – just like Vee’s intentions.<br/>
<br/>
And it’s then you realize that you’ve been so focused on playing with identities that you hadn’t even thought about Shelly Nolan for more than a day, and how your stated goal is to free her from her stone prison. Is that because it’s never been your goal, just something to keep you motivated and excuse everything you’ve done? Or is it because the thought of her is just too acute, like a needle into a nerve, that you’ve done everything you can to block it out? Perhaps it’s a mixture of both. Vee swore that she’d help you with the book, and her prodigious speed at accessing the spells, even without your mind band, suggests she might be the person who can work out what the hell you’re going to do about the torn page that blocks the next spell.<br/>
<br/>
If not, Shelly is dead. And the best you can hope for is to wear a new skin long enough that you can forget that simple truth. Sure, there’s a golem of her, but you don’t know if the masks age at all – if you guess right, they don’t. That means the golem is only going to hold up for a year, maybe two, before everyone gets suspicious. You need to fix Shelly before that. It’s a thought that steels your resolve. If you can keep Vee happy, then maybe you can get to the next spell… or better yet, get the book back completely. <br/>
<br/>
You walk into the Cherry Brook Bakery and take a seat, wondering if you’re even in the right spot, but it’s not like you’ve got anywhere better to be. It’s going to be hours before the Warehouse party begins, and while you’re confident you can get in, you have no idea how much privacy you’ll be able to get to make a switch – there might be rooms upstairs, but it’s not like you’d have any reason to drag one of Alex’s friends off to one. You’re on a timetable, too; if you don’t make the switch tonight, your meagre funds are going to start evaporating, and that’ll mean a night at the Donna Motor Court, a rancid dive motel on the outskirts of town. <br/>
<br/>
You’re almost giving up when the door swings open, and a familiar figure saunters in. Rae Caldwell is just like her Instagram feed: lean, almost like a thin line drawn up from the ground, dressed all in sleek black, with a dirty smile and perfect blonde hair bleached almost to white. She saunters up to the counter and places her order, then curls her lip in boredom, fishing out her cell and flicking through it. <br/>
<br/>
<i>It’s now or never,</i> you figure. You stand up and walk over to her. “Hey,” you begin. “You’re Rae Caldwell, right? I follow you on Instagram.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah?” the girl says, turning. She doesn’t smile, but her eyes flick over you like a scanner reading a barcode. “Huh. Cool.” <br/>
<br/>
“Yeah, I just moved here. To Saratoga Falls, I mean. I’m starting classes at Eastman tomorrow.”<br/>
<br/>
“Tomorrow, wow, you’re keen,” Rae says without hesitating. “Most of us are gonna wait until Monday.” <br/>
<br/>
“Uh, right, yeah! Monday. That’s what I meant. My name’s Gail.”<br/>
<br/>
“Like a really bad rainstorm?” Rae says, still unblinking, before turning to pick up her ice tea. “Relax, I’m fucking with you. Nice to meet you. And it’s cool you follow me on Insta. I figured most of the followers were creepy old dudes in their pants.”<br/>
<br/>
“Gross,” you say, only to get a nod and a smirk. “Yeah, well… ah, c'mon!” She turns to the counter. “R-A-E. It’s R-A-E! How many times do I have to come in here?” The barista shrugs at her comment, and she gives a dismissive roll of the eyes, along with a thin-lipped <i>pffft</i>. “So, where you move to?”<br/>
<br/>
You hadn’t figured on the question, but you decide to stay close to home. “Acheson?”<br/>
<br/>
“Ouch!” Rae laughs. “The township that time forgot. Slowing getting eaten up by the relentless march of Saratoga Falls. Well, I need to get to my peeps. Guess I’ll see you around, New Gail.” She rattles her iced coffee, and begins to walk out. <br/>
<br/>
Rae sidesteps you, and heads out with a long slurp of her ice tea. You didn’t think this far ahead – even if you met her, there’s no way of swapping! You head back to your table, grab your bag and rush out after her, into the evening sun. Fortunately, she hasn’t got far; she seems to have stopped on the pavement outside, and is taking a selfie. She sees you in the image, because almost immediately stops. <br/>
<br/>
“Ugh, c’mon New Gail!” she says, turning around and gesturing to her cell. “I’ve got like a half-hour window to get a good shot.”<br/>
<br/>
You blush for a moment. “Sorry!” you say, scrambling for your next line. “Uh, I thought you were waiting for your friends?”<br/>
<br/>
Rae shrugs. “They’ll be around when I need ‘em. Friend of mine kinda got banned from the Bakery, so she and Izzy usually meet me a…” she stops in her description. “Anyway, I didn’t say that because I was running late. I was just politely saying that I’m going.”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, uh…” Rae looks at you, probably wondering how she’s picked up a stalker. Then it hits you. “Uh, why are you taking the photo here? Around the corner’s much better!”<br/>
<br/>
Rae’s eyebrow flicks up doubtfully. “Around the corner is some lame church,” she says. <br/>
<br/>
“Yeah, I know,” you add. “But it’s got better angles, y’know? I sort of, kind of, dabble in photography! Yeah! And you need good angles. If you want, I can show you?”<br/>
<br/>
Rae’s eyebrow flicks up, this time hanging there longer. Then, with a shrug, she tucks her cell away. “Eh, what the heck it,” she concedes. “Those two can keep someone else waiting. Lead on, amigo.”<br/>
<br/>
She walks over with a confident, if disinterested stride, holding out her iced coffee to you for a moment. Without thinking you accept it, grasping it awkwardly as she reaches into her handbag and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. In moments, she’s whisked a flame to a cigarette between her lips and is exhaling slowly. It’s only when you’ve taken a few strides further that she puts the lighter away and takes the biodegradable cup back. <br/>
<br/>
“This is the best coffee in town,” she says. “Well, best with ethical practices. You know how hard it is to get vegan coffee in Saratoga Falls?”<br/>
<br/>
“Do you mean you drive across town for it?” you ask. Rae stifles a laugh, and takes another drag.<br/>
<br/>
“Not exactly. I live on Harrison, or just off it anyway. This is just an easy walk for me. Speaking of, how’d you get down here? Too far to walk, and you aren’t exactly dressed for cycling. Not entirely sure what you’re dressed <i>for</i>, actually.””<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, parents.” You manage. “Drop off, pick up, y’know.” You cross the road, and walk across the car park to the church, making sure you edge around the back. Rae, for her part, appraises it with a cool demeanor, tilting her head a little. <br/>
<br/>
“Y’know what, New Gail? You’re not half bad at this,” she says, looking at the church spire. “I reckon we could do some pretty good shots here.”<br/>
<br/>
“Actually, you know where’s really good?” you can’t believe how easily this is working. Obviously Rae doesn’t see Gail as any kind of threat. You walk over to the basement door, and reach down to where the spare key’s kept. You wave it in the fading light.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, Alex is gonna love you,” Rae says, almost disbelieving. “Probably going to adopt you as a new project. You already been down there?” The mention of Alex directly causes you to pause, realizing just how perfect Rae must be, but she misinterprets your sudden frozen stance as surprise. “What? You think I haven’t broken into a derelict before? It’s just property,” she walks toward the door. “No harm in taking a peek.”<br/>
<br/>
You pass her the key, and let her open the door, quietly getting the mask out from your bag. But Rae isn’t paying attention. Without a moment’s hesitation, the key is slipped into the door, before she sets down her coffee on the pavement outside. You follow close, watching as she descends the stairs, before she takes the cigarette from her lips and slips it between her fingers.<br/>
<br/>
“What a dump…” she begins, turning toward you – and straight into the path of the mask you press to her face.</span></div></div>


path: 11331212122121211211111222211111212121121
author_id: masktrixie
title: New Friends and Newish Enemies
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“Oh shit! Please! Please don’t kill me!” Kristen Wright-Wallace practically scrambles away from you on the floor. You’ve seen golems switch into their owner’s standard mode pretty instantly, but this is the first time you’ve seen one become a blubbering heap in less than three seconds. You lean back, folding your arms sternly as you watch the girl that was, moments ago, Rae Caldwell try and get to safety. “Please! Fuck! Don’t do anything to me!”<br/>
<br/>
“Like what?” you say, Rae’s sardonic amusement creeping into your consciousness and tilting your mouth into the slightest of smiles. In truth, it’s all you can really muster. You feel like someone’s taken your body and put it through a printing press. Right now you’re surviving on nicotine and caffeine. Even so, it’s better than the brief, awful time you were between the Gail mask and your new persona. When this is over, when you finally emerge from under the layers of identity you’ve buried yourself, you’re going to unmask in a hospital.<br/>
<br/>
“I…” Kristen stops blubbering for a moment and looks at you. “Well, uh… beat me… or something!” <br/>
<br/>
You shake your head and throw the spare clothes at her – the loose, oversized garb that Vee had used to take you to the motel last night. “Why would I do that? Just get dressed. Must be freezing your pasty ass off down there.”<br/>
<br/>
“Tha… thank you!” The golem scrambles for the clothes, and you tap your new nails on the counter, a little morse beat that Rae sometimes uses for centering herself. Not that she often needs it. Of all the girls she – now you – hang with, she’s by far the most composed thanks to one simple secret. <i>I don’t give a fuck.</i> If Rae’s Instagram blows up, great. If not, she doesn’t care. Nor is she interested in the size of your wallet, your sexual peccadillos, whether she excels in high school or whether the sports team with a goofy mascot is beating the sports team with the racist one. Insult Rae Caldwell and expect her to either ignore you or laugh at you. It’s an almost Zen existence.<br/>
<br/>
“You know where you are?” you ask, flicking some dust off your Donna Karan. OK, so there’s one thing you care about. Clothes. Proper, stylish, well cut clothes, chosen for body shape, season and occasion.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m…” Kristen pauses and glances around. “Wait, this is the basement of the cathedral!”<br/>
<br/>
“Yup,” you agree. “Any guess who I am?”<br/>
<br/>
Kristen furrows her brow, even as she pulls on the sweater top. “Uh… I don’t… you’re not Todd or Chris, they’re planning something else. And you’re not me, because I’m Abi. So you must be…” her eyes shoot wide. “Oh God, Will? Will! Please! Will! I was just messing around with you in the basement, I swear! It was… Abi! It was like Abi had taken control of my brain! It wasn’t my fault, what happened, it was…”<br/>
<br/>
“Vee already told me,” you say, propping yourself up, a very real anger boiling inside. Sure, this is just a golem, a facsimile of the real Kristen Wright-Wallace. But it still thinks and acts like the genuine article, even if under Vee’s command. “About how you planned to kill me?”<br/>
<br/>
“What?” Kristen shakes her head furiously. “No! No, I didn’t! I swear! You were just going to be me, and…”<br/>
<br/>
“No, no,” you say, Rae’s voice hushed, scolding. You stand up, letting her thin form tower over Kristen. “I mean my identity. It was Abigail Steiner you wanted to shove under a train, right?”<br/>
<br/>
“No! I mean! Yes! But not…”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, and that’s ignoring the torture, Kristen. How the fuck would you like it if I chained <i>you</i> up in the cold and damp, without food or water, until the cramp gave way to fever and you wanted to curl up into a ball and fucking die?”<br/>
<br/>
The eyes go wider, her face turning pale as you hit on the truth. “OhmygodpleaseI’msorryplease…” <br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes and shake your head. You don’t have time for this. Alex and Izzy were due 20 minutes ago, which means they’ll probably be showing up right about now. “Fuck,” you say, shaking your head. “Pull yourself together. When you get back to that fucking rich-ass school, tell Macklin I’m a girl called Rae Caldwell. Here,” you fish out the remainder of your Gail Lattimore money. “Get a cab. Just… get out of my sight before I really do something.”<br/>
<br/>
Kristen nods, gathering herself up off the floor and wiping away the tears. You have no idea if they’re real or fake and, given her instinct was to go almost immediately into full murder, you don’t really care. Instead, you brush yourself off, opening your new phone to check your appearance. <i>Fuck, I look half-dead without makeup.</i> It’s not true, but Rae’s own opinion of herself whips through your mind. Kristen dealt with, you walk over to the sheet – Shelly underneath – and pull it back to check on it. It’s a sight that makes you recoil in horror.<br/>
<br/>
Someone has stuck a large, bright yellow post-it note on Shelly’s forehead. “Your brain, Will!” <i>Shit</i>. You go over to the supplies, and realize that anything of use has already been taken, along with the Acuna mask. Vee must have headed straight to the basement after she dropped you off. <br/>
<br/>
It’s with a pounding, juddering heartbeat that you turn and head back up the stairs and out into the parking lot, bending down into a squat to scoop up your ice coffee. You take a quick slurp, then, narrowing your eyes against the fading sun, pull out a cigarette and light it. It’s a strange experience – new for Will Prescott, old for Rae Caldwell – but the instant nicotine hit calms you a little after Vee’s surprise. Then, slipping into Rae’s posture, you walk back down the street to the Bakery.<br/>
<br/>
As you saunter around, it doesn’t take too long to spot two girls who are waiting for you. <i>Yeah, my bitches.</i> Izzy looks exactly like her photos, short with beestung lips and a mop of unruly hair in a center-parted bob, half black, half purple. She’s a year below you in Eastman, but you’ve all planned and schemed to end up in many of the same classes, settling down into a small clique of utter disinterest in whatever’s being taught. She was friends with Alex before you, having long taken to hanging around with her thanks to her brother Gabe going to St.X. <i>Apparently the church isn’t generous enough to fund two Latinx kids to go to the land of rich white privilege.</i><br/>
<br/>
“Fuck you been!” Alex says, waving you over. You walk down the street, sauntering without a care as you take another drag on your cigarette and blow it off to the side. Alex Day. The girl who has it all and wants none of it. A virtual rap sheet of offenses tumbles through your admiring brain, like the time she broke into the old theater to ‘feel inspired’, or drew a big Fuck You to Westside down by the river to show ‘em school pride is dumb. You’ve known her since she was transferred to Eastman, dumping her pint-sized ass on the desk next to you in English, then collapsing her head onto it in sheer boredom at whatever Atwater was droning on about. <br/>
<br/>
“Do I look like I’ve got nothing better to do than wait around for your pocket-sized ass?” you reply, bringing up your caffeine hit in turn. Drink. Smoke. Drink. Smoke.<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah, pretty much,” Izzy shoots. You roll your eyes a little. <br/>
<br/>
“Well. I am here. What’s the big surprise?” You’re on Rae autopilot now. Alex has promised something ‘epic’. You’ve no idea what it could be, and the Rae half of you, even if she’s not showing it on the surface, is dying to find out what hell you’re going to raise. <br/>
<br/>
“Surprise?” Alex feigns. “Did I say surprise? I thought I was just hangin’ with my girls on a Saturday night, getting up to what my dad euphemistically refers to as 'malarkey'.”<br/>
<br/>
You don’t look impressed. “I may be hungover as fuck, but that does not mean I’m losing my mind,” you retort. Suddenly the coffee, nicotine and general feeling ill makes sense. Memories flash through your mind of last night’s wild and crazy Halloween adventure.<br/>
<br/>
Izzy, somehow still full of energy despite what she got up to the previous night, grins. “Tell her.”<br/>
<br/>
Alex’s face lights up. “Well, if you’re not too hungover, what say we go for round two? It’s what you might call…uh… ah… ghoulish sequel to last night’s fun.”<br/>
<br/>
“Halloween Two,” Izzy grins.<br/>
<br/>
“Electric Spookaloo,” you add, almost in some telepathic call-and-respond. You’ve no idea what Alex is planning… but it might fit exactly into Vee’s scheme. Or you could call it off, let Rae’s hangover pass, and see if you can’t snare Alex Day another time.</span></div></div>


path: 113312121221212112111112222111112121211211
author_id: masktrixie
title: Theater of Schemes
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Rae Caldwell tries to keep herself an enigma. Unlike Alex and Izzy, who pretty much share their passions whenever they can, Rae’s style is to remain a little bit aloof, almost but not quite on the edge of disapproval. Of course, it doesn’t tie with what goes on in her head, but she’s found that feigned disinterest adds a surprising level of mystique in life. It’s almost like people go out of the way to try and gain her admiration if she doesn’t really seem bothered by anything. It also means people don’t double down on irritating shit that does bother her. It’s not a cold or calculating mindset, because she’s neither. But it does mean, while Izzy and Alex occasionally bump into each other just walking down the street, you keep a sedate distance, even if it’s obvious you’re with them.<br/>
<br/>
It’s one of the first ways you wonder about exploiting your relationships. Even as you stride down 30th, back past the church where you made the swap and turned yourself into your current guise, you’re thinking about how to hurt Alex. <br/>
<br/>
“Can’t wait to show you what I’ve got lined up,” she grins, giving you a flash of the eyebrows. You roll your eyes.<br/>
<br/>
“At a guess, I’m going with art, debauchery and petty crime,” you reply. Alex grins. Izzy, for her part, sticks her tongue out.<br/>
<br/>
“Know me so well,” she beams. You really do. The three girls have almost developed a telepathy. Alex’s brain is like a whirling storm, always looking for some way to release some of its raw, untapped energy and create a moment. Sometimes, that means she can’t quite place the words she wants, allowing Izzy and you to fill in the blanks. Of course, Izzy tends to talk in metaphor whereas you’re more direct. It’s a style that reverses whenever you talk about yourselves, though. Isobel Santos is an open book. She likes boys and likes fooling around, even if she’s from a strict Catholic family that probably wouldn’t approve of what their little angel is up to. Rae, your memories tell you, really hasn’t ever talked about relationships, keeping her cards almost pinned to her chest.<br/>
<br/>
Both are things you could exploit. If Izzy’s attitude somehow came back to her parents, she’d be grounded or worse. Or, more direct, if ‘Rae’ suddenly showed feelings for someone unexpected, you have no idea what would happen. The girl whose life you’ve stolen is as straight as an arrow, even if she’s not interested in any of the jerks, dicks or small fry students at Eastman. But Alex and Izzy have never asked, and Rae’s never told them. If Rae started hitting on Alex, you have no idea what would happen…<br/>
<br/>
“And voila!” Alex declares, coming to a halt and spinning on her axis, her large chest bouncing as she looks back at you. You raise a manicured eyebrow. <br/>
<br/>
“Oh yay, an alleyway, you shouldn’t have.”<br/>
<br/>
“C’mon, you’ve got to close your eyes,” Alex does so, extending her arms out, “feel your surroundings, let that vibe take hold. And then, slowly but surely…” she takes a sidestep and kicks on a side door. It swings open. “Ta da!”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, great. Breaking and entering again.” You keep your voice deadpan, although Izzy grins.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s not breaking and entering if the door’s unlocked,” Alex says, grinning. “And who’s to say how it ended up that way? And now it’s open, we’ve got a duty to explore. It’s kind of a… y’know…”<br/>
<br/>
“Moral imperative,” Izzy says. <br/>
<br/>
“Opportunity,” you add, glancing down the street. Then, like water down a drain, the three of you rush into the space. It’s dark, and cramped at first, but soon opens out into a much lighter space, especially when Alex turns on the lights. You blink as there’s a flash in your vision, then through narrowed slits glance around at the space you’ve found yourself in.<br/>
<br/>
“Holy shit!” Izzy says, bouncing. “This is the Old State Theater!”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, duh,” Alex grins. “Didn’t you pay attention to where we were? Remember that exhibition I had, ‘bout a month or so ago? I saw how tight they’d locked up this old place. And then I thought ‘now, why would you waste a perfectly good abandoned theater like this one on Halloween?’” You’ve come out through what must be the dressing rooms, out onto a rickety looking stage. The floor looks solid enough, although you’re half-worried Alex’s pint-sized ass is going to fall through at any moment. “Just… look at it!”<br/>
<br/>
You gaze out. There’s something about the Old State Theater that spooked you just walking past it, and now inside the thought is magnified. But Rae Caldwell doesn’t believe in ghosts or any of that bullshit, so you stride over to the side of the stage and step down into the main house. The seats are damaged, a few water-spoiled, but some are salvageable, so you find one, take a seat, and kick your feet up. Izzy, meanwhile, is trying her best to do a handstand on the stage, while Alex advances, like a Shakespearean actor about to give her big monologue. <br/>
<br/>
“This place is great!” Izzy enthuses. “Make a few calls, get a few bottles. Could be some serious fun.”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, I’m not thinking a rave,” Alex says. “You gotta really… soak up the feeling for this place. Let it whet your appetite, feed your creative hunger, nourish all those beautiful ideas waiting to blossom out of your beautiful mind.” She backs up, grinning, even as Izzy topples to the ground. You recline further in your seat, impressed how far Rae’s long legs stretch out as you hook them over the seat in front of you. <br/>
<br/>
“So what’s the plan then?” Izzy asks, splayed on the stage floor.<br/>
<br/>
Alex grins, holding out her hands, thumbs at right angles, as if she’s framing the environment around her. “I’m thinking… tonight is movie night. Already got my Death Ray,” she’s referencing her projector, a powerful, near-blinding 4K portable that she uses to throw up outlines when she needs to stencil something quickly on a wall. “It’s all Bluetooth, so we load up some classics, project ‘em onto this big, empty backdrop and have our own scary movie night. Well… shitty movie night. I’m thinking we host Saratoga Falls’ own version of<i> MST3K</i>.”<br/>
<br/>
“What’s that?” Izzy says. Alex rolls her eyes, while you shake your head.<br/>
<br/>
“An old-ass show where people mock the shit out of bad movies,” you say. <br/>
<br/>
“And creatively add to the film with their own commentary,” Alex adds. “Y’know, like we did with that bananas steampunk flying werewolf whatever.” You pull up the memory, and see flashes of the trio getting thrown out of <i>Howling Skies</i> for laughing at every stupid moment of it. “So, I’m thinking we call up anyone who’s down, and pre-Warehouse have a little cinema night.”<br/>
<br/>
“Film first, drink and dancing later,” Izzy agrees.<br/>
<br/>
“Porque no los dos?” You say to her, only to be answered by a raised arm and a thumbs up. “Assuming my fucking head clears by then.”<br/>
<br/>
“Eh, we could just call it hair of the dog,” Alex says, walking over to offer a hand and haul Izzy to her feet. “This whole place is probably condemned or something, which is why I waited for tonight. Do this on Halloween proper and we’d have packed it out with costumed kids and all that cheerleader bullshit. Cops would have been swarming in under an hour, or the roof would have collapsed. Either way, is, y’know…”<br/>
<br/>
“Awkward,” Izzy says.<br/>
<br/>
“Fatal,” you add, before sniffing the stale air. “Shit, if we’re doing it we’re gonna have to pile up on Febreze. Probably need to hook up more lights too.”<br/>
<br/>
Alex waves away your concerns. “Details, details. Right now, we’ve got the big picture. The kernel of an idea. And that is all we need. So, we in?”<br/>
<br/>
“Totally,” you and Izzy say in unison. The younger of you means it wholeheartedly, while you’re too busy thinking about how to use it to your advantage. There’s so many ways you could use Alex’s little scheme to ruin her – not least calling the cops. Even if everyone manages to slip away, chances are she’d take a serious rep hit. Or, as Rae, you could make a romantic move on her. Alex herself is straight, and Rae knows she harbors a painful crush on someone called Brett Dutoit. A move could throw a spanner into the trio’s relationship. <br/>
<br/>
Or, perhaps you could have a little fun first as Rae Caldwell. It’s not like Vee gave you a timescale.</span></div></div>


path: 1133121212212121121111122221111121212112111
author_id: masktrixie
title: A Moment of Vulnerability
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You point the can out like a gun, an overly dramatic, <i>Charlie’s Angels</i> style pose as if you’re in a spy thriller, before levelling it and squirting. A steam of Silly String shoots out, causing Izzy to duck and roll. She’s nimble, and goes for an underarm shot, shooting her own can right back at you. Undeterred, you advance, holding the can upside down in your palm and shooting it out like Spiderman. <i>Except in this scenario, I’m more like The Chameleon.</i><br/>
<br/>
“Geez, can’t take you two anywhere,” Alex calls, pulling her respirator down. You both look over, Izzy shooting one last stream at you while you’re not paying attention. For the past hour, you’ve been decorating the stage with generic ‘spooky shit’ you’ve managed to scrounge from CVS’s flash sale. It doesn’t look half bad – stringy cobwebs, goop, a few severed limbs on the edge of the stage and a giant spider pinata that you never got around to filling with sweets. Alex, meanwhile, has been hastily spraypainting the image of a cemetery to frame where she’s going to project the film.<br/>
<br/>
“That looks sweet,” Izzy says.<br/>
<br/>
“Yah,” Alex says, stepping back. “Kinda a rush job, but I told people to be here about now, so they’re gonna start showing up in, like, 20-30 minutes.” She turns and walks over, a satisfied smirk on her face. There’s an easy charm to Alex Day, you’ve decided – the kind of natural charisma that you’re confident is one of the reasons Vee can’t stand her. Davina Macklin might be smart, but her face is too angular and bony for her to ever be considered a beauty, and even if she added on a few pounds you doubt that hawkish nose would flatter a larger look. You doubt her cold, calculating mind lends itself to friends easily, either. <br/>
<br/>
Alex, on the other hand, is fun. Whip-smart, carefree, with a puckish sense of sheer joy at life. She has no direction, and doesn’t want one, either: if other people see walls as something to be smashed, she views them as something to draw on. Drawing on Rae’s memories, you can picture walking through the ridiculous mansion she lives in, in the heard of Essex Hills where every driveway is named after some stuffy place in England. Alex’s house is on Wickford Crescent. Hell, it <i>is</i> Wickford Crescent, complete with a gaudy lawn ornament dedicated to some long-dead goblin of an ancestor. You could probably fit your own borrowed home into their garage. And yet Alex doesn’t give a shit about where you came from – only who you could become.<br/>
<br/>
“OK, what we missing?” Alex says, practically skipping over. <br/>
<br/>
“Sugar and booze,” you say simply. <br/>
<br/>
“Got someone working on the hooch,” Alex says. “Fuck, you’re right about snacks. Shoulda piled ‘em on when we getting the Halloween stuff. OK, what do we need? Couple of boxes of donuts?”<br/>
<br/>
“And how are you going to get ‘em?” you ask quizzically. “You got your ass banned from Don’s after that stunt you pulled. Almost got dragged in with you.”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, eh, we’ll go to Partytown. Stale but it’s not like anyone going to complain about free food.”<br/>
<br/>
“Have you <i>met</i> the people you hang out with?” you reply. Alex rolls her eyes, and opens up a small wallet with a cute jelly ghost on its cover. In a moment she whips out a card, a hint of gold on its side.<br/>
<br/>
“Izzy, you’re still good at Don’s, right? Head over there, grab like, four boxes of assorted.”<br/>
<br/>
“Oooh, the power of a gold card. Can I treat myself to something pretty, too?”<br/>
<br/>
“Ha,” Alex snorts. “Just the donuts. Should be able to grab an Uber about now.”<br/>
<br/>
Izzy nods, and scoots off, leaving you and Alex alone in the vastness of the theater. No sooner has Izzy gone, though, than she’s turning and yelling into its vastness.<br/>
<br/>
“ECHO. ECH-OOOOO. PAY NO ATTENTION TO THAT MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN!”<br/>
<br/>
You snort, and walk over. “Tonight should be epic. Got to admit, I wasn’t sure I was feeling up for it. Last night’s still hitting hard.”<br/>
<br/>
“Lightweight,” Alex replies. “Carpe diem. Gotta seize the day, my dude! Make the most of whatever it is you want to do, however you want to do it. Live every sweet, delectable moment as if it is your last waking breath on this Earth because, spoiler: one day it will be.”<br/>
<br/>
You set your clutch down, hitch your dress a little and take a seat on the edge of the stage, long legs dangling into a dark flea pit abyss. This is the perfect opportunity to strike. <br/>
<br/>
“Funny, usually we seem to end up doing what <i>you</i> want,” you say. Alex tilts her head.<br/>
<br/>
“You had somethin’ better in mind for tonight?”<br/>
<br/>
“No,” you say, deliberately raising your voice an octave. You’re playing into Rae’s enigma, but trying to signal you want to talk, too. It’s a tricky balance to pull off.<br/>
<br/>
“C’mon, Rae. Ain’t no one here but us and the ghouls and goblins that infest this place.” She turns, face unusually serious. “If it’s that important I won’t even tell Izzy, swear.”<br/>
<br/>
There is a long, awkward pause followed by a heavy sigh. “Well, there is something I’ve wanted to do for a long time,” you say quietly. Alex at once stops goofing and sits down next to you. Then she nudges your shoulder. Rae would never show vulnerability like this, which is probably why Alex is so serious.<br/>
<br/>
“Go on,” she says. Then, as if she can’t help herself, “tell the Guru your woes.”<br/>
<br/>
You give a weak smile. “I... don’t know how it’ll go.”<br/>
<br/>
You both sit looking at the empty audience. “Well,” Alex says, “in the words of Banksy: it is easier to ask forgiveness than seek permission.”<br/>
<br/>
You turn to her. She turns too, making fixed eye contact, a stare rich with concern for her friend. You swallow hard, then push forward. In an instant your lips meet, your fingertips locking onto her cheek then moving up to entwine in her hair. You feel Alex’s lips squirm away under yours, her eyes going wide with utter shock, and then her hands shove you back as she rebuffs your advances.<br/>
<br/>
For a dreadful moment, what feels like an eternity, you both stare at each other - Alex in silent shock, your own expression one of shame and terror. Every second feels like a freeze frame in a movie.<br/>
<br/>
“Sorry,” you say hurriedly, scrambling away, grabbing your clutch and fumbling as you brush the dust off your dress.<br/>
<br/>
“No!” Alex says. “Shit, I’m sorry, you just took me by surprise and I...”<br/>
<br/>
You don’t respond. You just march out of the theater, stampeding like a horse in blinkers.<br/>
<br/>
“Rae! Wait!” Alex calls. “It’s cool, it’s all good, I just... fuck!”<br/>
<br/>
You keep walking, legs swinging in metronomic precision, gaze unwavering as you exit the theater. Down the streets, staring straight ahead as if on autopilot. You keep your face rigid and emotionless until you’re in your home, through the kitchen, and into the guest house extension that Rae has taken over as her private rooms.<br/>
<br/>
You glance at your phone. Five missed calls and a deluge of texts. You toss it onto your study desk and catch your breath.<br/>
<br/>
It’s only then that you break character and laugh at how easy it was.</span></div></div>


path: 11331212122121211211111222211111212121121111
author_id: masktrixie
title: Rae-son d'etre
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You wake on Sunday morning aching for a cigarette. Wearily, you roll out of bed and reach into your bedside table, where you know your dad steadfastly refuses to go after once catching sight of a tampon. Then you hop barefoot onto your carpet, arching your feet at the cold of the wooden floor, and edge over to the window. The November morning is cold and misty, but at least you get a nicotine hit to start the day. You blow out a forced, long stream of smoke, then discard the telltale tip down the drainage pipe for the small pond in the back yard.<br/>
<br/>
Another exciting morning in the life of Rae Scarlett Caldwell. Normally, she’d spend it goofing around with ‘those two idiots’, probably starting far later than your current waking hour thanks to a combination of hangover and laziness. The hangover you can live without, but laziness suits you perfectly, so you roll back into bed, throw Rae’s covers up to your armpits, and turn on her excellent taste in streamed series. It’s 11am by the time you hit the shower, and midday before you head back to the main house proper to steal a cinnamon bagel and at least vaguely acknowledge the existence of your parents. <br/>
<br/>
“You out today?” you dad asks, as you throw a pod into the coffee machine. You tilt your head as if considering the question for a moment, before invoking your right as a teenage girl to answer every question posed with a dramatic shrug.<br/>
<br/>
“Well, we’ve got some chores to run, if you want to stretch your legs,” your mom adds. You manage to turn melodramatically on the balls of your feet, and respond with a dead-eye stare. Then, helping yourself to your coffee, bagel in your mouth, you head back to Rae’s little guest wing. There’s been no more missed calls on your phone, no more messages, either. Evidently Alex has got the message, and Izzy’s probably following her lead. You think about using the burner phone – still in Rae’s handbag – to check in with Vee, but honestly the less you think the Mutants, the better. All it summons up are flashbacks of your time in… wherever the fuck it was they kept you. Instead, you bury yourself deep into the world of Rae Caldwell, embracing her interests (or, at least, things she’s not disinterested in) to have a day away from Alex. <br/>
<br/>
For Rae, these days always feel a little like a phantom limb, as if there’s some indelible part of her missing that she can still sense and feel. As such, Sunday afternoon involves sighing, reading fashion blogs, a little more sighing (this time to incredibly cheesy 80s music, because for some reason her playlist is filled with the stuff), and masterminding her next Instagram snap or video. There’s a few basic dance routines to learn, plus a few makeup tutorials that you want to try out, particularly when pairing them with outfits from Rae’s wardrobe. <br/>
<br/>
And it’s at that point you realize that you’re enjoying being Rae Caldwell. She’s popular enough, attractive, in with the crowds she likes. Sure, it’s not a huge leap from where you were as Will Prescott – her folks are comfortably middle class, with her dad working a white collar job filling construction orders – but, as you admire your new figure, you have to admit she has style, and enough wit to build up a small influencer following. It’s a thought that preoccupies you through Rae’s homework, before you brace yourself for Monday morning and the inevitable, inescapable school encounter with Alex. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
“Sooooooo.” You close your locker door, revealing a mop of purple hair at your eye level. Izzy is leaning back against the neighboring locker, back arched and rear of her head pressed up against the door, so that she stares up at the ceiling. “What the fuck happened Saturday?”<br/>
<br/>
You grab your textbook and close your locker, artfully managing to force the door shut before a cascade of papers slide out and slam into your face. Today you’re wearing your ‘war paint’ – heavier makeup than usual, but a big, hoisted flag for anyone who dares make the mistake of thinking you want to chat. Not that it would stop Izzy. “I don’t want to talk about it,” you say. <br/>
<br/>
“Yeah, well, that ain’t an option,” Izzy shrugs, making a clicking sound with her tongue. “You know it’s all anyone’s gonna talk about. Fuckin’ public meltdown? I mean, Jesus, it’ll be around the school before lunch thanks to that bitch Alyssa Randal. I mean, shit, Tatiana asked me about it already.”<br/>
<br/>
“It wasn’t a meltdown,” you correct her, twisting your combination. “And it sure as shit wasn’t public.”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, not talking about you!” Izzy replies, falling in as you head down the corridor, dodging a few idling sophomores. “I mean Alex. Ho-lee shit. First time in history the Guru of Saratoga Falls whiffs, it was like her mind and body were goin’ in a tailspin.” You don’t answer, just keep walking. “You remember Alex, right? Your friend? Remember what those are?” It’s a pointed, unkind barb, the kind Izzy only really drops when she feels like she’s being treated like a kid – and calculated to get under Rae’s skin.<br/>
<br/>
“Whatever you think you know,” you say to her, voice very low, “you don’t.”<br/>
<br/>
“Ugh! So tell me!” Izzy hugs her own books. “Fuck, I can’t have my two besties fighting over whatever. I go out for donuts, and by the time I’m back you’ve quit and Alex looks like she’s seen a ghost, so the whole night’s a wash out. Just,” she jostles into you lightly, “y’know. I’m here to help.”<br/>
<br/>
You stop dead in the corridor. “Some things are more complicated.”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m not a kid, Rae! You don’t have to tip-toe around, I mean, fuck, I’m more experienced with a lot of shit than either of you. So you had a fight! So what? I fight with Gabe all the time, takin’ his punk ass up to X-Men school, tryin’ to pretend like he ain’t a Latino grease monkey who ain’t wearin’ two-year-old sneakers as a fashion statement. Let’s cut over to the Wilderness after school, set off some fireworks or somethin’.”<br/>
<br/>
You can’t help but like Izzy’s determination, but you’ve got a job to do – and this is the perfect opportunity to push her away from Alex too. So you turn and give her some vicious home truths. “You <i>are</i> a kid, Izzy. You’re right, you’re not a senior. And just because you slut around doesn’t mean you can comprehend everything. Like,” you point down, “understanding what a properly fitting bra looks like. Sure as fuck hasn’t made you understand that when I said I don’t want to talk about it, that’s exactly what I mean. You want to be treated like a grown up? Maybe start getting an original idea in your skull. Shit, you seen Alex pull her Guru crap a dozen times, and it’s never occurred to you that you’re just a cheap imitation of her? Why don’t you go find your own style, your own friends, instead of piggybacking on us too, like a little fungus there for the ride?”<br/>
<br/>
Izzy’s face is an eerie picture. Her eyes are tearing, but you can’t tell if there’s anger or sadness there. Mostly, it’s just stunned confusion. Her jaw tenses, giving an ugly, muscular quality to her otherwise round face, and her cheeks flush. Her body starts to vibrate, as if she’s a volcano about to erupt with a million curses in English, Spanish and whatever other language she knows or can imagine. But, instead, she sinks her teeth into her lip and spins on her heels, storming through the corridor, radiating heat.<br/>
<br/>
You turn, and notice a gaggle of freshmen staring at you. You lean forward and half-blink, causing them to scatter away as you stomp toward the epic bullshittery of ‘Marriage &amp; Family Life’, a subject you picked mainly because it sounded like a hilarious opportunity to riff off <i>I Love Lucy</i> and not do any serious work for at least the first hour. You storm inside, finding a place up against the back wall so you can kick back, relax and watch YouTube while resisting your brainwashing into being a good little lady. <br/>
<br/>
It gives you time to plan what you’re going to say when the inevitable showdown with Alex comes next period. </span></div></div>


path: 113312121221212112111112222111112121211211111
author_id: masktrixie
title: The Unsinkable Alex Day
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You have little option but to sit next to Alex next period. None of the other students seem to have any idea how you and Alex even <i>got</i> into this class, as your reputation as terrible students proceeds you. It’s bullshit, though; Rae isn’t the brightest girl in school, but she can apply herself when she chooses to, while Alex’s brain is just too busy constantly cooking up schemes and dreams to bother with details like an education. Most teachers, however, only make the mistake of calling her up in front of class once – she’s got the art of high quality bullshittery down to a tee.<br/>
<br/>
But even so, you and Alex are proud outsiders, so you have no choice but to sit together. You take Rae’s usual seat, and wait to see what happens. Sure enough, Alex takes her seat next to you. For the briefest moment you wonder if there’s going to be some drama – hell, the whole room seems to pick up on it, with some kids even craning their heads around to see what will happen.<br/>
<br/>
They’re sorely disappointed. <br/>
<br/>
Instead, Alex, whips out her phone, leaning over to you. You have expect it’s a message, or some code. It's not; where you expect a message is just a video of a graffiti artist in Spain – <i>Barcelona,</i> Rae's mind insists – doing some kind of large-scale installation, although to get to his canvas he’s hanging off the roof edge backwards. “I’ve gotta try this sometime,” she says, grinning. “I mean, the whole danglin’ off the building thing, can in one hand, with nothing but a safety rope an’ a prayer to hold me together? It’s like a metaphor or something.”<br/>
<br/>
You turn your eyes to the right, looking at her. “We’re all just waiting for someone to invent a ladder?” you ask. <br/>
<br/>
Alex snorts. “My dude, one day you’re going to have to embrace life-affirming adventure.”<br/>
<br/>
The attention of the class seems to have vanished instantly. Already, heads are turning back. You have to admire Alex’s outright balls: rather than play into the drama, she’s just acted as if nothing happened between you. Dispelled in an instant. You try and grasp the slender, slipping grip you have on the teenage angst that Rae would feel if her thoughts about Alex were genuine. They’re not though; all your borrowed mind is filled with are thoughts about a good friend.<br/>
<br/>
“We going to talk about the thing?” you ask, in a very out-of-character break, trying to force the issue. <br/>
<br/>
“Can if you want,” Alex says. “Or if you don’t, that’s cool. I figured it was the latter, ‘cause your alert is annoying as fuck and it must have been chimin’ off every 15 seconds.”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, I figured it would be awkward.”<br/>
<br/>
Alex is about to speak, but you’re interrupted by the class starting, and are condemned to wait until things wrap up before you have a chance to say anything that isn’t related directly to the trash being spoonfed into your mind. It’s only when the bell rings and everyone begins to saunter out that Alex resumes the conversation with a snort.<br/>
<br/>
“Holy shit, I <i>did not</i> have the faculty down for timing like that. ‘It’d be awkward’, followed by an entire period of wondering what comes next? Jesus, that’d be comedy gold if it wasn’t so serious.”<br/>
<br/>
“What do you mean serious?” you say, trying to be provocative. It’s felt like every attempt you’ve made to twist the knife with Alex has just had her pluck said dagger out and hand it back with a wink. Such as now, when she shrugs, and motions to the girl’s bathroom. You step in with her, and watch as she patrols along the stalls, making sure you’re alone.<br/>
<br/>
“I mean,” she says, “I actually <i>give a fuck </i>about your feelings. Holy shit, Rae – you’re legit one of maybe five people I care about in this town, family excluded. I was just surprised, is all. I mean, you never expressed anything like that before and suddenly you’re goin’ for my tonsils. Fuck, I don’t care if you’re straight, gay, bi or asexual! I respect it. I got your back. I just didn’t see it comin’ and I fucked up. I’m sorry.”<br/>
<br/>
You bite your lip. “Well you made your rejection pretty clear.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah,” Alex nods, sympathetic but resolute. “Although that’s for the best, right? I mean, I love you, but I’m not <i>in love</i> with you. And I know that’s gonna suck, but I can’t change the fact I straight-up like dick. What I can do is support you 100 percent. And if ain’t done that before, my dude, I pledge to do it every moment here on in. Ride or die.”<br/>
<br/>
<i>Fuck.</i> You thought making Rae attracted to girls would mess Alex up, but if anything you’ve only managed to reaffirm her friendship with you. Sure, you could still try and play a spurned Rae Caldwell, but what’s the point? It’s a ploy that’s never going to work. You think you’ve managed to fuck things up with Izzy, although you’re not completely sure about that either – it could be she’s still cool with Alex and now soured with Rae. <br/>
<br/>
In short, you haven’t destroyed Alex’s life. You’ve just messed up Rae’s. <br/>
<br/>
You cut your losses, smiling and giving a nod. Alex flashes her best smile – the real one, reserved only for acts of true friendship rather than the mischief she delights in creating. She heads off to her next class, and you hold back, wondering what you’re going to tell Vee. After a few moments, you decide to drop a text update.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Wrking on task. Not easy – 1st attmpt fail. Wll kp going.</i><br/>
<br/>
There’s no answer until lunch, when you glance down at Rae’s phone to see a long, semi-coherent message. <i>You dnt need 2 chek in. Things mving fst hear and may change ur job. Will update u when Im redy.</i><br/>
<br/>
You chew on your pesto pasta salad. It’s a weird message. You’ve only known her a short while, but it doesn’t read, doesn’t feel, like something Davina Macklin would have sent, even if she did use shorthand (and you doubt someone like her would bother). It’s enough to send a cold chill down the back of your spine. Ever since Vee, Kristen and the others imprisoned you, you really have had very little knowledge of what’s gone on – save Vee’s appearance and version of events. With a viper’s nest like that, you wouldn’t be too surprised if Vee’s rise to leader came crashing and burning. And if that’s the case, where does that leave you?<br/>
<br/>
You think it through. If Vee <i>has</i> been caught up in some power struggle, the deal about helping Shelly is over, and you’re just wasting your time messing with Alex. If that’s the case, all deals are off… which might be good or bad, depending on whether you can get the book back. <br/>
<br/>
Next, your current identity. The only person who knows you’re Rae Caldwell is the golem Kristen – really the genuine Rae – who you sent back to her mistress, Vee. Even if Vee is dealing with in-fighting of her own over control of the book, it’s possible you could still vanish into the weeds of Rae’s life… except all it would take is someone to remove the Kristen mask to work out who you are. It’s a non-starter, unless the Mutants are willing to let you be Rae and leave you alone.<br/>
<br/>
You’re still wondering what to do when Alex comes and sits down with you, practically dragging a very sullen, sulking Izzy. She shoots you a look as she forces herself down on the opposite side of the table, a withering stare of someone wounded to her core. It’s a horrible feeling, and it makes you wonder what you should do.<br/>
<br/>
You could, of course, keep pretending to be Rae and following Vee’s original plan. You might have fucked it up by trying to act quickly on Saturday, but perhaps a slow-burn approach will work. Better yet, it’ll give you time to figure out what’s going on back at St. X and why Vee’s texts just don’t feel the way they should.<br/>
<br/>
Of course, you could break the alliance here and now. If Vee is dealing with her own miniature civil war, this is the ideal chance to get the book back and escape these rich assholes for good. You’ve got two golems that are completely loyal to you – Shelly and Will – and could even add another if you’re willing to risk placing the Acuna mask on the real, petrified Shelly. If the Mutants are already arguing, that should be enough to turn the tables.<br/>
<br/>
But there are two more possible allies too – ones with much closer ties to the St. Francis Xavier School than any of your golems. One’s a former student, an arch nemesis of the very girl you’re considering betraying; the other has a brother that goes to the school. All you’d need to do to convince Izzy and Alex is take off your Rae mask and show them how it works. And, your borrowed Rae thoughts tell you, both girls would leap at the chance to fuck with the Mutants in a heartbeat.</span></div></div>


