# chapters

path: 112211111112221122111122212121121121212
author_id: seuzz
title: Your Reward for a Misspent Adventure
chapter_content:
<div><span style="font-size:1.47em;"><div> <span>You let go of the slope and slide down into the gaping maw below.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
I'd tell you what happens next, but it would give you nightmares for the rest of your life.<br/>
</span></div></span></div>


path: 11221111111222112211112221212112112122
author_id: seuzz
title: Bargaining with a Devil
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The thing with the globe of light might be a trick, so you are cautious. "Where have you been?"<br/>
<br/>
"A couple of places, technically," says the thing that looks like Joe. "Where you and Blackwell have been taking me, but also out in that mausoleum. That's where I just woke up. I know he turned me into a golem, like he did with Cindy and Lucy." He makes a face. "He must've put the mask on me as some kind of joke."<br/>
<br/>
"So you're-- But aren't you under his control?" Your head is spinning. Who or what are you talking to?<br/>
<br/>
"I feel a tug when he talks, but I can resist it. It seemed safest to play along until I could talk with you. Here, you did something to the mask. Take it off me and see if you can figure out what's going on."<br/>
<br/>
You comply, and Joe turns into a stone version of himself--which confirms his deduction, that Frank put the mask onto the golemized original. You look at the mask: the interior is blank. You'd grunt if you had lungs and a larynx, but you're a golem too, so you have content yourself with an intellectual "Ah!" It's the blank layer resulting from your putting the varnish into the mask last night. Somehow, Frank got it switched over to that layer when he put it on the golemized Joe; or it just naturally reset itself to that layer after he took the mask off you. Though why that should make a difference--<br/>
<br/>
You put it back onto Joe. "Well?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Hang on." You run your hand across his brow, and his visage changes.<br/>
<br/>
"Uhn," he grunts and grits his teeth. "Whatever you did, undo it. I'm about to call Frank down here." Quickly you comply, and a look of relief passes over his face. "Much better. So, what's the verdict?"<br/>
<br/>
You quickly explain what you found--and as he "remembers" your experiments with the varnish, it doesn't take long. "Don't ask me how," you finish, "but it looks like the blank layer, when it's active, restores you. Sort of."<br/>
<br/>
He sits down and leans back, then quickly sits up straight again when he finds himself reclining against the statuesque Lucy Vredenburg. "So it's acting like a blank mask when that layer is, uh, activated." He pulls at his lip. "Let's see. A blank mask has to 'open' a person up in order to copy them--"<br/>
<br/>
A little light goes off in your head. "So it opens the golem shell around you. But when it tries to copy the shell that it has swallowed--"<br/>
<br/>
"It gets stuck in a loop because there's nothing to copy!" he concludes triumphantly. "And with the shell gone, here I am!" He glances back at Lucy. "Well, at least we know how we can restore the girls, at least until we can crack that golem stuff off them permanently."<br/>
<br/>
"First things first. What's Frank up to?"<br/>
<br/>
"Beats me. He's not Frank anymore. What would Blackwell be up to?"<br/>
<br/>
"Last thing he said was, he wants to take me apart, figure out what makes me tick."<br/>
<br/>
"That'll just be for a start," Joe mutters. "After that--" He shivers. "I wish you'd give me my clothes. You don't need them, and it's cold down here."<br/>
<br/>
"I thought about calling your dad," you say as you disrobe, "but he won't know who to trust."<br/>
<br/>
"True, dat," Joe says as he pulls on his old shirt. "It's up to us. But then," he laughs without bitterness. "It always is. That's Dad's style."<br/>
<br/>
You spend a few more hours talking quietly and trying to ignore the sounds of the <i>gwarcheidwad</i> prowling upstairs; luckily, it seems to not have any interest in the inhabitants of the basement, for you doubt there's a seal on the basement door. Eventually, Joe falls into a fitful slumber, and you "fast-forward" yourself into the morning.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Up and at 'em, Joe," Frank calls shortly after the light of dawn has begun to filter through the narrow window high in the wall. "Here, put this thing onto Lucy there." He tosses a mask down to Joe.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm just a golem," he says peevishly. "I can't do magic."<br/>
<br/>
"If you can get a bra off a girl you can put a mask onto a statue," Frank retorts. "Do it."<br/>
<br/>
Joe grumbles and puts the mask to Lucy, and to your surprise another copy of Frank Durras appears. He glances around shiftily, and gets a dark expression as he looks up at his original. <br/>
<br/>
"You're lookin' good there, fella," Frank says. He hooks a thumb toward the door. "Get up there and dress out for school."<br/>
<br/>
"You made another mask of yourself?" Joe says. "One of you is more than enough."<br/>
<br/>
"It's the one Blackwell made. I decided I could use it." He doesn't shift as his double tries to squeeze past him. "You'll take it to school. I got business here."<br/>
<br/>
"Whatever you say, Captain O my Captain," Joe says sarcastically, and makes a two-fingered salute.<br/>
<br/>
"Cut the attitude, Joe. You picked up a lot of bad habits yesterday, and they end now." Joe's face shifts, but you're standing close enough to see that the mischievous gleam hasn't entirely disappeared. "Call me if Straussler shows up." Joe nods, and joins his brother's doppelganger upstairs.<br/>
<br/>
"And what've you got planned for me," you rumble at him.<br/>
<br/>
"Put Lucy's face on," he says. "I've got a robe up here you can wear." He disappears out the door.<br/>
<br/>
Grimly you don the college girl's face, and have to fight off the wave of despondency that washes over you; as you mount the stairs to the library you feel very lonely and vulnerable. Only the sight of Joe--who when his brother's back is turned shoots you a quick wink--lifts your spirits even a trifle.<br/>
<br/>
After the other two are gone Frank sits at Blackwell's old desk and draws his long legs up so he can clasp his knees. "I had to send out a fake to school because I can't leave you here alone," he says. "In fact, I'm surprised you're still here. You could've torn down that door down without much trouble, I'd bet.<br/>
<br/>
"It didn't seem worth it."<br/>
<br/>
"More likely you guessed we'd be having this conversation. We have to come to an understanding."<br/>
<br/>
"And what's a deal with <i>you</i> worth?"<br/>
<br/>
"It depends on what I'm offering. I need to put you someplace I can keep an eye on you, and where you can't escape." He reaches into a little tray in the corner of the desk and extracts a long carpenter nail. "All it takes is a mask and a nail, and you will be set for life. The only question is, what kind of life will it be?"<br/>
<br/>
"And how long will it last, even if it's a good one?" you sneer back. You can't keep the tremble from your voice.<br/>
<br/>
"It could be short and brutal," he shrugs. "Or short and pleasant. It could be long and brutal. Or it could long and pleasant. It depends on how you conduct yourself while I do my research. You make trouble--" He jabs a finger at you. "Even once, and I'll make your life so miserable you'll be begging to be put down. You help me, you go above and beyond what I ask, and when I'm done I'll put you someplace where you'll be set for life. Someone young, beautiful, rich--"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't believe you," you blurt out.<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have to. It's a gamble. But if you want my advice, you'll play not to lose, and go in hopes that you actually win."<br/>
<br/>
You lick your lips. "So what do you have in mind?"<br/>
<br/>
"Prescott!" he calls sharply, and you jump. Why is he yelling at you when you're right here? But the answer comes when your own replacement appears in the archway. He is holding the end of a leash, on the other end of which is a large, scraggly looking dog. It skitters around and twists; plainly, it hates the house and wants to be out of it.<br/>
<br/>
"This is an old mutt that skulks around the house," Frank says. "Not too hard to catch last night." He sucks in his cheeks. "You don't cooperate, and I trap you inside a mask of it. Stake you to the yard. And when I'm done, you get put down."<br/>
<br/>
You swallow hard. "And if I ... cooperate?"<br/>
<br/>
"You go back to being yourself. You're really not popular, you know. Not at school, right? And how's your dad treating you these days, Prescott?" Your twin makes an ugly face. Frank clucks his tongue. "That's too bad. But if you promise really hard to be good, and <i>are</i> good, there's a third alternative."<br/>
<br/>
"You mean I get to be Lucy? Cindy?"<br/>
<br/>
He shakes his head. "They're too independent. I can't risk you running off. Will Prescott hasn't any money, so he'd be safe. But if you promise to be good--" He cocks a glance back at the golem. "Can you get your brother out here this afternoon?"<br/>
<br/>
Prescott looks puzzled for a moment, and then his face breaks out in a grin. "Oh, that'd be wicked!"<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself blanch, and your fear and anger aren't relieved by the expression on Frank's face. "A middle-school student, like your brother, can't run away. And he'd have his older brother to keep an eye on him, make sure he behaves himself. But it'd be nicer than being that older brother."<br/>
<br/>
You'd be no good to anyone--certainly not to Joe--trapped as the dog. You shudder to think of what it would be like to go back to your old life. But you can't victimize your own brother.<br/>
<br/>
Unless it's only for a little while, and in order to make promises that would win Frank's temporary confidence.</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112221122111122212121121121222
author_id: seuzz
title: Fireworks
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Frank won't be able to replace Robert until this afternoon, which means you could buy yourself some time by agreeing to play along; and Joe might show up before then. "I promise I will be very good," you say thickly. "I will do whatever you want. I'll do <i>anything.</i> Just promise that ... that you won't do anything horrible to my brother after ... after ..."<br/>
<br/>
Frank smiles thinly, and is about to reply, when the dog barks, sharply and shrilly. "Get rid of that mutt, Prescott," he says. "Then stand by the window over there until I call you." Your replacement complies, to your own relief. His presence was creepy, and you were feeling pangs of sympathy for the dog.<br/>
<br/>
Frank takes a deep breath and turns back to you. "You'll have to do more than that. Like I said, you'll have to anticipate what I want and need, and offer it up." <br/>
<br/>
"Well, what are your plans?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not so fast." He holds up a warning finger. "What do you think I want? What do you think I'll need?"<br/>
<br/>
You shift uneasily in place. "You want to take over the <i>Stellae</i>? You could trick someone else into coming out, and replace them."<br/>
<br/>
His face is blank. "Would that really work?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know." You rub your arm. You have the terrible feeling that he either already knows that Joe is only pretending to be a golem--or suspects it--and wants you to give up your only ally. "I tried talking Joe into letting me go last night," you hazard, trying not to say anything too incriminating. "The golem-- It's not solidly under your control, you know. There's still a lot of the original inside." You pause. "He offered to help me out."<br/>
<br/>
"Why didn't you take him up on it?"<br/>
<br/>
"I thought it might be a trap you set for me?"<br/>
<br/>
He snorts in amusement. "Paranoia is a terrible thing, isn't it? Yes," he sighs. "Joe is a handful. I haven't completely rewired him. I'll have to sit down with him at some point and give him ... Well, some new programming."<br/>
<br/>
You mask your sense of relief--it sounds like Frank doesn't know that Joe is free of his control.<br/>
<br/>
"But I will need more help from you, before I give you your new hiding place,"  he continues. "We need a blank mask, for your brother."<br/>
<br/>
"That'll take a few days' work."<br/>
<br/>
"No it won't," he says. He holds out his hand. "We don't need Lucy's face anymore. She's basically dead to the world. Lemme have that mask." You tear it off and hand it to him; he regards it with contemptuous amusement. "We won't need Jessica either, though she <i>is</i> cute."<br/>
<br/>
He opens a drawer and pulls out the <i>Libra</i>, dropping it onto the desk with a thump. "I was busy last night, another reason I wanted to send a double of myself to school. Got a headache figuring out the next spell, but it was worth it." He puts the mask onto an open page. "The book has stopped giving explicit instructions, but the sigils aren't hard to read." His lips curl as he utters a string of harsh-sounding words. A hard finger of flame stabs upward out of Lucy's mask, and it hisses for a few seconds before guttering. A wisp of smoke curls out.<br/>
<br/>
Frank looks up at you with a smile, but before he speaks there's a sudden thunderclap, and an arm of blinding white light, like a lightning bolt, springs from the inside of the mask. One end remains rooted in the mask while the other splits into tendrils and clutches at the air. A deep, rolling, crackling noise fills the air.<br/>
<br/>
Frank gapes at the bolt and then dives aside as it swings around toward him. More stiffly, you fall forward to roll onto the floor next to him. The arm stabs at the carpet near his feet, and he scuttles under the desk, cowering. The floor where he'd been laying scorches, and then the arm swings back into the air. As you watch, it splits in two. One arm connects to one of the bookshelves high above, and with a crack of thunder disappears. The other, to your horror, latches onto the vampire cyclops-monkey. A great chittering sound fills the air, then with another great crash that arc too disappears.<br/>
<br/>
The library seems very dark after the firework display, and the air seems to ring. Frank sticks his head out cautiously from under the desk. "Are you sure you read those sigils right?" you growl at him.<br/>
<br/>
He snarls something unintelligible, then leaps to his feet and snatches up the mask. His expression clears without growing any more lovely, and he brandishes it triumphantly at you. "I wasn't expecting <i>that</i>, but it did the job." The interior of the mask is now blank. "Erased. Waste not, want not. Here's the mask we use on your brother."<br/>
<br/>
"Are you mad?" you exclaim. "After what happened just now, you think you can just--" His eyes blaze, and you clam up. "Alright, you want to use it on him, I can't argue."<br/>
<br/>
"I won't be using it on him," he retorts. "You will. Prescott!" he calls, and the French door swings open, admitting a very pale Will Prescott. "Clothes off," he orders the golem, and turns to you. "When he's done, take the mask off him. <i>You'll</i> be going to school as yourself. When you get home, take your brother's place, and put the Prescott mask onto him. Call me when you're done."<br/>
<br/>
You'd refuse, but you're sure that would just land you inside that dog, so you have to comply. Removing the Prescott masks reveals the real Jonathan Straussler, and as you change Frank drags him out of the house, for a fate you can guess with a shiver.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The day at school is awful--it seems like the entire student body, and maybe even some of your teachers--are determined to make the school experience as horrible as possible--but you still don't want it to end, knowing what waits at the other side. You flood Joe's cell phone with gnomic texts, for you're not sure if Frank will be spying on his messages, but he doesn't get in touch with you, probably because he doesn't trust the "Will Prescott" who is badgering him. At home, you delay things as long as you dare, until your phone buzzes and you see Frank's ID appear. You ignore it, and shuffle out of your room to rap on Robert's door. "Yeah?" he peevishly calls.<br/>
<br/>
You rattle the knob and peek through the crack. "I got some new porn," you murmur in a low voice. "You want to pick through some of my old stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
He blinks, and his eyes narrow. "What are you up to?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just trying to be nice. If you're not interested, you know, fuck you." You start to close the door, but he leaps up from his desk to follow you, watching guardedly the whole time. But his hunger for female flesh is such that he doesn't react as you close your bedroom door behind him.<br/>
<br/>
"Where've you been hiding it?" he demands.<br/>
<br/>
"Here," you say, pulling open the top drawer to your dresser and pulling out the mask. As he crowds close you swing around and jam it to his face. He staggers backward and falls onto the bed. With infinite loathing you disrobe and pull your mask off, and set it onto his face after his mask reappears. "Will" wakes instantly, and glares down at his clothes. "Yeah, back in my old hand-me-downs," he whines, and glowers at you. "I don't like it any more than you do, but you better get that mask on before Mom or Dad come knocking."<br/>
<br/>
You don it, and the world grows larger by a few inches. "You know, you're not under Frank's control," you tell the golem. "Why are you doing what he says?"<br/>
<br/>
"You were wearing this thing for a few hours," he snaps, pointing to his face. "Don't you remember what he did to-- to me the other night? When you so <i>smartly</i> told me to fight him?" You both shudder in tandem. "I ain't fightin' him again."<br/>
<br/>
"Wuss," you mutter. "Come on, gimme my clothes."<br/>
<br/>
"Gladly, you little pervert. They've got your pre-cum all in the underwear."<br/>
<br/>
"Eww." But your cock stiffens as you pull the tidy whities on. <i>Goddamned thirteen-year-old hormones and the uncontrollable erections.</i> "Gimme the phone," you sigh. "Better call Frank back before he gets pissed."<br/>
<br/>
You catch sight of yourself in the mirror as you listen to his phone buzz: lanky and gangly, with big hands; a lightly freckled face, and fearful eyes peering out from under unkempt sun-bleached hair. "I'll make it up to you, bro," you murmur. "Somehow, and soon."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," Frank gruff voice sounds from the phone.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm here," you say unhappily. "I was changing when you called. You want me and my idiot older brother to come out now?" You rub your eye with the heel of your hand.<br/>
<br/>
There's a pause. "I think you want the other Frank," he says. You frown at that reply, and then at the babble of confused voices. Then Joe comes on. "Just shut up and drive," you hear him say. "Yo, is that you, Prescott?"<br/>
<br/>
"Um ... One of them," you say uncertainly. "Wait, was that you who called a few minutes ago?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Are you okay? You sound weird."<br/>
<br/>
"It's a long story. What's going on?"<br/>
<br/>
"My phone died at school, and those texts weren't making any sense." There's another babble of voices. "You have orders or something from the boss?" he asks in a strained voice.<br/>
<br/>
You blink. Is he only acting in front of the fake Frank? Or is this a sign that something is wrong?</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111122211221111222121211211212221
author_id: seuzz
title: The Ambush
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Tell Frank--" you start.<br/>
<br/>
"Which one?" Joe interrupts.<br/>
<br/>
"The one who's driving, to head over to the old elementary school near my house. You remember, the basement."<br/>
<br/>
"What's the deal?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll explain when I see you. Keep your companion under control, okay?" You turn off the phone and turn to the golem, who has been watching dubiously. "Look, you wanna be free of Frank, right?" He nods. "Then don't argue. Just go with me over to the clubhouse and help me out."<br/>
<br/>
You lead him downstairs, past the kitchen, where you shout to your Mom. "Rob-- I mean, <i>Will</i> and me are going to play basketball."<br/>
<br/>
She looks up from the counter, where she's cutting vegetables. "You finish your homework, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
"Mom!" he cries.<br/>
<br/>
"If your father--"<br/>
<br/>
"Mom!" you whine. "Come on, you're always saying we need to do more stuff together."<br/>
<br/>
She rolls her eyes and waves at you dismissively. The two of you dash out and jog quickly down to the school, where Will unlocks the door, and the two of you wait.<br/>
<br/>
It's about ten minutes before the Durrases pull up. Joe looks shiftily between you and the golem before nodding at the latter. "What's up?"<br/>
<br/>
You raise your hand. "Over here." He looks startled. "I had to make a deal with Frank before he'd let me out."<br/>
<br/>
"Went for option three, huh?" the Frank-golem says sardonically. "I'm disappointed in you, Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up. You're one to talk, you asshole." He flushes at your rebuke, but follows you into the basement. The Will-golem lingers near the doorway; Joe follows with much obvious reluctance.<br/>
<br/>
You turn to confront Frank--a rather terrifying thing to do, as he's a full head taller than you. "I'm going to need your face, Frank.<br/>
<br/>
"How come?" His frown is ferocious.<br/>
<br/>
"I just do. It's for your boss."<br/>
<br/>
"I better clear it with him first. This whole thing seems really fishy." He takes out his phone, but he moves slowly; it appears to have qualms about what it thinks it has to do.<br/>
<br/>
"Joe, grab him," you say, and Joe, after a moment's hesitation, grabs the golem around the torso. The latter is too startled to fight back, but it's still a touch-and-go moment as you grab at his face. The mask comes off, and the transformed Lucy reappears.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we've got a matched set again," you mutter, jerking your chin toward the corner where Cindy is hidden. "And now we can talk."<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck is going on?"<br/>
<br/>
"We need to take down Frank, today, this afternoon." You point at your face. "He plans to trap me like this. It isn't the worst place in the world, and as this little asshole's older brother, you've no idea how hard it is for me to admit that. But I can't let <i>him</i> get mixed up in this."<br/>
<br/>
"You had something to do with it, I think," Joe says.<br/>
<br/>
"And now I'm trying to fix it. I fucked up earlier today. Or, he outsmarted me. Whatever. You weren't there, you didn't know what he was threatening to do to me." You shudder.<br/>
<br/>
Joe glances down at the mask in your hand. "So you're planning to go out to see him as his own double."<br/>
<br/>
You nod. "Get Lucy undressed while I change out of Robert's shit.<br/>
<br/>
As you change, you fill Joe in on the day's events. "Cocksucker," he mutters. "Oh, he's smart enough when he has to be, God damn it. I hope you're smart enough, too," he adds, as he holds the Frank mask out to you.<br/>
<br/>
You smile grimly as you put it on. It's like being hit in the face with a hammer: If Joe's mask gave you a feeling of lightness and energy, Frank's mask exudes raw strength. You tremble with suppressed power as his form and mind enclose your own, and your cock springs up like a battering ram. You flex and stretch an arm, and snap your teeth hungrily. <br/>
<br/>
"Awesome," you mutter. "I can see why fucking Blackwell likes being here." Joe looks at you in alarm, and you force yourself to shrink and relax. "But it's just until we rescue the real one. Anyway--" You look down at your hands. "I haven't got any of his real power. Just the face."<br/>
<br/>
"You know, it's only a little less creepy having you inside there than having that thing inside it," Joe says, jerking his chin at Lucy. "And how does it help us deal with the real one?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're supposed to be the smart one, haven't you got a plan?" you retort.<br/>
<br/>
"You mean you were counting on me to--?" He squeezes the bridge of his nose and sighs. "We'll have to knock him out. Trap him. Put him inside a mask. A golemized mask. Your brother's?"<br/>
<br/>
"You know," the Will-golem calls from near the door. "My phone's been ringing, and I think it's tall, dark and scary."<br/>
<br/>
Your eyes and Joe's meet. "You haven't answered, have you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Do I look stupid?" Frank's personality almost forces the obvious answer from you, but you bite it back. "We put him under the Prescott mask," you say in a low voice. "It's under Blackwell's control. Is Straussler still MIA?" Joe nods. "Then there'll be very little risk of it running into its master."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay. I'll call Frank," Joe says. "If you're not answering your phone, ten to one he'll order us over to your house to see what's up. That'll be the excuse we need to take Will there back with us."<br/>
<br/>
You try not to think about what will happen when you take the Will-mask off your brother out at Blackwell's.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Joe has predicted Frank's reaction to a tee, and the three of you bundle into the truck and drive back out to the villa; along the way you settle on a plan to ambush Frank. And so, as you dismount from the truck, Joe seems to split into two identical copies of himself, which briefly grin at each other before one of them--the real Joe--trots around back to scale the wall. The Will-golem stares in open amazement, but with Frank's memories you're well-prepared for the "Gemini" illusion, and with a word to the golem lead it and the magical hologram of Joe into the house.<br/>
<br/>
Frank ignores you and glowers at Prescott. "Explain yourself," he says in a voice that is all the scarier for being so quiet.<br/>
<br/>
"Like I told these assholes," he whines in a way that makes you cringe, "Robert wasn't at home, so I couldn't grab him."<br/>
<br/>
"And why didn't you answer your phone?"<br/>
<br/>
"I knew you'd yell at me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yo, me," you call. "Want me to fetch Lassie?" You cross over to the French window, so that Frank turns his back to the library entrance. Just in time, too, for you catch a brief glimpse of the real Joe flashing past, into the kitchen.<br/>
<br/>
He hesitates, then shakes his head. "No. But since Robert is being a problem, we'll just leave Prescott where he is." He sweeps a glittering spike from the desk, and before you can stop him he drives it deep into your doppelganger's forehead. "Welcome back to your old life."<br/>
<br/>
Your knees weaken: now Robert is trapped as you, and you don't have a mask to put onto Frank. At that moment Joe hollers from the kitchen: "Oh God, mother! Blood! Blood!"<br/>
<br/>
Frank gapes, and with three quick strides is out the room. A moment later you're after him, just catching sight of the Joe-illusion evaporating as you pass. In the kitchen entrance you find Joe smiling grimly over Frank, who is sprawled on the floor. The ruins of a "sleeping web" waft from the edges of the doorway. "Prescott!" he calls over your shoulder. "Get your face in here!"<br/>
<br/>
"Won't do any good," you say. "Frank nailed it in onto Robert." You briefly describe what happened in the library.<br/>
<br/>
Joe groans. "Shit. And we can't get it off, can we?"<br/>
<br/>
"Only the crafter of the nail can remove it." You nudge Frank with your toe. "And I doubt he'll want to do that for us."<br/>
<br/>
"We still have your brother's mask," he says in a strained voice. "We can use that."<br/>
<br/>
"It'll need to be bound, and you and me are both golems. We don't have any <i>essentia</i> to use as an agent."<br/>
<br/>
"Surely Blackwell has an old hairbrush or something around here. For his beard?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know if hair comes with an expiration date. You wanna take that kind of risk?"<br/>
<br/>
"I can run back home and get some of mine off my old hairbrush."<br/>
<br/>
"Same deal. And what if some of Frank's is mixed up with yours?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't let him touch my shit." You give him a skeptical look, and he sighs raggedly. "Well, fuck. I'll just go find someone from school. That'll actually be safer than using Blackwell's. And we got enough knockout stuff, we can keep him sleeping until I get back."<br/>
<br/>
"Or," you say, seizing on a sudden idea. "We can put his head in the stripping sigil and try stripping Blackwell's <i>anima</i> out of the band."<br/>
<br/>
"Dude!" he cries in horror. "That's all kind of fucked up!"<br/>
<br/>
"It's a long-term solution."<br/>
<br/>
"Only as a last resort! A <i>very</i> last resort!"<br/>
<br/>
There are no immediately happy solutions, and after another fifteen minutes of argument you can come up with no others.</span></div></div>


path: 11221111111222112211112222
author_id: seuzz
title: A Frank Exchange
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I'll stay here with you," you reply. "You fuckers are scary enough without meeting up with your 'dad,' whoever <i>he</i> is."<br/>
<br/>
Frank smiles wryly, and Joe claps you on the shoulder. "It'll work out, you'll see," the latter says cheerfully. "Just don't let Frank bully you."<br/>
<br/>
"Can you get me inside Blackwell's," Frank asks.<br/>
<br/>
"He doesn't like strangers," you say. "Joe can tell you that. But I'm supposed to show up there later this evening, as Cindy. He, uh, he says he needs to check out her mask."<br/>
<br/>
"Is it something to do with the girl herself?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not entirely sure what it is," you say, trying to be truthful without sounding too evasive. "He doesn't tell me everything he's thinking. But I can ask, try to get some leads out of him about what happened to her."<br/>
<br/>
"Probably the same thing that happened to her sister," Joe says. He briefly tells Frank that Lucy Vredenburg is another victim. "We should check out the <i>Libra,</i> see if we can make any educated guesses about what he might have done with them."<br/>
<br/>
Frank chews his thumbnail. "Normally I'd go with your suggestion, Joe," he says, "but I want the book out of town and out of reach. Dad'll flip about us losing the truck, but we've no more time to spare trying to conjure it back. Hustle on down to a car rental place and hit the road."<br/>
<br/>
"Prescott can always drop me off," Joe says. "We'll split a cab. Or will you be using Justin's car?" he asks you.<br/>
<br/>
"It'll have to be Justin's. Cindy hasn't got one of her own, remember?"<br/>
<br/>
"I wanna go along too," Frank says firmly. "I wanna hit Blackwell tonight. I wanna get this wrapped up as quickly as possible."<br/>
<br/>
"Without me?" Joe cries, but Frank only frowns. "You never let me have any fun," he pouts.<br/>
<br/>
"Blackwell won't like you showing up," you object, "especially after I showed up with Joe this afternoon."<br/>
<br/>
"Give him a story."<br/>
<br/>
"Like what?" you exclaim. "I used up the only story I could tell him-- Well, that's not true," you admit, and kick at the carpet. "I almost told him something else, but you won't like it."<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"I almost told him I wanted to use a mask on Joe, copy him and take his place."<br/>
<br/>
The atmosphere seems to freeze, but Joe dispels the ice with a laugh. "Hey, I'm a good-looking guy," he says. "You want to snuggle up close to me? You only have to ask. Oh, and put Cindy's face on."<br/>
<br/>
"<i>Pack your overnight case, Joe,</i>" Frank shouts, and jabs his brother in the chest. "The one without the prophylactics." <br/>
<br/>
Joe's expression turns even more mirthful, and he opens his mouth to reply, but thinks better of it after Frank's expression turns even more wrathful. He scampers out of the room with a grin.<br/>
<br/>
"Now that we've finally got rid of Pan and his magic flute," Frank says in lower and milder tone, "I'll tell you that that's not a bad idea. We'll do it, but I'll play the victim-to-be. Call Blackwell and tell him you're coming out with a new body you want to swap into."<br/>
<br/>
"You can't be serious," you gape.<br/>
<br/>
"If I wanted an argument, I'd have told Joe the plan," Frank frowns. "Are you supposed to show up as Cindy?" You nod. "Then get changed and make the call. Use the bathroom and keep your voice low. I'll keep Joe distracted."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"I told you Blackwell wouldn't be happy," you tell Frank as soon as the two of you have dropped his brother off downtown. It's the first moment you've had to report back out of his brother's presence. "And he wasn't."<br/>
<br/>
"Just let me get through the door," he replies, not taking his eyes from the road. "I can handle him."<br/>
<br/>
"Then why haven't you handled him before," you ask. "How long have you been watching him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Two weeks, maybe? We tried staging a raid, but he has ... protections ... woven about his house. We want something neat and surgical that won't land on the nightly news. And that means we have to be <i>invited</i> in. Besides, we didn't know how many innocents were mixed up in it. Now we realize we have to be very careful."<br/>
<br/>
"Who <i>are</i> you guys?" you ask. "Every time I think I have you figured out, you throw me for a loop. I mean, what was that stuff about sin and redemption earlier?"<br/>
<br/>
"You haven't earned an answer to that question," he answers brusquely. "Depending on how you acquit yourself, you'll get a more or less detailed explanation when it's all over." Maybe being disguised again as Cindy has left you feeling vulnerable, but something in his tone leaves you feeling that a "less" detailed explanation would be a good deal less frightening.<br/>
<br/>
It's dark by the time you arrive, and you both stare at the house without speaking for awhile. "I'm to be his latest victim," Frank says at last. "How is he going to catch me?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not sure," you admit. "But--" You tell him about the trick Blackwell used to nab both Roth and Shabbleman. "Probably you shouldn't touch anything. How far inside do you need to get?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just over the threshold," Frank says. "Joe is the persuasive one. I like to come on strong. Let's go."<br/>
<br/>
It's but a short walk from the gate to the front door, but it seems longer; there's something about the way the house looms over you, like a crouching beast of prey, that leaves you feeling daunted. If Frank feels it too, he doesn't show it. But then, you can only see his outline in the gloom.<br/>
<br/>
You ring the doorbell and wait, but there is no answer. You ring it again. The porch light springs on. Frank turns to you, and his eyebrow twitches meaningfully. You draw back to give him room. As you step back, something brushes your ear.<br/>
<br/>
You push it away, but it sticks to your finger. You look down at it in surprise: it is a thin filament, like a spider web. You frown and glance up at Frank. A thicker web has settled into his dark hair. He blinks and brushes at it, and then his eyes go very wide. You feel yourself gasp as his gaze goes out of focus. He visibly struggles, but has only the strength to briefly focus back on you again before he stumbles to the side. You only hope your own expression of shock tells him that this is as much of a surprise to you as it is to him. Then he falls against the door, and your own vision fades.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
And yet you don't pass out. You are vaguely aware of a third presence materializing, and you feel led along, weightlessly, not seeing or sensing anything definite. Your mind swims sluggishly and feebly; you want to sleep, but you can't. Your own sense of existence feels suspended.<br/>
<br/>
It returns sharply, though, with a feeling of being tugged. The world springs back into view, but it's the black-and-white vision that you have when you are outside a mask. Blackwell stands before you. "Thank you for bringing Miss Cindy's mask, Mr. Prescott." He shows it to you, then casts it aside. "Give me half a moment, and we'll have you in a new body."<br/>
<br/>
You feel stiff, but it is only the stiffness of being a golem. You take a few tentative steps about the library--stepping over Cindy's clothes, now laying in a heap on the floor--and are brought up short by the sight of Frank Durras splayed out rigidly on one of the long tables. Maybe it's the light or your own lack of color vision, but his face is very white.<br/>
<br/>
"What was that stuff you used?" you croak.<br/>
<br/>
"Just a little web for unwary insects," he says. "It didn't quite knock you out, but it handled your friend quite nicely."<br/>
<br/>
A glow appears on Frank's face, and Blackwell removes the new mask. "I trust this will be your last move for a good long while," he says meaningfully. "And I am letting you make this move only under protest. I <i>assume</i> this latest maneuver is needed in order to cover your previous exchanges?"<br/>
<br/>
"Something like that," you murmur.<br/>
<br/>
He holds the mask close as he regards you carefully. "You've been bringing too many visitors out here," he says. "I shall want a full accounting of this newest persona, and why it is so important that you acquire him." He hands you the mask.<br/>
<br/>
You can think of nothing to say except the truth. Rather than do that just yet, you put the mask to your face.<br/>
<br/>
Iron bands close around your mind. You groan inwardly as they tighten and encumber. A great weight seems to settle upon you; and though you know you are still standing upright, you feel yourself buckle beneath it. Down you sink, and it seems as though all sense of yourself is being pressed out. Frank Durras is stepping into you, taking your place in the world ...<br/>
<br/>
And then, like a cork, you bob up and into him. The unbreakable iron settles into your bones. His persona sheathes your mind like armor. His mind and will are a sword and mace in your hand.<br/>
<br/>
You smile faintly to yourself, and your eyes fall onto Blackwell: a small, despicable man. He needs to be squashed, and that isn't just "Frank" talking. You know everything Frank knows, and you know you can trust his judgment completely in this matter.<br/>
<br/>
Yet you regard Blackwell speculatively. He can be very useful; the question is whether he will be more pliant if you bully him or if you pretend you are still working for him.<br/>
<br/>
He seems to feel your contempt, for his eyes darken. "Who are you?" He means to sound rough, but he only manages to sound petulant.</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112221122111122221
author_id: seuzz
title: A Frightening Frank
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Will Prescott, of course," you snort. "But you'd be more interested in learning about ... Well, he's calling himself Frank Durras, and we can stick with that name for the time being."<br/>
<br/>
"Explain yourself," Blackwell demands. "You manner is too insolent."<br/>
<br/>
Your laugh is soft and sardonic, and you brush him off to look about the library. A most impressive collection, much more impressive than Frank had guessed it might be. Your eye falls on the vampire-cyclops monkey. <i>Ah, the little fucker.</i><br/>
<br/>
"I said--"<br/>
<br/>
"I heard you the first time, professor. We're going to have a long time to talk, and we'll have a lot to talk about. Figuring out where to begin is the hard part." Your stroll has brought you up to the recumbent Durras, and a chill settles over you. "We'll need to get rid of my original, though, and that basement isn't going to do the trick. How long can you keep him knocked out?"<br/>
<br/>
"First you had better--"<br/>
<br/>
"And I said you need to keep this guy knocked out. If he wakes up, our lives are going to be very unpleasant and then they are going to be very short." Only the fear that Durras might instantly wake at your touch keeps you from throttling him where he lays. "If you have more of that spider web stuff, get it."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not accustomed to being ordered about in my own house," he protests, but he bends under your glare and scuttles from the room. He returns with a small tube and squeezes a dollop of a black paste onto Frank's upper lip. "That will keep him unconscious for a good long time," he says. "Now, what is this about?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's about the <i>Stellae Errantes</i>, professor," you quietly reply. "You've heard of them?" His eyes widen slightly. "I see you have, though maybe you also thought them no longer active. They are, and Frank Durras--" You put your hand to your broad, naked chest and bow slightly "--is one of their agents."<br/>
<br/>
"How did this happen?" he asks, and his voice trembles slightly. "And why didn't you tell me before?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because I didn't know it until just now. They grabbed me a day or two ago--Frank and his partner--but I thought they were just a couple of guys who were into magic and monster-hunting. They wanted to use me to get into your house so they could take you out. But maybe you deduced something was up, since you took him down before we could get in the door."<br/>
<br/>
His eyes narrow. "I had reason to be suspicious," he says. "The <i>Libra</i> is gone. The young man you brought here earlier--?"<br/>
<br/>
"That was his partner, and yes, he managed to make off with the book. It's now on its way out of town."<br/>
<br/>
Blackwell's lips peel back. "You have been most foolish, Will, and we will both suffer for it--"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't start with me, Blackwell," you snap. "I said I didn't know who I was cooperating with, and more to the point you gave me a lot of reason for mistrusting you. Playing footsie with Shabbleman, using him to trick me, sending him to waylay and manhandle me. I'm sure you thought you had your reasons, but I'm also sure you took great, gloating pleasure in treating me like a chew toy." He shrinks and his face darkens. "When you treat others selfishly, only as means to your own ends, you shouldn't be surprised when they twist and bite your hand."<br/>
<br/>
"You have entirely too much self-assurance for one so young," he sneers, then catches himself. "And yet you speak wisdom. Let us treat each other with more honesty. Exactly how dangerous is this fellow?"<br/>
<br/>
"He's an adept of Malacandra," you reply. "He can also wield the powers of Lurga." Blackwell visibly whitens. "He could flatten this house."<br/>
<br/>
"Then we can't kill him outright," Blackwell mutters. "Not without attracting the attention of even worse things." He folds his arms. "We might arrange an accident, but it would have to be handled very delicately."<br/>
<br/>
"Can we hide him? Put him under a mask?" He shakes his head. "What about your own spare? The double you sent up to the university this afternoon."<br/>
<br/>
"He would wake and be in control of it," Blackwell says. "The same if we put Lucy Vredenburg's visage over his. Those masks can only go onto golems."<br/>
<br/>
"How did you handle Shabbleman? Did you kill him?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I did something else with him. There is an advanced spell in the <i>Libra</i> that lets you transform a human into a golem."<br/>
<br/>
"Like me?" Your eyebrows shoot up.<br/>
<br/>
"No, you're something new, a <i>living</i> golem. Mr. Shabbleman is now a stone copy of himself, a suitable object for putting masks upon. He is currently wearing a copy of his own face and has returned to Cuthbert."<br/>
<br/>
"Can you turn Durras into one of these golems?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not without the <i>Libra</i>," he says. "Indeed, without the <i>Libra</i> I can neither prepare nor modify any masks we currently have on hand."<br/>
<br/>
"What resources do we have?"<br/>
<br/>
He starts ticking off items on his fingers. "I have one additional mask already suitable for copying a person--"<br/>
<br/>
"Good. We can take care of Joe when he gets back to town. What else?<br/>
<br/>
"Three golems, in each case a man or woman I have transformed."<br/>
<br/>
"Who?"<br/>
<br/>
"Mr. Shabbleman and the Vredenburg sisters," he admits with seeming reluctance. <i>So much for rescuing them,</i> you wryly think to yourself. "Naturally, I also have masks of Miss Lucy and Mr. Shabbleman. Also of myself. We also have the mask of Miss Cindy."<br/>
<br/>
"I have control of that one. We might hide him there."<br/>
<br/>
He shakes his head. "It was a temporary aberration." He picks up the mask and shows it to you. Its interior is no longer white, and glows as bluely as its exterior. "Your <i>essentia</i> bonded to it for only a little while, then dissipated." He looks up at you sharply. "I suppose we could repeat the trick," he says with dark humor. "We could place the mask upon our hapless inquisitor, and you could, ah, expend yourself within him, as you did with the erstwhile Mr. Shabbleman." He sucks in his cheeks. "I doubt it would last much more than a day, however, which means you would have to give her a, ah, booster shot, as it were, every--"<br/>
<br/>
"Or we put him someplace else. How long can you keep him unconscious?"<br/>
<br/>
"As long as we need. Mind you, I would rather not have to get up every hour during the night to reapply that ointment."<br/>
<br/>
"Then there's only one place to put him," you smile. Taking out your cell phone you call your old number and order "Will Prescott" out to Blackwell's. "I'll have to let the original Justin Long loose," you explain aloud as you turn your attention to pulling off Frank's clothes. "But he won't cause us any problems. And it will be easy to remember where Durras is if he's trapped inside my old carcass."<br/>
<br/>
"It can only be a temporary solution, Will," Blackwell cautions you. "This fellow needs to be permanently disposed of. Since we are now being honest with each other, I will honestly say that his proximity, even so neutralized, makes me very nervous."<br/>
<br/>
You flap Frank's underwear with a smile and pull it on. "Good. Because honestly, his presence should make you terrified."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Afterwards, you snort over all that talk of "honesty." The next time you go out to see Blackwell you will have to be very careful. You have no intention of being caught, as you were earlier, and having Blackwell claim Frank Durras's mask for his own; though the mask comes with none of his powers, Frank's mind is still your only real protection from the magician.<br/>
<br/>
But you've more things to worry about when the cab drops you at the house after you've left a very disoriented--and naked--Justin inside his car near the bus station. There's a strange car out front, and Joe greets you at the door. "The fuck are you doing here," you ask him. "I told you I wanted you to get the <i>Libra</i> back to Dad."<br/>
<br/>
"Keep your shirt on," he retorts. "You should check your text messages more often. I was looking through the book while waiting for them to bring out the car, and I found some stuff I thought you'd want to hear about. First, though, how did things go at Blackwell's?"<br/>
<br/>
"Lousy. He wouldn't let us in. I just got back from freeing Long and dropping Prescott off at the girl's." You push past him into the living room. "I'm getting sick of the sight of square one. Now, what's so fucking important you disobeyed a direct order?"<br/>
<br/>
"We might be too late to save those cheerleaders," he says soberly. "Blackwell's fingerprints are all over a spell that Gorgonizes people." He describes a spell that you can now recognize as the trick Blackwell told you he used on Shabbleman and the Vredenburgs. "If you wanted to get someone out of the way while still getting use out of them, that's what you'd do."<br/>
<br/>
"Makes sense," you sigh. "And he's just the kind of asshole who'd do it. Still, it's not big enough news you had to tell me right away."<br/>
<br/>
He throws his hands in the air. "You want me on the fucking road, I can be on the fucking road in twenty seconds."<br/>
<br/>
You sit down, cross your legs, and regard him speculatively. The safest thing--the "honest thing," you inwardly smirk--is to take him out to Blackwell's; with the magician replacing him, you'd both be safe from the <i>Stellae,</i> at least in the near term. But you don't want to share these guys with him. It would be dangerous keeping Joe around, but if you did you could secretly use the book to replace him with a slave of your own. Then you'd be safe <i>and</i> you'd be positioned to take out Blackwell.</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112221122111122222
author_id: seuzz
title: A Fearful Frank
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Instinctively, your fingers ball into a fist, but you force yourself to relax. Frank's mind is completely intertwined with your own, and so you know that none of Frank's techniques are within your reach. The stuff that gives him his power is inside him, not the mask.<br/>
<br/>
"Frank Durras," you reply, forcing yourself to shrink. "Just a goofy high school senior."<br/>
<br/>
"And why did you need him so quickly?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because he had a date with Cindy and I couldn't bear to break his heart by standing him up. Guy has some self-esteem issues."<br/>
<br/>
He sucks in his cheeks and stares balefully. "It's not that I don't trust you, Will," he says. "But the fact is ... Well, the fact is I don't know how to finish that sentence. I <i>don't</i> trust you. What have you been up to?"<br/>
<br/>
He must have noticed the <i>Libra</i> has gone missing, so you decide to play dumb--for time, if nothing else. "Nothing. What do you think I've done?"<br/>
<br/>
"Who is this young man? And the young man you brought out here this afternoon?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just some guys I ran into, brothers who go to school at Eastman."<br/>
<br/>
"You haven't been sharing confidences with them, have you?" He picks up a small wand, a more alarming action than if he had drawn a pistol.<br/>
<br/>
Time for a strategic half-confession. "Alright, here's the deal. Did Shabbleman say how he got away from me the other night?" Blackwell says nothing. "Well, these two guys found him and they let him out. They also found Justin's mask and his clothes. They figured out some stuff. A lot of stuff."<br/>
<br/>
Blackwell's eyes glint. "Most careless of you. But tell me more."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, they found me, told me they wanted masks of their own. I didn't want to tell you, right, because I knew you'd be pissed. So I tried handling them myself. The other guy wanted to snoop out here, so I brought him over. Thank God you were here. But after that I knew I had to get them out of the way. So I brought Frank out here, to replace him. If you've got another mask, I can get Joe and--" You snap your fingers. "Problem solved."<br/>
<br/>
He drills holes into you. Joe is the persuasive one, as Frank said, but Frank's armor could deflect psychic bullets. Blackwell gets a pinched look, but you can tell he's mostly accepted your account. "Was it the other one who made off with some of my property?"<br/>
<br/>
"You mean the book? Yeah." You hang your head guiltily. "That's how come I decided to grab them, before they could do any real damage. I told them you had some tools that the book needed, and got Frank to come with me. Once I got rid of them, I was gonna sneak the book back in here."<br/>
<br/>
"I see," he says dryly. "And how were you going to slip it back into my possession without my noticing it had gone wandering <i>again</i>?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hide it in a drawer someplace?" You grin weakly. "I was kind of hoping you'd find it and put it down to absent-mindedness."<br/>
<br/>
He grunts. "You are a fool, Mr. Prescott. Let us hope for your sake that you are an honest fool. Return it to me. Tonight."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay." You'll have to come up with a story later. "You have another mask I can use on this guy's brother?" He just glowers. "Alright, alright, I'll just get it from him. So, I guess the thing now is to get Cindy's mask on him before he wakes up."<br/>
<br/>
"That won't serve your purpose." He picks it up. "It is true that your injection of <i>essentia</i> had the effect of putting its wearer out of commission and the mask under your control, but the effect has dissipated." He shows you the interior of the mask, which blazes a brilliant blue color. "If we put it on your latest victim he will know who he is and where he is."<br/>
<br/>
You swallow. If Frank wakes, you know, he won't waste time asking questions. You and Blackwell will quickly become wet spots on the floor. <br/>
<br/>
"I suppose your only recourse is to employ the same technique as subdued Mr. Shabbleman," Blackwell says, his voice dripping with malicious insinuation. He holds the mask over Frank's face. "The experience of being taken without his consent by his own doppelganger will be a most unpleasant one, I'm sure, but it will be no more than he deserves."<br/>
<br/>
Sweat breaks out on your brow. Even inside a mask, you're sure, Frank could make short work of you once he regained consciousness. But you can't tell Blackwell that. "I can't," you croak.<br/>
<br/>
"Why so fastidious?" he asks, and your stomach heaves at his expression. "It has to be done."<br/>
<br/>
"Look, I can't get it up, not to do something like that."<br/>
<br/>
"That is too bad. Coitus would be the entire point of the exercise," Blackwell reflects. "If she were unconscious, do you think you could manage it?" <br/>
<br/>
"Look, I can get Prescott out here. We can put the mask of me onto him."<br/>
<br/>
"We could, but we won't," he snaps. "If you cannot deal with him this way, I will simply put him in the basement and keep him there until you get the book back to me, and then I can deal with him via other means."<br/>
<br/>
The basement won't hold Frank. "Alright, I'll do it," you say. "Can you just make sure he's out cold? I can just turn off the lights and do it if he's not fighting me."<br/>
<br/>
"I can't believe a healthy young male needs such help," he sneers. "But yes, I can arrange that much for you." He steps from the room.<br/>
<br/>
Your mind flies through various possibilities. There will be no forgiveness for you if you violate Frank in the manner Blackwell is insisting on. Still, maybe if you got Frank, still unconscious, to safety, to revive him and swap back with him ... You hope it is not an illusion borne of your own desperation, but you think he would understand. He knew perfectly well he was putting himself in grave danger, and he was putting his trust in you as a kind of test.<br/>
<br/>
At the same time, your realization that he was putting you to a test deeply angers you. <i>Self-righteous son of a bitch.</i> Joe would never have put you to such a test, but the shadow of Lurga lays heavily on Frank's spirit. Your jaw clenches. You could get him out of the way, first by enslaving him under Cindy's face and then moving him safely under Prescott's. But what would you do when Joe returned?<br/>
<br/>
You are still deeply absorbed in the problem when Blackwell reappears. He puts Cindy's mask over Durras and drops a cloth over her face. It puckers as she breathes softly in and out. He drops a second mask onto the table. "Upon reflection, it would probably be best to secure control of his brother as well. This is my last spare mask, so you had <i>better</i> get the book back."<br/>
<br/>
"Not a problem. Thanks." <i>Not that you can use it with Joe out of town ...</i><br/>
<br/>
He withdraws the handkerchief from Cindy's face. "You can carry her upstairs now. She will be unconscious for the better part of thirty minutes."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll take her out to the car," you reply, gathering her clothes up off the floor. <br/>
<br/>
"She will instantly awake if you take her mask off," Blackwell warns. "Don't count on getting the original out from under Miss Cindy and into Mr. Prescott without his putting up a fight. Though, if you are determined--" He shrugs. <br/>
<br/>
"That's me, stupid and stubborn," you snap, and start pulling Frank's clothes off Cindy's small frame. Blackwell offers you no help as you change; nor does he help as you scoop up the transformed Frank, both sets of clothes, and the blank mask, and carry them all out to Justin's car.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You drive around, still in a naked state, until you find a deserted road and pull over. You're still deciding what to do when the screen on Frank's cell phone lights up with a message from Joe: "Call when you have a chance. I'm back at the house." <i>The fuck?</i><br/>
<br/>
You swiftly dial him. "What's going on?" you demand. "You should be fifty miles out of town by now."<br/>
<br/>
"I was just perusing the <i>Libra</i> while at the dealership, looking for a little nightmare fuel," he chuckles. "I found an interesting spell I thought you should know about. Where are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's a ticklish moment, Joe," you reprimand him. "Spit it out."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, long story short, he's probably got the girls trapped in a state that only the book can get them out of. You still want me out of town, or do you want me to stick around, so you can have a look at this spell?"<br/>
<br/>
You take several long, deep breaths before answering. "Call you back in ten minutes," you say.<br/>
<br/>
Your first thought, deplorably, is that you can now quickly and permanently dispose of both Frank and Joe. All you have to do is-- You look at Cindy, who slouches in the car seat next to you. You are overcome with revulsion at what you'd have to do. It suddenly seems so much better to just end it all and accept whatever consequences Frank and Joe and their masters have stored up for you. You'll just take Frank back to the house and unmask him and yourself in front of Joe, explain things, and promise to keep working with them.<br/>
<br/>
But Frank's mind is working furiously within your own. Why wait? After tonight, Blackwell will certainly let you and Frank back inside without a moment's hesitation. You can free him now, and the two of you will be able to end Blackwell's career within the hour. <br/>
<br/>
Unless Frank, in a fury and without his brother's restraining hand, ends your career first. With that possibility as a contrast, your first thought, of turning the tables on both Durras brothers, seems much less frightening.</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112222
author_id: seuzz
title: The Frame Up
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You opt for Jared, as you would like to keep an eye on Blackwell. After you are "human" again, Blackwell leads you downstairs, to make "proper introductions." Shabbleman glowers in an unfriendly way, and Blackwell seems too preoccupied to smooth things over. There passes a tense evening spent avoiding each other.<br/>
<br/>
When night has properly fallen, Blackwell leads everyone upstairs to separate bedrooms. "I cannot urge you strongly enough to stay in your rooms with the doors closed and locked," he tells you and Shabbleman. "I have ... Well, you might call him a 'night watchman' who prowls the grounds between midnight and dawn. Your doors, once closed, are sealed against him. But break the seal, and you will pay a terrible price." You don't need to be told, but sardonically you wonder how seriously the other takes Blackwell.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You rise early to fix yourself some breakfast, and only after you are well along do you realize you have no appetite. Not long after, you hear Shabbleman's and Blackwell's voices. They are indistinct, though you think you hear Shabbleman say "third wheel." Both fall silent when they see you, though Shabbleman gets a gleam in his eye as he sneers at you.<br/>
<br/>
"I think," says Blackwell, "that the day would be best spent if we all did chores that kept us out of each other's way. As it happens, I have classes to teach. I can give Mr. Shabbleman some reading. Mr. Prescott, after breakfast I have a little physical labor to ask of you."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not hungry," you say. "Do golems need to eat?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not regular golems," he says, tugging his ear, "though it is good to keep in the habit. Still, if you'd like something to do—" He shrugs and beckons you outside.<br/>
<br/>
"I need a little digging done," he says, handing you a shovel and leading you around to the mausoleum. He indicates a wheelbarrow and a trench. "Just fill the wheelbarrow, at least to the lip on all sides, with soil from this spot." He unlocks the mausoleum. "Then unload it inside," he instructs, pointing to a stone bier that has a sigil carved on it. Into the middle of it he pours the contents of a small envelope. "Cover that please, carefully, as you start. It is a necessary ingredient for an important spell."<br/>
<br/>
It's dirty work, and you curse as you set to it. Your temper isn't improved when you glance up at one point to spot Shabbleman grinning at you evilly from a window. As you just finish moving the pile a silhouette looms in the doorway: Blackwell.<br/>
<br/>
"Very good," he says quietly, stepping in and pulling door closed. He hands you a small suitcase and a watch. "Give me five minutes, and then you may exit. Hop quickly over the wall and sprint around to the back, where you will find an SUV. Inside, you may change into the clothes in this bag. There is also a mask. Meet me at my office at 1:30."<br/>
<br/>
"Where's your office?"<br/>
<br/>
He smiles. "The person inside the mask knows." And then he leaves.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You bounce along lightly on the balls of your feet, smiling to yourself at the appreciative stares from the boys, and occasionally waving to acquaintances. The short skirt brushes nicely against your thigh, and your long, blonde hair swings around your shoulder. You love to tuck it back behind your ear.<br/>
<br/>
You're a few minutes late, but you don't mind making Blackwell wait. "Professor," you chirp, sticking your head around his door. "Do you have a minute?"<br/>
<br/>
"Of course, Miss Vredenburg," he says. "It is always a pleasure." He gestures you to close the door and sit. "I must say, you are looking flushed with happiness."<br/>
<br/>
You shrug and cross your legs. "I feel good. That's all." He returns your smile. "So what's with the cloak-and-dagger stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
"Mm-hmm. I'm afraid there's been a terrible accident," he says, steepling his fingers and giving you a wry look. Your heart leaps hopefully. "A Mr. William Prescott," he continues, "a student from the local high school, burned to death this morning when he became trapped in a small building on my property."<br/>
<br/>
Your smile freezes. "What are you talking about?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm afraid it was the only way to effect a separation between you and Mr. Shabbleman," he says quietly. "I'm afraid I had to arrange things so that he would think that you are dead."<br/>
<br/>
"You mean you killed that golem you made of me?" The thought that even your duplicate might be dead to the world makes your blood chill. <br/>
<br/>
His face twists. "Hrmm. I see my attempt to be humorous has backfired. Let me be plain." He leans forward. "I arranged things this morning so that it would appear that you, the living golem, had been destroyed. I did this so that Mr. Shabbleman would think I had gotten rid of you. I kept him distracted until you had escaped in Miss Vredenburg's SUV, and then I took him out and showed him the burning pile of earth that, I said, were your remains after you had fallen into my trap. In fact, of course, you have simply adopted a new disguise." He gestures at you.<br/>
<br/>
You blink. "I still don't understand. Why did you have to pretend to get rid of me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because <i>we</i> need to get rid of <i>him,</i> and <i>he</i> has to be put off his guard."<br/>
<br/>
You bury your face in your hands. "You're giving me a headache."<br/>
<br/>
"If you'll just me explain—"<br/>
<br/>
"No!" You raise your head and feel the blood rush to your face. "You've been dancing around since I showed up again! You answer <i>my</i> questions!" He blanches. "You tell me what <i>I</i> want to know!"<br/>
<br/>
He seems to glower for a moment, but then lapses into an oily smile. "Certainly," he says softly. "That is why I arranged this meeting via some extremely devious means. But before I tell you everything, I would like to ask <i>you</i> a very important question."<br/>
<br/>
You glower at him, but he ignores it.<br/>
<br/>
"You intimated last night that you wanted a body again. Do you still want a body?"<br/>
<br/>
You blink. "You mean, like, a human body?"<br/>
<br/>
"Precisely. Not a golem's shell with a mask attached. An actual body."<br/>
<br/>
Your eyes narrow. "I thought you said that golems are indestructible. That this is a phil— Phil—" <br/>
<br/>
"Phylactery" he says. "Yes, your golem's body may be indestructible. I don't know, however, that that is exactly what has happened to you. And it may have disadvantages."<br/>
<br/>
"So what are you saying?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not saying anything. I'm asking. I'm asking if you want a human body again."<br/>
<br/>
He's up to something. "I thought you said you couldn't get me my body back."<br/>
<br/>
"True. That I don't know how to do. But I said 'a' body. Not 'your' body."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I'll bite. Whose body?"<br/>
<br/>
"Your cousin's? Mr. William Shabbleman's?"</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111122221
author_id: seuzz
title: The Scheme Against Shabbleman
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You cross your arms across your prodigious breasts. "Are there any other options?"<br/>
<br/>
"Frankly, no. The kind of melding procedure I have in mind would only work to put you into <i>his</i> body. No other container would be suitable."<br/>
<br/>
"Why not?"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you interested in taking his body?"<br/>
<br/>
You make a face. "Not really."<br/>
<br/>
"Then it would be a waste of time explaining things to you. Suffice it to say that 'body swapping,' however common in the movies, is fiendishly difficult to pull off in real life. Because Mr. Shabbleman is your cousin—"<br/>
<br/>
"My <i>what?!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Your cousin. I found him in Cuthbert. You know of <i>them,</i> don't you?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Brrrrr. Yeah, that explains a lot ...</i><br/>
<br/>
Blackwell continues: "Because he is your cousin, however, it <i>might</i> just be within my ken to put you into his body."<br/>
<br/>
You smile tightly. "Yeah, well, I plan to be around for awhile. If it's a choice between moving into his body and spending years researching spells on how to do a regular body swap, I think I'll do the research."<br/>
<br/>
He shrugs. "As you say, your vessel is not going anywhere. I will find some other way of handling Mr. Shabbleman."<br/>
<br/>
"Fine. Now that we've settled that, will you explain to me what this whole 'killing me' thing is about?"<br/>
<br/>
"Mmm. Yes. Well, after last night I thought it best to effect a separation between you and your cousin—"<br/>
<br/>
"What is he doing around here, anyway?"<br/>
<br/>
Blackwell's face twinges. "Might I ask you to be a little less <i>bitchy</i> in your manner, Miss Vredenburg?" he waspishly asks, emphasizing the name associated with your alias.<br/>
<br/>
You force yourself to relax.<br/>
<br/>
"Thank you. He is here because, as I told you, he is your cousin. After your untimely disappearance, I decided I still wanted an adept, preferably someone of your blood line." You arch your eyebrows, but he ignores it. "I chose your cousin after researching your family tree and visiting Cuthbert. It's a choice I regret now, for many reasons, not least of which is that <i>you</i> have returned, thereby rendering his services superfluous."<br/>
<br/>
"So why don't you fire him?"<br/>
<br/>
"I doubt he would take rejection well. His family certainly wouldn't."<br/>
<br/>
"So get rid of him and send a golem back in his place."<br/>
<br/>
"Are you sure you don't want his body?" You shake your head firmly. "Then that is what we will have to do," he says with a sigh. "It will be tricky—"<br/>
<br/>
"And what does all this have to do with faking my death?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because," Blackwell says. "So long as you were around he would be on his guard. Now that he thinks you are dead—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I get it."<br/>
<br/>
"Yes. Furthermore, because I'm the one who, er, 'killed' you, thereby proving that I prefer him as an apprentice, he will be less on his guard against me."<br/>
<br/>
"Oooh, very clever, Professor." He makes a slight bow. "So what is <i>our</i> plan?"<br/>
<br/>
His manner suddenly becomes very tentative. "I— Ah— I recognize that you have a strong aversion to his company and to his person ... Uh-herghm ..."<br/>
<br/>
You don't like the way he's fudging. "Ye-es?"<br/>
<br/>
He bites his lip and looks everywhere but your face. "Erm ... Would you be willing, purely in the interests of getting rid of him ... It may be the only way ... Er ... Well, would you be willing to seduce him?"<br/>
<br/>
You cross your arms, cross your legs, and press back in the chair. "First you suggest putting <i>me</i> inside <i>him,</i>" you say through gritted teeth. "Now you suggest letting <i>him</i> come inside <i>me?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
He tugs his ear wryly. "Putting it that way rather <i>does</i> make it sound as though I have a fetish."<br/>
<br/>
"Stick to slash fiction, Professor."<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing." You sigh and ponder a bit. Eventually you give up. "Okay, what am I supposed to do about my parents? Lucy's parents, I mean."<br/>
<br/>
"What do they have to do with anything?" Blackwell asks in surprise.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, Lucy is supposed to be out of town. That's what you had her tell them a few days ago."<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, a road trip. I needed the golem that was inside her, so that I could send a Shabbleman golem back to the Cuthbert. I needed a week to manufacture a second golem as a replacement for her."<br/>
<br/>
"Where is the second golem?"<br/>
<br/>
"In the mausoleum. The soil you so helpfully dug up doubles not only as your corpse but as the raw material to a new golem, which is cooking even now."<br/>
<br/>
"What happened to the first golem?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's the one you're inside, of course." He makes a face. "Why do you ask all this?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just trying to keep things straight. See what resources we've got." You suck on a strand of hair. "I guess sleeping with a guy is the easiest way to get his guard down. But I'd like to try thinking up a different way. That's why I wanted to know what to tell my ... <i>Lucy's</i> parents. I'd need time to think, so I'll be going home."<br/>
<br/>
"Tell them whatever you want, and take as much time as you need," Blackwell says. "I didn't envision an assignation taking place this afternoon."<br/>
<br/>
You can't suppress a smile as you stand up. "Like Lucy hasn't done slept with a guy twenty minutes after meeting him ..."<br/>
<br/>
"Before you go— If you're not going to use seduction," Blackwell says, "force would probably have to be employed. It might be wise of you to acquire a male body."<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong with Jared? He's got muscles."<br/>
<br/>
"But there is no knowledge or technique inside it." Blackwell smiles mirthlessly. "Do you know how to fight?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well enough." You tilt your chin.<br/>
<br/>
But he looks skeptical. "The big strong body of someone who knows how to use it," he rumbles. "Mr. Shabbleman, I deem, is quite dangerous."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll think about it," you say.<br/>
<br/>
And you do. Late that night, when Blackwell calls to check up on you ...</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111122222
author_id: seuzz
title: The Plot Against Will Shabbleman
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Let's pretend I am interested," you say cautiously. "First of all, who is that cocksucker?"<br/>
<br/>
His smile warms. "I'm glad that you have calmed down. If you'll permit to say so, you are behaving altogether too much like an excitable female. Like Miss Vredenburg, in fact."<br/>
<br/>
You ignore the gibe. "Who is he?" you repeat.<br/>
<br/>
"His name is William Shabbleman. Perhaps the name means something to you. He is one of your cousins. Or, cousin-like relatives. He comes from Cuthbert."<br/>
<br/>
You flinch. <i>Oh God. One of </i>those<i> cousins.</i> "What a nice coincidence," you mutter.<br/>
<br/>
"It's no coincidence at all," he retorts. "After you disappeared, I recruited him as a new adept."<br/>
<br/>
"Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because, Mr.— Miss—" He sighs. "Because magic runs in your family. It may leap generations, and it pools and puddles in individuals—"<br/>
<br/>
"Wait, you're saying there's something <i>magical</i> about my family? About me?"<br/>
<br/>
"We've no time for another metaphysical discussion," He waves his hand dismissively. "It would probably be more accurate to say that your family occupies a node in a particular, occultic web. Just as these five fingers—" He splays his hand "—all belong to my hand, so you and he and others in your family are part of—emanations, perhaps—of a particular nexus of occult power."<br/>
<br/>
You lean to the side and rest your head on your hand. "What makes you think that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, things I have seen while being in your company. Things I saw when I visited Cuthbert last week." He pauses, and you think you see him shudder, but he quickly recovers. "But mostly, it's because of the trouble I have had with this <i>damn book.</i>" From a drawer he removes a thick tome and drops it with a thump on his desk. It's the <i>Libras.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Let me tell you a little bit about it, and my adventures with it," he says, settling back. "It is many hundreds of years old. It may only be a copy of a much older work. Certainly it is a compendium of much older <i>spells.</i> But I won't bore you with the scraps of rumors that place it, at various times, in Constantinople, Vienna, Saxony, France, or London. For our purposes its story begins a few months ago, when an old woman in upstate New York died. It was found in her estate.<br/>
<br/>
"By sheer chance I managed to hear of it. Or maybe it wasn't chance, but at the time I thought it was. I hurried up there, to try to lay hands on it, but it was already packed away, to be shipped off to her heirs. I was unable to retrieve it, but I did arrange for the package to be misdirected to a different location. From there I <i>was</i> able to retrieve it, but then it wound up at that used book store, where <i>you</i> found it."<br/>
<br/>
You blink, waiting for more.<br/>
<br/>
"That is the general story, and it sounds like a chain of accidents. But here are the details. The old woman's heir was a Florence Shabbleman of Cuthbert. The address to which I sent it, which I chose at random because I did not anyone to surmise that <i>I</i> might have been responsible for its theft, was Salopek Engineering, of this city."<br/>
<br/>
"That's where my father works," you blurt out.<br/>
<br/>
"Precisely. And after residing briefly in my library it found its way to you, the son of a man who works at the place I had it shipped, and a cousin of those to whom it was supposed to go."<br/>
<br/>
He fixes you with a solemn stare. "I do not believe in coincidences, Miss— I believe in <i>purpose,</i> and I believe that this book had as its <i>purpose</i> that it should come to a member of your family."<br/>
<br/>
You mull this. "So it really belongs to me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Careful." He raises an admonishing finger. "Grudgingly, I will now admit that it belongs in the Shabbleman circle. To which individual? I don't know. Maybe it seeks nothing more than to rest within that circle."<br/>
<br/>
"So you asked me to become your assistant because ..."<br/>
<br/>
"For various reasons, but my paramount reason became this: Because this book has been trying to get to your family, I wanted one of you close by so it would stay settled."<br/>
<br/>
"And you went and got Cousin Will—"<br/>
<br/>
"After you disappeared, for the same reason."<br/>
<br/>
You sigh heavily. "Okay, that all makes some kind of screwy sense. And it takes us up to this morning. But this deal with trying to kill me—"<br/>
<br/>
"I did not try to kill you," he says sharply. "I do not <i>want</i> to kill you. I doubt I could. You are a most resilient young man, as your recently concluded adventure demonstrates."<br/>
<br/>
You grimace. "Thanks. So what's this plot all about? You're actually trying to get rid of my cousin?"<br/>
<br/>
"Precisely."<br/>
<br/>
"Why? Because you don't like him?"<br/>
<br/>
"More than that. I do not trust him! He is also, thanks to your return, a third wheel."<br/>
<br/>
"Then why don't you just send him back to Cuthbert?"<br/>
<br/>
"You've met him. I doubt he deals with rejection well. I've met his relations, and I am <i>certain</i> that they do not."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, get rid of him, and send a golem back in his place."<br/>
<br/>
"<i>That</i> would not get you a body."<br/>
<br/>
You're startled at the corkscrew turn in the topic, but go along with it. "Okay, explain to me how <i>that</i> is supposed to work."<br/>
<br/>
"Magicians are like magnets," Blackwell says, leaning forward. "Sometimes they are attracted to each other, and sometimes they repulse each other."<br/>
<br/>
"He certainly repulses me."<br/>
<br/>
"That's not what I meant. I am referring to <i>essentia,</i> to <i>being.</i> Because you are blood relatives, and because, in the case of magicians, it is even possible to mix <i>essentia,</i> I suspect it might be possible to mix yours with his, in such a way that you can <i>become</i> him. It would neatly solve a number of problems."<br/>
<br/>
There is a little more technical talk, and Blackwell impresses upon you that his scheme requires that Shabbleman think that <i>you</i> have been destroyed, but it is soon time for him to go teach another class, and he has to cut it short.<br/>
<br/>
But first: There is something about the whole thing that bothers you. Something that you are missing, or that he isn't telling you. You decide to test him.<br/>
<br/>
"I like the idea of getting a body back," you say, crossly your arms and tilting your chin. "But I want more out of it."<br/>
<br/>
"Like what?"<br/>
<br/>
You nod at the <i>Libra.</i> "I want the book. Not access to it. I want <i>it.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
His smile seems to fold over onto itself, it is so expansive. "Certainly. Here it is." He slides it over the desk to you. "And I wish you all good fortune with it."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
That seems to settle things, and you agree to meet him tomorrow during school hours for a further discussion of what needs to be done. Despite your triumphant reclamation of the <i>Libras,</i> though, you feel oddly empty as you exit his office.<br/>
<br/>
Still, you have a new life to explore. Lucy Vredenburg's parents believe her to be out of town; and that means you are free to indulge her wild side and have fun. But you do have the <i>Libras</i>, and as you walk across the quad with it tucked neatly into your shoulder bag, you feel drawn to its secrets.</span></div></div>


path: 11222
author_id: seuzz
title: The House on the Edge of Oblivion
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>Faculty meeting, my ass!</i> you snarl to yourself as your truck tears up in front of the address on the card. Fast-talking sonofabitch slipped that past you real neatly, didn't he? All it took was a quick look on the internet to get a phone number, and then a phone call to the Archaeology Department to discover that there <i>wasn't any</i> faculty meeting planned for that day. Fucker clearly thought he was dealing with an amateur. Well, he was right, but he didn't know what <i>kind</i> of amateur he was fucking with!<br/>
<br/>
You strongly suspect that Blackwell will be at his house <i>until</i> six and will then bug out before your putative appointment, so you're surprised when you pull up in front of a whitewashed stone wall to find no car in front. After staring hard at it a moment, you park and walk slowly around the place. The wall goes all the way around and is punctuated by a single, ornate iron gate. But there is no garage or any other kind of structure nearby. In fact, it stands on the western edge of Saratoga Falls, just off Farm Road near the river, and there are no houses at all near it.<br/>
<br/>
Back around the front, you peer in through the gate. The house itself is a large villa, two stories (with maybe an attic) that glows in the late afternoon sun like a brick of burnished copper. It's surrounded by a large yard that is, despite the ornamental flower beds, entirely dead. Well, that's not quite true. There is a yew tree at the corner of the house, standing over a stone gardening shed.<br/>
<br/>
You eye this pair closely. It would be easy to get to the top of the shed and there into the tree ... You follow it the line of the bough and branches up, and spot an open window on the second floor.<br/>
<br/>
You look at your watch: Five-fifteen. In a house like this, you could probably find lots of stuff that is easily worth five hundred dollars, maybe more; and it's so big that Blackwell would probably not miss it for a good long time. The shifty bastard would never connect a theft to you, either. Even if he is back by six, you probably have plenty of time to slip in, do a quick search, and slip out again.<br/>
<br/>
But wait, are you actually thinking of breaking and entering  a man's home? After all, he did give you a legitimate address, and he seems to have set up a legitimate meeting time. Maybe you've misjudged him; maybe he himself just got the faculty meeting time mixed up in his own head. You could go home, get something to eat, and then come back over later tonight, when he is sure to be home.</span></div></div>


path: 112221
author_id: seuzz
title: Burgling Blackwell
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The wall is tall enough to be a challenge but not tall enough to be a strain. You pull yourself up and walk along its rim until you come opposite the stone gardening shed, then leap onto its roof. You shimmy up the tree and along the branch and pull yourself in through the window. <br/>
<br/>
You find yourself in a bedroom decorated in reds and golds, and it looks like something out of Chinese emperor's fever dream. Felt, silk, and damask line the walls and ceilings; a magnificent four-poster bed reclines regally in the corner; large cabinets and wardrobes made of cherry stare down from a far wall. Despite the open window, the air is stifling. <br/>
<br/>
The wardrobes and closets contain lots of clothes but precious little else. The private bath discloses only toiletries and an unflushed wad of toilet paper. There isn't even any jewelry.<br/>
<br/>
You quietly open the door and look into the dark hallway. At one end you can see the top of a landing at the top of a large staircase; at the other is a door that opens into a much smaller landing and the bottom of another staircase. There are three more doors in the hallway. <br/>
<br/>
You take the staircase down. The broad flight of stairs, thickly carpeted, ends after a turn and a landing halfway up in a large foyer that leads to the front door. You go down, and find three other entrances. One leads into a kitchen and dining area, which you ignore. Another leads back into something that looks like a living room. And the third leads to a library.<br/>
<br/>
You shudder when you look into the room that Blackwell wanted you to work in. It is lined with bookshelves that reach to a very high ceiling, and there are several large desks in the middle. There are two grandfather clocks, ticking loudly but out of synch with each other, an effect that quickly gets on your nerves.<br/>
<br/>
As you turn you whirl; you had the distinct impression that someone had stepped out of the library's shadows and reached for your shoulder, but there is nothing there. You blink into the gloom, then slowly retreat backwards to the staircase. The library probably contains valuable things, but you really don't want to set foot inside it.<br/>
<br/>
At the top of the stairs you pause again; the light is dim, but you feel sure you saw a shadow detach itself from one of the walls and scurry to the far end of the hall. You look back down the stairs, half expecting to see someone standing there. You shake your head; the place is giving you the creeps.<br/>
<br/>
With a deep breath you steady your nerves and open the door to another bedroom. It is bare of anything save a large unmade bed. The same goes for another bedroom, save that this one has a private bath. You open the mirrored cabinet to see if there is anything hidden inside, see nothing, close it, and ...<br/>
<br/>
Your shriek rents the air, and you bounce off the wall and fall into the bathtub as you recoil from the mirror.<br/>
<br/>
The shock jolts you out of your panic, and you glare up at the thing. It is sitting in an alcove next to the door, positioned so that it is facing the mirror; when you closed the mirror, you caught its reflection in motion: a small stuffed animal, maybe two feet tall, shaped something like a hairless orangutan. It is grinning in a most unpleasant way.<br/>
<br/>
With a groan you pull yourself from the bathtub and advance cautiously on it; it does not improve upon closer inspection. Its lips peel back to reveal long, sharp fangs, and it has only a single eyeball in the middle of its forehead. It leans forward on its haunches, seemingly in the act of springing. So terrifying is the illusion of incipient motion that you edge around it, keeping your eyes forward and your back away from it, as you exit the bathroom. Once out, you run from the room. Maybe its only an echo, but when you shut the bedroom door, you are sure you hear the bathroom door slam shut too.<br/>
<br/>
You are now thoroughly unnerved but determined to find something of value—anything of value—to pinch. So you are prepared to take whatever you can find in the last bedroom, no matter what it may be. You are rewarded with only another bare bed and a cabinet. But hang on: a key is in the lock of the latter, so you open it to find it contains two porcelain masks: ovals shaped like the classic tragedian's masks. <br/>
<br/>
You grin. They may not be valuable, but taking them would be a condign revenge for losing a book about magical masks. Maybe <i>these</i> are magical!<br/>
<br/>
As you pick one up, two things happen simultaneously. The first is that you notice it contains something like a reflection within its polished blue surface. That hardly holds your attention, though, as the second is a sound of running footsteps in the hallway. You gasp, and leap backw toward the window when the doorknob rattles loudly. <br/>
<br/>
You put your hand to the window but do not lift it—you have the presence of mind to see what develops next. The knob rattles again, and then there is scraping sound on the far side of the door, as of nails being dragged up the woodwork. The hair on the back of your neck goes up. You pull the window up an inch. <br/>
<br/>
The sounds cease. Then, from the corner of your eye, you see a shadow behind you.<br/>
<br/>
You turn, and there's no mistaking it for illusion. A hand, very long and very dark, with mats of hair hanging from the wrist and forearm, is sliding across the window pane. It reaches down to the sill and grasps the bottom of the window to lift it.<br/>
<br/>
That's enough for you. Whoever is in the hallways has got to be better than whatever is coming in through the window. You tear the door open and jump into the hall; something like an explosion of wings batters at your face, and you scream. Blinded, you reel down the hall. At the top of the stairs the carpet twists under your feet, and you somersault headlong down the stairs, and only narrowly miss cracking your head on the hard tile at the bottom. The mask bounces from your grasp, but even in your terror you don't forget it. You scoop it up and run into the kitchen. <br/>
<br/>
Whatever is loose in the house is now fully roused; behind you comes the heavy thud—almost like cannon fire—of heavy feet bounding down the staircase. You are crying and sobbing as you scrabble at the front door, and come real close to putting your hand through the pane glass in an frenzied attempt to get out before ... it ... the thing ... reaches you. But you have one last moment of lucidity, and see that what you took to be the lock is actually the knob. You grab and twist the other protuberance, yank the door open and flee headlong across the barren garden. You bark your shin badly on a short, ornamental alter and nearly topple over, but you recover and sprint on. You toss the mask over the wall, leap to the top, hoist yourself over and fall to the other side.<br/>
<br/>
Instantly, that overwhelming sense of terror evaporates, leaving you blinking under a bright, late summer sun outside a large and perfectly normal stone villa. Yet your heart is still hammering and your nerves vibrating; the relief you suddenly feel manifests itself in an explosion of giggles.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, <i>shit</i>!" you yell, panting and laughing and wiping the streaming tears from your face. You keep saying it over and over again until something like calm again descends upon you. You sniff back the dribbling snot and look at your prize.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's a mask about the size of your face, polished a deep, iridescent blue. It has a brow and cheeks, and a nose, and a mouth and a chin, but it has no eyes. Something like a dim reflection plays in its surface, but in the bright daylight you can't really tell what it is—your own face or some illusion cast into the brilliant surface. <br/>
<br/>
You turn it over and jump a little. On the inside hovering in a 3D effect over a metal strip, is Roman lettering: AUBREY DESMOND BLACKWELL.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, at least I know I got something that belonged to him," you murmur to yourself. I wonder what he would pay to get it back?" You sniff, and put it to your face as though trying it on.</span></div></div>


path: 1122211
author_id: seuzz
title: The Girl in the Basement
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>For a moment everything is very dark and very heavy, and a drowsiness nearly overwhelms you, and then he comes in—a presence, not a form, that is at first strange, then terrifying, and then very familiar. He says nothing of course, but you know exactly what he is thinking. Or would be thinking, if you were him. But of course you are not him. Except that you are.<br/>
<br/>
You open your eyes with a groan. You are sprawled on the ground between the gate to the villa and your truck. Your heart is heavy with dread as you put your hand to your head and touch a bare pate covered with only a few strands of lank, greasy hair. You're not surprised, and you've a pretty good idea what you will find when you sit up. You do sit up and find exactly what you expected: an enormous paunch straining out from under a much too small t-shirt. You wince and with a great effort pop the buttons of your jeans open. You feel sick to your stomach over the change that has come over your body. Luckily, you know how to reverse it, but you also know you have much more important business to attend to first. <br/>
<br/>
You open the gate, which is unlocked, and quickly trot—or waddle, which would be more accurate—back across the lawn. You have no key, of course, so you hurry around to the kitchen door, which is once again closed and locked. Luckily, the owner of the house never locks a door without leaving a key around, and you scoop the kitchen door key out from under the mat: an obvious hiding place, but the house isn't really protected by locks, is it?<br/>
<br/>
Inside, you hurry into the library and disarm the guardian before it can resume its prowl. You then go upstairs: your own sense of decorum demands that you peel off Will Prescott's too-small clothes in favor of some of the owner's. You feel more comfortable if no less weighty and badly misshapen after wrapping the body of Aubrey Blackwell—for it is his body that now encloses yours, like a lard-swollen cocoon—in some of Aubrey Blackwell's clothes.<br/>
<br/>
In the spare bedroom you take out the other mask—luckily you grabbed Blackwell's disguise rather than this one, which is blank—and close the cabinet again. You very much want your burglary to go unnoticed for as long as possible, so after locking it again you wrack your brains for a plausible hiding place for the key. Inspiration quickly hits and you bustle upstairs to the third-floor workroom, where you mix it in with a drawer of similar metal implements. Blackwell did lose it there once, long ago, and if you're lucky he won't think to look there for a good long time.<br/>
<br/>
You briefly consider taking some of the implements in the work bench or hanging on the wall, but realize that would fully reveal the activity of a burglar. Besides, you could make your own versions of them later, if you had to.<br/>
<br/>
Because despite having Blackwell's memories and even a sense of his proclivities, you have no clear idea of what you should do over the long-term. You only know that there is one very important thing that you need to do now.<br/>
<br/>
With a deep breath you return to the library to do the trickiest task of all. You take down the Watcher's icon—a stuffed replica of Cerberus, the three-headed dog from Hades—from an alcove. The released spring causes the catch to unclasp, and you pull back one of the bookcases, which is actually a secret door. You descend the spiral staircase on the other side.<br/>
<br/>
The basement beyond is lit from a narrow window high overhead. It contains a cot, and the girl who is sitting on it looks up at you with a mixture of fear and sadness. <br/>
<br/>
"I have to ask you to trust me, Lucy," you say. "I know who I look like, but I am not Aubrey Blackwell. I'm here to rescue you."<br/>
<br/>
She looks startled, but says nothing. For your part, you are too busy trying to visualize a plausible escape to even glance at her naked body.<br/>
<br/>
She licks her lips. "There's a ... a thing ... on the stairs," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"I know. You have to take my hand." You hold it out. "You can pass it so long as you hold onto it, and I hold onto this." You show her the icon.<br/>
<br/>
She is plainly loath to touch you, but she follows your instructions. There is one fraught moment when she brushes past the spot where the Watcher stands; she shudders and sways on her feet, but you pull her roughly through it, and then she almost runs you over in her dash to get all the way out. <br/>
<br/>
You close the door and reset the guardian and hustle her out the front door. Lucy tries covering herself as she runs up the walk to the gate, but you prod her along. Only once you are out the gate and in your truck, you hand her your old clothes and testily order her to hurry into them.<br/>
<br/>
You've been very lucky so far, but it will all be for naught if the real Blackwell catches you, so you waste no time hurrying back toward town. It's a close-run thing, and you have to turn and hide your face, and force Lucy down, when, only a 100 yards down the road, you pass Blackwell going the other way. You watch fearfully in the rearview mirror, but he neither slows down nor turns around.<br/>
<br/>
"If you're not Professor Blackwell," Lucy asks in a halting manner once she's got your clothes on, "then who are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"You might call me his 'good twin'," you say after a moment's hesitation. "It's all very confusing, I know, but you'll understand it all very soon."<br/>
<br/>
"Can you take me home?" she asks. "My family will be sick with worry. I haven't seen them in ..." She trails off.<br/>
<br/>
"Almost a week. I know." Your voice is sympathetic but grim. "I'm afraid that's not possible, not just yet." You need a hiding place for her. "I still need you to trust me. Just a little longer. And then I'll explain everything."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You pass the rest of the drive in silence, and you hit on the idea of hiding her at your "clubhouse." That's the basement of the old elementary school near your house. You broke into it several years ago, rearranged it to fit your fancy, and then put your own padlock on the outer door. It's been a few months since you've been in, so you're glad to see that your lock still hangs on the door; you are also glad you hung the key on your keychain. <br/>
<br/>
You usher her into its gloomy depths. For awhile it seemed she was growing to trust you, but there is fear in her eyes again as you close the door behind you.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm going to show you something very disturbing," you tell her. "Please steel yourself. I may faint away myself, and I don't want you fainting too." You're very conscious that you're talking the way Blackwell would; his mind seems to be settling in so comfortably into yours that the borders are blurring. Lucy grips the side of a desk as you put your hand to your nose and forehead and utter the dreadful Latinate words, and rip your face off.<br/>
<br/>
It's not painful, but you still have to fight to remain conscious and on your feet. You succeed at the one but fail at the other, if only because as you transform back into yourself Blackwell's tent-like pants fall down around your ankles. You let out a loud cry as your ass hits the hard ground. You look up to see Lucy gaping at you; she is unsteady for a moment, and then topples over too. Luckily, she doesn't pass out, but still sits there staring at you.<br/>
<br/>
"William Prescott," you say to her, holding out a hand. "I go to school with your sister. You probably don't remember me, but I was totally in love with you your senior year. I was a sophomore."<br/>
<br/>
She takes your hand numbly and doesn't reply. <br/>
<br/>
You hold out the mask to her. "I hate to ask you to do this, for a lot of reasons, but I need you to put this on. It'll be much quicker than trying to explain things to you. You'll want to get undressed first."<br/>
<br/>
She hesitates for a few good solid moments before taking the mask from you. It's a compromise on her part, because she does <i>not</i> disrobe before gingerly putting it to her own face.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You look at your ripped clothes ruefully as you pull them back on. "Where are you going?" Lucy asks. She is out of the mask again; she wore it for only five minutes or so, but that was long enough.<br/>
<br/>
"Get some new clothes for me, get something for you," you reply. "I live just a few blocks over, so I'll be right back."<br/>
<br/>
"What should I do in the meantime?"<br/>
<br/>
"Try to keep warm, I guess. Think about what our next move should be."<br/>
<br/>
"First thing is to get rid of that fake that's moved into my house," she says grimly.<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe," you reply. "But the most important thing is getting rid of the puppet master. He still has the book, remember, and he can make more."<br/>
<br/>
Still, Lucy may be on to something, you reflect as you hop back in your truck. Blackwell has replaced her with a fake, a thing that walks and acts and thinks just like her but which is completely under his domination. It is his most reliable ally, which means it is also his Achilles heel.<br/>
<br/>
On the other hand, he must also know by now she has escaped and will be alert to the danger that his golem has been compromised; at the same time, he also probably doesn't know that you have stolen his two masks. The one of himself has given you access to everything he knows and thinks and plots; the other is a blank that you can use to get close to him by imitating someone else in his life.</span></div></div>


path: 11222111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Alluring Lure
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>As you drive back to your house, a dark thought occurs to you: Blackwell, on finding Lucy gone, will likely assume that she has run to or otherwise fallen into the hands of the police. Even if she doesn't go to them first, a naked girl would certainly be picked up by a patrolman, who would then go to Blackwell's house to investigate a charge of kidnapping and false imprisonment. He would have to escape, and his safest hiding place would be under the mask he had made of Lucy herself: with her debit and credit cards he could hide out in a hotel in some other city until he could make a new mask and then vanish into some other identity'and circle back for revenge.<br/>
<br/>
You explain this to Lucy when you return. "We have to get to him before he can bug out," you conclude as she finishes putting on the long cotton shorts and oversize t-shirt you brought her. "I think that means grabbing your doppelganger. How good are you at recognizing your own voice?" She gives you a puzzled look. "I mean, if you called her ... it ... and pretended to be someone else, do you think you could lure her ... it ... out here?"<br/>
<br/>
She thinks a moment. "Yeah," she says slowly. "Be kind of weird, but'" <br/>
<br/>
You toss her your cell phone. "Tell her you broke down and need a ride."<br/>
<br/>
She flips open the phone and dials. "Hello ... Loosy?" she asks in an odd accent. She turns very pale and swallows; it must be hard to talking to the thing that has taken over your life. "Dis is Anika, you know, from History? I need help, you got a moment?" She listens. "Where are you? Can you come help me? My car broke down." She listens. "Yah. I'm at ... um ... an old school ..." She gives you a desperate look and you give her the address, which she relays to her interlocutor. "Yah. T'ank you so much." She slaps the phone shut.<br/>
<br/>
"Who was that?"<br/>
<br/>
She blinks. "The ... the fake me. You know."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I mean who were you pretending to be?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, just one of my classmates."<br/>
<br/>
"Where's she from?"<br/>
<br/>
Lucy hesitates. "Greenland?"<br/>
<br/>
Well, it doesn't matter. The fake was at home, which suggests that Blackwell hasn't discovered the escape yet. If he calls her first and gives her orders to come out to his house, though ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Outside, you pace nervously, practicing the magic words you will need to use, and checking your watch, wondering how long you can wait before deciding that Blackwell has put the golem on a detour. To your relief, it's not long before an SUV pulls up next to your truck, and Lucy'<br/>
<br/>
Lucy Vredenburg, beautiful, sexy, and haughty; Lucy, the cheerleader who never noticed you, who would have rejected you as far below her station; Lucy, the perfectly made up girl in the tight sweater and the short skirt and the cute tennis shoes. The real-seeming Lucy you remember, not the bedraggled, desperate girl in the building behind you.<br/>
<br/>
--gets out. She glances around as though everything else in sight, including the bugs crawling on the ground, is more interesting than you are. She doesn't even speak.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you Lucy, Anika's friend?" you ask. She finally seems to notice you, and nods curtly. "I ran into her, helped her out. It was my phone she used. We got it fixed and she left."<br/>
<br/>
The fake Lucy sniffs. "And no one called. Typical." She turns to leave.<br/>
<br/>
"Hang on, you've got some smoodge on your face," you tell her. She looks over her shoulder and flinches as you reach for her. "I'm just going to wipe it off," you say. She stares back with disgust and it looks like she's going hit you, so you dart at her, grabbing at her brow.<br/>
<br/>
She squeals and curses, but you hang on grimly and shout the words. There's a tearing sound ...<br/>
<br/>
... and then you are grappling with a gray slab, dressed in Lucy's clothes. It topples over, pinning you to the ground. <br/>
<br/>
"Are you alright," you hear a voice call, and look up to see the real Lucy tugging the golem off you. "I was watching from the window, and thought you might need some help."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, thanks," you say, pulling yourself to your feet. You can't resist running your hands across the front of the golem's sweater as you get up, but Lucy doesn't seem to notice.<br/>
<br/>
Instead, she has a pinched look on her face as she looks down at the thing. "Do I really ... I was watching the whole time, and ... I do really act that way? All'" She tosses her hair back and tilts her chin.<br/>
<br/>
"Um, yeah, you do," you say. "At least, around people like me you do." She swallows.<br/>
<br/>
You are suddenly very conscious of the fact that you have rescued and are working with a girl who normally would never give you the time of day, and who hasn't even thanked you yet for what you've done for her. Of course, the circumstances are very weird: you have saved her from a warlock, and she's been naked the whole time. But you have both been stiff, awkward, and deeply uncomfortable with each other the whole time. <br/>
<br/>
You are saved from further awkwardness by the chirp of a cell phone. It is Lucy's, ringing from inside the purse that's still in the car. You look at each other in a panic, and then Lucy reaches in and opens it. "Hello?" she says uncertainly. Her lips peel back and her eyes widen, and you don't need to ask who it is. "Of course, I'll be right over." She closes the phone and looks at you with terror on her face.<br/>
<br/>
You look down at the golem, and at the mask in your hand. There's no reason to put Lucy herself through a confrontation with Blackwell. <br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 112221111
author_id: seuzz
title: Go to Blackwell's as Lucy
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"You don't have to be the one that goes," he tell her, pointing to the mask.<br/>
<br/>
She hesitates, then shakes her head. "I appreciate the offer, but I don't want any more ... copies of me ... running around."<br/>
<br/>
"I really think it would be a good idea," you say. "You don't look like you're in any state to do this yourself."<br/>
<br/>
For a moment it looks like she's going to argue, but then she sags and nods. "One last time," she says quietly. "And that's all."<br/>
<br/>
The two of you carry the golem into the basement and peel the clothes off it. You take off your own clothes, and then you lay on the floor and put on the mask. After you get up, you are surprised to see Lucy watching you closely and carefully as you dress in her clothes. Apparently she wants to make sure you don't take any liberties with the borrowed form. <br/>
<br/>
You try to keep the bounce out of your step as you go out to her SUV, but it's hard. This is a body you fantasized over for most of your sophomore year, and it is hard not to enjoy the press of large breasts against a tight sweater, or the swish of legs past the empty place where your cock should be. Perhaps its Lucy's own pre-kidnapping persona coming to the fore, but you catch yourself scoping out your very pretty face in the rear view mirror as you start up the car. But even though she is not with you to watch you, you keep your desire to touch your new body in check. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You swish lazily up the front walk of Blackwell's house. It is now late evening, and the porchlight is off, so he wouldn't be able to see as you take the mask out and hide it behind your hand bag. You ring the doorbell and tuck a stray hair behind your ear. You give him an insolent look as he opens the door.<br/>
<br/>
He looks pale and nervous. "You took long enough," he snaps, "but you're a sight for sore eyes. Come in." You step into the foyer and he shuts the door behind you. "No time for pleasantries, dear," he continues. "I have need of your face." He reaches up to your brow.<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry, I'm still using it," you retort. He freezes, and in that moment you jam the mask against his face. <br/>
<br/>
He falls heavily to the ground as the mask disappears into him. It's the mask of his own form, and it should charge up with all of his most recent memories. It will also keep him quiet while you find a more permanent way of dealing with him. <br/>
<br/>
You've only a dim recollection of his own memories, but you're sure he has some sleeping powder nearby. You go into the kitchen and rummage through the drawers before remembering that he has a "medical bag" under the sink. Inside it you find a bottle with the blue powder. Out in the foyer you watch him carefully as you pull off Lucy's clothes and tear the mask from your face. You fight the urge to pass out, and shuddering pains pass through you, but you manage to keep—barely!—to your feet. You're alert again by the time the mask reappears. You snatch it up, and blow the powder into his face. That should keep him quiet for half an hour, at least.<br/>
<br/>
Upstairs, in his bedroom, you put his mask on, letting yourself relax and pass out, then waking with a start. You quickly put on his dressing gown—already laid out on the bed—and take stock.<br/>
<br/>
He had found the mask cabinet locked and the key missing, and had searched in vain for it, and only after temporarily giving up gone down to find Lucy missing. That baffled him completely, and his confusion was one reason he was so quick to call his golem in: as you had surmised, he was eager to evade what he was sure would be a descending police force. The <i>Libras Personas</i> is up in his workroom, and you run up to the third floor to secure it, taking it and the key to the cabinet; back down in the spare bedroom, you lock the book in the cabinet and put the key in your pocket. <br/>
<br/>
But what to do with him? Your best bet is to put him the basement, where the Watcher can keep him trapped. But can you get him down there while he's unconscious? He is very big, and very fat.<br/>
<br/>
While musing you hear a nearby car start. It's not until you remember how little traffic there is on this street that the penny drops. You run downstairs to find Blackwell gone and the door open. Worse, all of Lucy's clothes, and Lucy's mask, are gone too. He must be wearing them ...<br/>
<br/>
... and that means he knows where Lucy is. <br/>
<br/>
She has your cell phone, and her cell phone is now with Blackwell; he can call her and pretend to be you. You grab up the house phone to try reaching her first, but the line is busy and she doesn't switch over. Two minutes pass, and the line is still busy. <br/>
<br/>
You groan: Now that you have his most recent memories, you know he recently put a Mesmeric Word upon her, in case she escaped: As long as she hears the sound of his voice, she will be powerless to act without his consent. He is talking to her, keeping her distracted, until he can reach her. You don't need to ransack his memories to know what he will do to her when he gets to the school.<br/>
<br/>
There's only one thing to do: You go down to the library, take the specially prepared sigil from out of the desk, and set a candle in the middle of it. You light it, mutter the prescribed words, and blow out the flame. You only hope no one else gets caught in the aftereffects.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Smart girl: She waits until the lights of the cab have disappeared before opening the basement door and coming out. She says nothing as you slowly advance and hand her the suitcase. "I thought about taking you back to Blackwell's for the night. But then I figured you would rather be anyplace else—even the basement here."<br/>
<br/>
"What happened?" she says. "You called me and we talked and then—"<br/>
<br/>
"What did we talk about?"<br/>
<br/>
She looks at you funny, opens her mouth, and then stops. "I don't remember."<br/>
<br/>
"That's because it wasn't me. It was Blackwell." You tell her what happened back at the house.<br/>
<br/>
"So what happened to him," she asks when you reach the point of him getting away and calling her.<br/>
<br/>
"There was an accident," you say. "Or, rather, I caused one. He put a spell on your SUV. It's how he was going to get rid of you once he could. Let you escape in your car, and then—" You clap your hands together. "It would look like you'd been driving too fast, or something."<br/>
<br/>
She puts her hand to her mouth.<br/>
<br/>
"It worked, too. The cab passed it on the way here. Your car was demolished. No one else, it looks like, luckily. It took a corner and went into a cement wall. No one could walk away from that."<br/>
<br/>
She is very pale, and sits down on the ground. "I suppose he deserves it," she says. "It was his own plan. But still."<br/>
<br/>
You wait for her to catch up to the rest of the implications.<br/>
<br/>
"But why do I have to stay here?" she asks. "Can't you take me home now?"<br/>
<br/>
"Lucy," you tell her gently. "He was wearing your mask. He had to have been. It's the only way he would know to call you. He was wearing your mask, and that means everyone thinks it was you. <br/>
<br/>
"You're alive, but everyone thinks you're dead."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You skip school the next day, and meet Lucy over at the clubhouse. You bring the morning papers. Sure enough, the horrifying accident that claimed the life of Lucy Vredenburg is front page news. <br/>
<br/>
She is very gray in the face, and weeps. You want to pull her to your shoulder, but you decide that would be presumptuous. Instead, you let her work through her feelings, talking about her mother, her sister, her friends, her plans, her interrupted life. When she's done she looks around. <br/>
<br/>
"And what am I supposed to do now? Live in this basement for the rest of my life?"<br/>
<br/>
This is the moment you'd been patiently waiting for. You reach into your bag and take out the blank mask. "No. You can be anyone you want, you know."<br/>
<br/>
She takes it and runs her fingers slowly over it. "I'd forgotten," she says. "You're right, I can have a new life."<br/>
<br/>
"Put you back in college with a new identity?"<br/>
<br/>
She thinks long and hard.<br/>
<br/>
"No," she says. "I have to be there for Cindy."<br/>
<br/>
"It'll be harder to give you a high school life."<br/>
<br/>
"Not if you put me in for one of Cindy's friends."<br/>
<br/>
You blink. This is not what you'd expected. "You're not serious."<br/>
<br/>
"I am," she says firmly. </span></div></div>


path: 1122211111
author_id: seuzz
title: Character Revelations
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"That's just as bad as anything Blackwell was up to," you point out.<br/>
<br/>
"No, he was just in it for power or something. I need to be there for my sister."<br/>
<br/>
"You're still hurting someone else, robbing them of their life."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't care."<br/>
<br/>
Her expression is as firm as granite, so you give up. You pick up the one blank mask you took from Blackwell. "I should go back to his house as him, use what he knows to figure out how to do it. In the meantime ..." You stretch out on a table. "Turnabout is fair play. You can go to school as me. Look around and pick out your victim." You drop the mask onto your face before she can argue.<br/>
<br/>
After you wake, you can tell that she <i>wanted</i> to argue, but couldn't have come up with any objections: The alternative is that <i>you</i> pick out a victim for her. She takes the mask with ill-disguised loathing and puts it on. As she is already dressed in some of your clothes, she does not need to change. Probably this is to her relief as well as yours. You're not keen to see yourself naked head on, and she is very delicate about trying to adjust her new cock. <br/>
<br/>
"Try to keep in character, and don't get me in trouble," you tell your new twin as he drops you off at Blackwell's.<br/>
<br/>
"Dude, make up your mind which one you want," he mutters. You give him the finger, and he returns it. Well, this looks like the start of a crappy friendship.<br/>
<br/>
Inside Blackwell's you turn off all the phones, and with your own sigh of loathing put Blackwell's mask back on. There is much to do.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You start by making a new mask: Blackwell has all the ingredients in his workroom. It will take some time before you can use it, because it has to be "polished" first, but you diligently set to work rubbing and buffing it as you pore through his books and notes. You are able to make a number of useful devices using the <i>Libras</i>: A mask that can absorb more than one visage, melding them into new faces and bodies. Bands that can copy the minds and personalities of others. Masks that copy both minds and bands. Golem-slaves that can wear masks and which will mimic perfectly the desired target. And then there is the new spell, which causes you to shudder.<br/>
<br/>
As far as you can tell, it is also used to create a golem, but instead of using pure graveyard earth, it also uses a living body. You sense this spell is used as a kind of two-fer: it creates golems <i>and</i> gets people out of the way so they can be replaced with duplicates. The page, however, only tells how to cast the spell; what exactly it does, and whether its effects can be undone, can only be on the reverse side, which can only be read after you have performed the spell. <br/>
<br/>
"It sounds perfect," Will Prescott says when he stops by later that evening. "Let's do it."<br/>
<br/>
"May I remind you that you are basically proposing to kill one of your sister's friends?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, first of all," he says, folding his arms and leaning back to balance on the back legs of the chair. "First of all, we're not killing them. Just turning them into this golem thing. And maybe you're right, and it's reversible. That's a lot better than killing them."<br/>
<br/>
"But we don't know that."<br/>
<br/>
He shrugs. "So, it's either we kill 'em or we maybe kill 'em. You're really arguing?"<br/>
<br/>
"You would kill one of your sister's friends to get close to her again?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's the second of all. I don't think it's one of her friends I'm thinking about killing."<br/>
<br/>
"Who? No, never mind," you wave your question away. "You know how I feel, <i>Lucy.</i> I mean, obviously you do." You gesture at her.<br/>
<br/>
A smirk crosses her face. "Yeah, I know exactly how you feel, <i>Will.</i> And that's the third of all. Once we've got me a new identity, what's to keep you and me from getting close? Think about it." He grins. "You. Me. Chelsea Cooper. Gordon Black. Wouldn't you like to be the guy who's captain of the basketball team and banging the head cheerleader?"<br/>
<br/>
You swallow, but you know your duplicate can read you too well. "Okay, so Chelsea's a cunt," you weakly try to argue.<br/>
<br/>
"And Gordon's a dickhead."<br/>
<br/>
"You want to be a cunt like Chelsea?"<br/>
<br/>
"So I de-cunt her. She could stand it. And Gordon can stand to be dialed down too."<br/>
<br/>
"Why Chelsea? If she's not one of Cindy's real friends?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because she's <i>not,</i> and she <i>could</i> be." He sits forward with a thump. "And she's making Cindy's life <i>miserable.</i> She's kicked her off the cheerleading squad. And you know why? Because she's a wreck over my 'death'." There's a fire in his eyes. "<i>That</i> cannot stand."<br/>
<br/>
You put your head on your desk and think a bit. When you raise it, you lodge your last possible objection. "And tell me, <i>Will</i>, how are <i>you</i> going to get close to Chelsea Cooper? Or Gordon Black?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're the magician. You figure it out." He stands abruptly. "I'm late. Mom and Dad are expecting me. I'll stop by tomorrow. Have a solution ready."<br/>
<br/>
You grimace at his retreating back. The picture she paints of you and her as the power couple of Westside High School is a tempting one, though you wonder how much of it would actually come to pass. And what is stopping you from pulling your own vanishing act, now that Lucy has a life? Aside from the fact that it is yours?<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 11222111111
author_id: seuzz
title: Catching Chelsea
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>At least school keeps Lucy--who is continuing to play you--out of your hair during the days; but you also have Blackwell's own appointments to keep. Lucy comes over after class one day, but you send her away by telling her, truthfully, that it will be almost a week before there can be any movement. She takes it with bad grace.<br/>
<br/>
So you have lots of time to think about how to get Chelsea and how to execute several other matters. It's time well spent, for in doing so you familiarize yourself with everything that Blackwell knows, and with the contents of his library. By Sunday night you have constructed a plan.<br/>
<br/>
At eight o'clock you call the Cooper residence, where you introduce yourself to Mr. Cooper as Professor Aubrey Blackwell of Keyserling College. Mr. Cooper assumes at first that you are calling about his son--Chelsea's older brother, who is a student at the university--and evinces surprise when you say that you are calling about his daughter. "It would be tedious to identify and explain my sources of information," you tell him. "Would it suffice to say that reports on Chelsea and her academic credentials have crossed my desk? I am the administrator of several grants and scholarships, and would like to discuss the possibility of financial aid for her should she choose to attend Keyserling."<br/>
<br/>
That definitely gets his attention, though he cautions you that she is probably not interested in studying archaeology. "My bailiwick covers more than just Archaeology," you tell him. "If I could speak to her, we could discuss what her interests are, and how I might be able to help out."<br/>
<br/>
It's all bullshit--Blackwell has nothing to do with financial aid--but it's a plausible line. When Chelsea gets on the phone, you repeat the same story. You can tell she's not interested, but you're certain her parents will make sure she will follow through when you invite her up to your office on Monday afternoon to discuss things a little more thoroughly. You get her cell phone number, "in case there has to be a change in plans."<br/>
<br/>
After that, you call Lucy, and smile to yourself at the noises in the background. It sounds like your brother is being a pest. "I've got it all set up," you tell her. "If you can be here right after school on Monday."<br/>
<br/>
"It's about time," she says. "Your friends are pigs and morons, and this brother-- Hey, give that back!" You rub your forehead as her words are swallowed up by inarticulate shouts, culminating in a yelp of "Dad!" "I'll have to call you back."<br/>
<br/>
"No you don't," you reply. "Just be here by four."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You have to break your own commitments in order to complete your scheme--the department meeting can get along without you, and will probably run much smoother without your presence--and are home by three. You have a manila envelope with you, stuffed with papers that need grading, and you tape it to the front door. Forty-five minutes later, there is a sharp rap at the door, and you open it to admit "Will Prescott." He lifts a corner of the envelope with a fingertip and lets it drop. "What's this?"<br/>
<br/>
"A trap to gain you some new boobies," you retort, and pull him into the foyer. "Is the truck hidden in the back?" He nods. "Good. Wait upstairs. Second door on the left. I'll call when everything is ready."<br/>
<br/>
He disappears up the stairs while you repair to the kitchen, and from a recess in the back pantry you take out a bottle. The spray it contains is volatile, so before applying it you call Chelsea on her cell phone. "Miss Cooper," you say, "I'm so sorry to trouble you with this late notice, but I am suddenly called out of town and unable to meet you."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, that's okay," she says with a cheer that you would find insulting if you actually were a professor and actually were trying to court with an admissions offer. "I hadn't left yet."<br/>
<br/>
"I have, however, put together a package for you. I have taken the trouble to leave it at my house, where I have it taped to my front door. Instead of coming up to the university, if you could stop by my house just long enough to pick it up ..." Her reply is unenthusiastic, so you sharpen the bait with a hook: "I tried making an arrangement with your <i>father</i> to pick it up, but he is indisposed." The threat of paternal displeasure should she return home without the package suffices, and she says she will be at the house within thirty minutes. "I won't be there," you assure her. "I'm already on my way to the airport." You give her the address, and hang up with what would be a feeling of satisfaction if it weren't for what you are actually doing.<br/>
<br/>
You open the front door and carefully cover the manila envelope, front and back, with the contents of the spray bottle. You are careful to wear gloves as you do so.<br/>
<br/>
After that, you pull a chair into the foyer and sit directly behind the door. The paperback novel is not nearly distracting enough to keep you from noticing the passing time.<br/>
<br/>
About twenty minutes later you hear a scratching at the door, and then a heavy bump. Smiling to yourself you stand and open the door. An unconscious Chelsea Cooper falls across the threshold. <br/>
<br/>
She is small but packs no little mass into her compact form, and you're puffing heavily by the time you reach the top of the stairs with her in your arms. You kick at the second spare bedroom door, and Lucy--now out of your mask but still in your clothes--opens it. "About freaking time," she gasps. "I was going crazy up here."<br/>
<br/>
"There are just two more steps," you say as you lay Chelsea on the bed. "Fetch the mask from that wardrobe, please?" You gesture at the cabinet in the corner, beside which stands Blackwell's now useless golem.<br/>
<br/>
"And what are <i>you</i> going to do after this is done," she asks as she hands you the mask, which glows with a soft blue color. You set it onto Chelsea's face, and it sinks into her.<br/>
<br/>
"I thought you said that you'd be getting me Gordon Black as a new face," you reply, and carefully avoid her eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that's a possibility," she says in a shifty tone. "But you know, there's lots of possibilities."<br/>
<br/>
"Then I suppose we can discuss them at some point. Would you like to get undressed?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not until we get <i>her</i> undressed," Lucy says. At least she is diplomatic enough not to say "Not in front of <i>you,</i> pervert!" out loud.<br/>
<br/>
"If you'd do the honors, then," you murmur. <br/>
<br/>
With a loud exhalation, Lucy starts stripping Chelsea of her clothes: running shoes, ankle socks, knee-length shorts, striped t-shirt. She intrudes herself between you and the head cheerleader when it comes time to pull off the bra and panties, and with a snort of your own you cross the room to gaze out the window. "That mask just came out of her," she calls a few moments later. <br/>
<br/>
You collect the mask and pad heavily from the room. Up in the workroom you apply the sealant, and when you return you find that Lucy has changed into Chelsea's wardrobe--though it's a little small for her--and pulled the sheets up over Chelsea's naked form. Hungrily, she snatches the mask from you, and without a word of thanks drops to the floor and presses it to her face.<br/>
<br/>
The transformation is very fast, too fast for you to take in completely, and it seems to take place outside your direct vision: any point of her form that you fasten your attention on seems to hold still while everything outside it shifts. A few bare seconds later, the new Chelsea Cooper is laying on the floor. Gently you shake her, and with a soft groan she rouses herself. Her eyes blink stupidly for a moment, and then sharpen as they fasten on you. She catches her breath.<br/>
<br/>
You step back. "Are you in there, Lucy?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
She stares, and then a wicked little grin pops onto her face. "I sure am!" She leaps lightly to her feet and stretches. She holds out her arms and rubs them lightly, and turns, stretching a leg behind her, to admire her calf and thigh and ass. "Oh my God! I knew this girl was good at the workouts. But it's one thing to look at the results, and another to <i>have</i> them!" She shakes herself all over, as though letting her body settle around her, then steps back with a sigh and looks up at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Do you have anything to say?" you ask with probing gravity.<br/>
<br/>
"Do you want Gordon?"<br/>
<br/>
That's not what you were inviting her to say. "We'll talk later. As you said, there are many possibilities."<br/>
<br/>
"So what are you going to do about, you know, yourself?" She points at the "Will Prescott" mask.<br/>
<br/>
"You'll see me at school tomorrow, have no fears about that." <br/>
<br/>
She shrugs, as though that's the least fear of any she might have. "And what are you going to do with <i>her</i>?" Lucy jerks her chin at the real Chelsea.<br/>
<br/>
"The less you know, the happier you'll be."<br/>
<br/>
She grunts. "Well, I guess I should go. Oh, what do I tell my dad? About that financial aid stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
"Tell him we talked, and it turned out there was nothing I could do for you."<br/>
<br/>
"Good." She strides from the room without a further word.<br/>
<br/>
That leaves you with Chelsea--and the problem of what to do with her.</span></div></div>


path: 112221111112
author_id: seuzz
title: An Unexpected Swap
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The obvious course of action--the one Lucy is plainly expecting you to pursue--is to use the <i>Libra Personae</i> to turn Chelsea into a golem, for there can't be two Chelseas running around. But although you've been playing the part of Aubrey Blackwell for almost a week now, you can't bring yourself to act like him.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea will be unconscious for a good long while, so you don't have to move swiftly. You stretch on the floor and remove Blackwell's mask. Though the transformation back into yourself relieves you of his greater bulk, you feel very heavy and tired when you wake, and it's with a groan that you sit up. What a shitty turn in your life it was, to pick up that book and get mixed up with Blackwell. But you also have to rebuke yourself for your regret: if you hadn't, Lucy would be dead, and Blackwell be on his way toward committing greater crimes. <br/>
<br/>
You grab up the mask of yourself and set it on your face. Sleep again overtakes you, but it is a sleep full of dreams: the last week at school. The faces of your friends--Caleb Johansson and Keith Tilley--and your persecutors--Lester Pozniak and David Kirkham--crowd in; the tussles with your brother, Robert, and the arguments with your father. Play and homework and television and internet surfing; and talking with Aubrey Blackwell about what to do about Chelsea Cooper. When you wake again, and push the mask off, you can take some relief in seeing that Lucy did a perfectly adequate job of playing your part. No one seems to have noticed anything out of the ordinary in Will Prescott's behavior.<br/>
<br/>
Then you put Blackwell's mask back on, and it's like your mind fills with snakes. If anything, you feel even wearier when you wake again inside his great bulk. You stagger to your feet, adjusting your clothes, and pick up your mask. You lay it onto Chelsea, and she changes as Lucy had changed. Grimly, you have to admit it's a change for the worse as her face becomes more angular, her soft blonde hair shrinks into a mat of straw, and sharp little bristles of hair sprout on her chin and upper lip. The form under the sheets lengthens and loses all of its inviting curves.<br/>
<br/>
You lay your old clothes on the bed beside her and go downstairs.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You must have overdone it on the knockout spray, for it is almost an hour before you hear footsteps on the stairs. "In the library, Miss Cooper," you call from the desk where you've been reviewing a book on basic sigil-making.<br/>
<br/>
You glance up to see Will Prescott standing uncertainly in the doorway. His shoulders are askew, the cap rests uneasily on his head, and his mouth is open and his lips peeled back as he stares at you. You stare back, and gesture at a chair. He turns a little pale, and his eyes wander over the room. You are suddenly acutely aware of the discordant ticking of the two grandfather clocks in the corner, and feel a stab of sympathy.<br/>
<br/>
But he accepts your invitation. His eyes are piercing, but they can't penetrate your carapace. "Of course, you know who you are," you say quietly. "And as you are entirely caught up on the events of the past few days, you know who I am. And you know what is going on."<br/>
<br/>
He seems to draw up inside himself. "Suppose you tell me anyway."<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, you know all that."<br/>
<br/>
His eyes twist up, and he clutches at his head. "I've got, like, two people up here, and I don't know ..." His voice doesn't really trail off; it's more like it cuts off before it can turn into a shriek.<br/>
<br/>
You have to cock an eyebrow. "What do you think your real name is?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm Chelsea Cooper," he says firmly. "But I'm--" He holds out his hands and studies them with loathing. "I'm inside someone named Will Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
"And so you are. Or, to be more accurate, you are wearing a perfect disguise of your classmate. You've seen him around school, haven't you?" He grimaces. "And since you've got his head inside you, you know who <i>I</i> am." You'd given the mask your latest memories so you could avoid having this conversation, and it tires you to think that you'll have to lead the reluctant Chelsea Cooper through it.<br/>
<br/>
"You're the real Will Prescott, aren't you?" he says. You nod. He licks his lips. "And there's another one out there, someone pretending to be me." You nod again. "Lucy Vredenburg."<br/>
<br/>
You press your hands together. "And now that we are all caught up--"<br/>
<br/>
"Why are you doing this?" Now his voice is like a scream. "What did I ever do to you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing. And this isn't about me, as you well know, and it's only your ill luck that it's about you. Think, Miss Cooper. Remember. What was Professor Blackwell up to, and what did I do about it?"<br/>
<br/>
He groans and puts his head in his hands. He is silent for a very long time. You try to parallel what she is probably thinking, what she is realizing: the fight against Blackwell; Lucy's apparent death; the need to get her a new home; the reason she chose Chelsea as a victim--<br/>
<br/>
"It's not fair, taking my life away from me!" he shouts with sudden vehemence.<br/>
<br/>
"Was it fair, what you did to Cindy?"<br/>
<br/>
"This is about Cindy, you think this is about <i>Cindy?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Her words give you momentary pause. "I have to rely on Lucy's own characterization of her motives."<br/>
<br/>
"Pfft!" he snorts. "Guys are so stupid. You just wave your breasts at them--" He waggles his chests in a horrible parody of "sexy play"-- "and they turn into idiots. And now you're going to get <i>Gordon</i> for yourself!"<br/>
<br/>
"That's not settled yet," you say quietly. "What would I do with the original? How would I get him out of the way?"<br/>
<br/>
He frowns at you, and a thoughtful look comes into his eyes. His expression turns puzzled--and then horrified. "You wouldn't!"<br/>
<br/>
"It's what Lucy wanted me to do to you. It's what she <i>expects</i> me to have done to you." He jumps to his feet, his face a mask of terror. "But of course I didn't, and I don't mean to," you continue placidly. "If I did, we wouldn't be having this conversation." He remains standing, bent as though priming for sudden flight. You gesture at the chair. "Do sit down. I don't mean to frighten you. On the contrary, I mean to reassure you. This change need not be permanent."<br/>
<br/>
He remains standing, but clutches at the back of the chair. "What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you have my own thoughts in there with you? Don't you know what I have planned?"<br/>
<br/>
His face twists up. "I don't know what in here is yours and what's mine."<br/>
<br/>
You let the thought briefly distract you: one mind thinking, but with two different histories and sets of thoughts and intentions ... Yes, it could be confusing at that. It's been easier for you, who got into Blackwell's mask after he was dead. "Very well," you say. "I'll speak plainly.<br/>
<br/>
"Lucy wants to be close to her sister. Or, at least, that's what she says. She wants to right the wrongs that you have perpetrated. There's not much point in her impersonation of you continuing past the current school year. After graduation, Chelsea Cooper and Cindy Vredenburg will likely have to go their separate ways. If Lucy still intends to stay close to her sister, she will have to take up a different impersonation. At that point, you can have your own life back.<br/>
<br/>
"In the meantime, you are not exactly on ice. You have a life of your own. Mine." You gesture at him. "Maybe not your preferred life, and certainly not the life that you'd planned for your senior year. But better than the alternative. And I'm making a sacrifice of my own."<br/>
<br/>
"You'd take this back, at the end of the year," he says, and you see the cunning light in his eye.<br/>
<br/>
"It depends upon the shape you have left it in," you reply with a warning tone in your own voice. "Perhaps I will leave <i>you</i> to bear the consequences of whatever you get up to." His lips purse. "In the meantime, though, it is in your hands."<br/>
<br/>
He shifts from foot to foot. "I guess it is better than-- Does Lucy know about this? That you're letting me take over for--?"<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head, and study him carefully. You've never watched yourself from the outside, of course, so you can't be sure, but it seems like she is taking over your mannerisms. At least, you recognize expressions and gestures that you've seen in your friends and even your father. Even without trying, even without knowing what she's doing, Chelsea is settling into "Will Prescott," as you've settled into "Aubrey Blackwell."<br/>
<br/>
"The best and safest course of action, it seems to me," you say, "is for you to return as 'Will Prescott' without telling anyone of the substitution. Not even Lucy. That is why I gave you all of my memories, up until just after she left."<br/>
<br/>
His gaze grows distant, and he smiles softly, and nods. "Yeah, I see that now. We just go on like nothing's changed--"<br/>
<br/>
"Until it's time for <i>all</i> the impostures to end."<br/>
<br/>
It's not a friendly departure, when it comes, but it is free of vituperation. You see him out the door, and he dashes down the walk to the gate, pausing only long enough to shoot you a narrow glance before he disappears.<br/>
<br/>
You, of course,  have no intention of spending the next nine months as "Aubrey Blackwell." But do you try researching the book further before making a change of your own? </span></div></div>


path: 1122211111121
author_id: seuzz
title: Corpses and Golems
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It's the "ethical" dimension of the new spell--the one that you might have performed on Chelsea--that concerns you; and though you know that Blackwell wouldn't have baulked at it, at least his intellect is such that "he" has let you see a way you might get past it.<br/>
<br/>
The spell itself isn't entirely clear on what it does: It seems part of the book's design that you have to perform a spell in order to understand its results, but Blackwell's own mastery of the subject means you are fairly certain of what it does: it turns human beings into golems.<br/>
<br/>
A "golem," of course, is a slave. There is already a spell in the book that lets you create one: take a huge mass of graveyard earth, let it "burn" over a sigil, and it will produce a claylike mannequin. This mannequin is lifeless, but if you set a mask on it, it will turn into an enslaved duplicate of the person whose image the mask creates. The new spell dispenses with all but a handful of the grave dirt, and substitutes a live human being for the bulk of the golem's mass, but  you are pretty sure the result will be the same. You are also pretty sure the result will kill the person you have used in the spell.<br/>
<br/>
The solution that you--as Blackwell--have come up with is still extremely sketchy, but not as out-and-out murderous as it might be. But it will still be difficult to pull off. You will have to find someone in an irreversible coma.<br/>
<br/>
So for the next few days, as you polish up a new mask, you hunt around, making discreet inquiries at hospitals and nursing homes. One prospect immediately leaps out at you--a high school student from Eastman who at the end of summer slipped into a mysterious coma--but you decide against using him precisely because of the oddity of his condition: it seems to have no apparent cause, and you don't want to use someone whose possible recovery you cannot rule out. You eventually settle on Dr. Paul Holland, a retired professor emeritus at the university who fell into a persistent vegetative state almost a year ago, and who has been kept alive (so gossip at the school has it) only because his children haven't figured out how they will split his estate. You tell yourself that the removal of this still breathing but inanimate bone of contention will actually be a kindness to all involved.<br/>
<br/>
"Visiting hours end in thirty minutes," the nurse at the floor desk says when you materialize before her on Tuesday afternoon. "Such as they are."<br/>
<br/>
"And when was the last time Dr. Holland had visitors?" you inquire. She says nothing, and you can't decide if the look she gives you means "It's none of your business" or "A tastelessly long time." "I will only be there long enough to pay my respects to a former colleague," you say. You hold up the book you've brought: <i>A Rum Trade: Slavery, Sugar, and the Making of the Caribbean</i>, by Paul Holland. She gives it only a cursory glance before giving you the room number.<br/>
<br/>
It's a cheerless room, and the lack of flowers, cards, or other touches suggest the family has long since abandoned even a pro forma interest in the shrunken husk that occupies the bed. You feel yourself shiver: to avoid such an end is one of the purposes Blackwell has in pursuing his research. <br/>
<br/>
You pull up a chair next to the bed and open the book, but you are only able to get to the bottom of the first page--a description of Haitian plantation life whose content would be harrowing if the prose weren't so clotted--before impatience overcomes you. You pull your bag onto your lap and let it rest there a moment as you gravely contemplate the parchment-like skin of Paul Holland's face, then open the bag and remove the mask and the mind strip. Again, you sit quietly, listening for any noise that would imply an imminent interruption, and then lean forward to quickly drop the mind band onto his face. It's got a copy of your own mind in it, and you swallow hard: You are pretty sure that a band contains only information, not consciousness, and that putting the band onto the patient will do nothing except introduce new memories into a man utterly incapable of reading or digesting them. Still, you can't quite rule out the possibility that something that thinks of itself as <i>you</i> is now trapped inside this human vegetable.<br/>
<br/>
After waiting a few more minutes, you put the new mask onto him. It is of a slightly different design: something you cooked up on your own by modifying the first spell in the book, and it pleased you immensely that you came up with it, for you rather doubt Blackwell himself would have seen how to execute it. Normally, a blank mask going onto a person wearing a mind band should simply remain on his face while making some alarming noises, but this one will sink into him without leaving a trace. It won't come out of him, either, but will instead cause his entire system to seize up as the mask--caught in a loop as it tries to encompass a mind strip that won't let itself be copied--puts him in a state of suspended animation. The result, if you've calculated right, should cause the appearance of death without actually killing him.<br/>
<br/>
You wait long enough until you are satisfied that the mask will not be reappearing, and that his breathing has slowed noticeably, before leaving. You nod vacantly at the reception nurse as you go. Of course, you'd not left your name--either of them.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
After that it's a matter of waiting until after the funeral, whose timing is announced in the newspaper two days later. In the meantime you create a new mask and a new golem of the old type. Your lectures at the university and other academic responsibilities suffer dramatically, for you are putting all your effort into finishing these new jobs. The golem itself takes little effort: there are several shallow graves in the side yard of Blackwell's villa--the remains of the family that built it when they settled in the county nearly a hundred years ago--and you are able to make a job of emptying one of a great deal of earth. Inside the nearby mausoleum you lay the <i>Libra,</i> cover it with a sheet, and deposit this earth along with the other prescribed ingredients, including a hank of your own hair. This mess you set on fire and leave to quietly burn. It will take several days to complete--and you will have to periodically check it and relight it--but you need and want this new servant; the one that Blackwell himself left behind was under his command, and would do you no good.<br/>
<br/>
The mask itself, of course, takes several days itself to polish, and as you finish it up you choose three victims: freshman basketball players in your survey-level class who thought they were signing up for an easy grade. You invite these up to the front of the classroom after class one day and promise them extensive extra credit work if they will come out to your house to do some "library" work for you; they are credulously willing, and agree to come, singly, on sequential days. The first shows up the day after you finish the mask; as he works nervously in the villa library, you sneak behind him and put the mask to his face, securing his image. You "cover" this bout of unconsciousness by blaming the stick of incense burning on the other side of the table, and remove it. The same trick, pulled on the two subsequent days, melds the three boys' images into a new image inside the mask. From the third boy you also secure a mind band and place it in the mask.<br/>
<br/>
When the new golem is completed--two days after Dr. Holland's funeral--you set the new mask onto it, and this new person, who answers to the name Lane McFarland, materializes. He is, of course, confused at first, but knows he has to obey you, and becomes even more docile after you patiently explain, in grave tones, that his life will be much more pleasant if he offers you no questions or argument. In the very darkest part of night, the two of you drive out to the municipal cemetery; he does most of the work at digging out the grave, removing the body from the casket, and replacing the earth. The work is such that, though you had second-guessed yourself over the necessity of making a new golem, you are very glad you did.<br/>
<br/>
Back at the villa, in the mausoleum, by the glare of an electric lamp, you have Lane lay Dr. Holland upon the slab, which still bears the <i>Libra</i> and the sheet. You remove the mask and mind band you simultaneously complete the spell. A bright purple flash briefly obliterates the whitish light from the lamp, and then Dr. Holland appears again. You frown at first, for you expected a golem of the usual type. But a close examination shows that he has been transformed into stone. You remove Lane's mask from one golem and set it on the other. It comes to life, and wonders aloud how it came to be dressed in a rather smelly suit.<br/>
<br/>
All this, of course, was so that you could turn to the next spell in the book, which you hope might suggest some possible courses of action. The next day, as you study it, you silently curse the compiler of its spells for putting them in an inconsiderate order. The new spell would have made dealing with Chelsea much easier; but at least it will make it easy for you to return to Westside as one of your classmates.<br/>
<br/>
Or, as you've created a new face, you could enroll as a new student.</span></div></div>


path: 11222111111212
author_id: seuzz
title: The Shock of Your New Life
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The next day you telephone Westside and ask about what is needed to enroll a new pupil. The secretary gives you the requirements, and they don't seen onerous; if you can fake a whole new person, surely you can fake some documents.<br/>
<br/>
Still, it takes another few days to get everything ready. Besides the fake school records, you get supplies for your new identity, including a complete wardrobe. As Blackwell has a considerable amount of money banked away (as well as a steady and fairly lucrative income) you also splurge by buying yourself a new pickup truck. As Lane McFarland's mind band--which will help you play the part of a jock--already answers to the name "Lane," you take that as your new name, changing only the last name to "Burton." You will be living at the villa with "Uncle Aubrey," though you doubt you'll be inviting any friends over. Nothing would faster kill the popularity you hope to win in your new guise than a brush with Blackwell's library.<br/>
<br/>
On the Sunday night before you intend to make your first appearance you change into your new clothes and your new mask, and go up to the third floor workroom to study your reflection. You're tall, of course, standing well over six-foot-two, and are lanky without being skinny. You have brown hair that is neither too dark nor too light, and serious eyes set in a lean face that settles easily into some attractive dimples. You're well-muscled, too, as the product of three college freshman basketball players should be, though fairly lacking in body hair. You put your hands on your hips and lean back on one foot. It's a nice effect: the girls will likely think you're cute; no one would think you're someone to fuck with; and the personality you've taken over from Lane won't let you take any shit either.<br/>
<br/>
You have a nice erection going by the time you're done, though the body still feels sufficiently strange that you don't indulge yourself even after going to bed.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Here's your schedule, Lane," the school secretary says as she hands over the slip of paper. "And a map of the campus. If you need any school supplies to take you through the day, I can also give you some of those at a nominal cost."<br/>
<br/>
"That's okay, I got paper and pencils," you smile. She smiles back too: a fifty-year-old crone, but you can tell she likes the way you're turned out.<br/>
<br/>
You'd caught a couple of heads turning in your direction when you pulled into the parking lot: Jamie Bornholm and Olivia Byrne; Faith Becker. The most gratifying head turn came as you walked in the front door: Lin Pol. You can't wait to see how Kendra Saunders and Gloria Rea, two of the head cheerleaders, react to you.<br/>
<br/>
You've got enough of Lane's personality that you can feel the newness of the school, even though it is entirely familiar to you: The main hallway at the front, splitting off onto the different wings. The library a dozen yards from the office. You pass it, though, to return to the main quad, which is now full of milling students, but you don't draw any more obvious looks. You skirt the edge of the office annex and come out onto the side quad, in front of the gym/cafeteria/orchestra-band complex. You saunter along the front sidewalk, to give the impression of a first-time student scoping out the school, before turning down portico that runs along in front of the main building. Lester Pozniak--"Lester the Molester," soccer goalie, hooligan, and your own personal tormentor--looms in view with one of his pilot fish. As he passes, you lean in to bump up hard against him. "Oh, hey, sorry man," you say as you turn back to him.<br/>
<br/>
His eyes are glinting, but the spark retreats as he looks you up and down. "Yeah, no problem," he replies. You smile with pretended friendliness; and though it's obvious he's pissed, he's also sufficiently daunted that he gives a quick smile back before turning back around and continuing on.<br/>
<br/>
Your stride picks up a certain jauntiness after that. <i>This is easy,</i> you find yourself thinking. Lane was only a college freshman, but he'd been a top alpha--though a reasonably nice one--at his high school. (In Stout, a smallish town about a hundred miles from Saratoga Falls.) And even in the brief months since his graduation he'd already felt "high school" drop away, so that you feel yourself looking at the school with faint but palpable condescension. <i>It's such a small world, such a trivial world, a world that will vanish like a dream in only a few months. There's nothing here to fear or worry about--</i><br/>
<br/>
"Yo, you Burton?" a harsh voice calls from behind. You turn to find Steve Patterson--Gordon Black's right hand man--standing by the doors to the gym. He's glaring at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," you call back, and walk over to him. "Lane Burton," you say, and put out your hand.<br/>
<br/>
He looks down at it like you're holding a dead bird. "The fuck were you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry?" you gasp.<br/>
<br/>
"Not as fucking sorry as you will be." He jerks his head toward the gym. "Morning practice just ended."<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't know I was expected," you say carefully. When returning the documents to the school, you had indicated your interest in joining the basketball squad.<br/>
<br/>
Steve's eyes freeze. "You want on the squad or not," he asks in a quiet growl.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes I do," you say in a quiet voice carefully modulated to be deferential without being weak. "But I don't know how you do things around here yet."<br/>
<br/>
Steve holds your eye, then grunts. "You talk to Porter yet?"<br/>
<br/>
You pretend to glance down at your schedule, though you know exactly who he is talking about "Coach Porter?" Steve grunts again. "No, I haven't."<br/>
<br/>
"They didn't tell you--? Aw, fuck it. Stupid fucking secretary." You decline to argue. "Okay, here's the deal. You talk to Coach Porter and he says 'Go talk to Black or Patterson'. That's me, Steve Patterson." He keeps his hands on his hips. "We give you a tryout. You missed your chance this morning, but be here right after your sixth period class. That's when we have afternoon practice. Gordon's pissed at you, but I'll make it okay, explain things." He ignores your murmured gratitudes, and jabs you in the shoulder with a hard, sharp finger. "You owe me, seriously and for a very long time, and don't forget it."<br/>
<br/>
You smile back. All this time you've been returning his hard gaze with an even one of your own. When he's done talking Patterson keeps his grey eyes fastened on you. You can tell he's sizing you up, and weighing whether your calm is an insolence that will need to be beaten out of you or a confidence that will only need to be tested. At last, he breaks away and returns to the gym.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
If getting onto the team is going to be such a pro forma affair, you decide, you'll just wait to see Coach Porter after lunch. First period doesn't hold much interest for you, but you look forward to second period.<br/>
<br/>
You lurk just inside the door, waiting to see if Lisa Yarborough takes her usual seat. <br/>
<br/>
Lisa Yarborough: the girl you were seeing over the summer; the girl who let you put your arm around her and settle close; who let you smile into her face and who smiled back into yours.<br/>
<br/>
Lisa Yarborough: the girl who you thought was your girlfriend until that day during the first week in school when you put an arm around her at her locker, and she calmly threw it off and just as calmly told you that she only thought of you as a friend.<br/>
<br/>
Lisa Yarborough: the girl who had been starting to hang out close with Geoff Mansfield--<i>that arrogant debate club prick</i>--just before you fell into your current adventure.<br/>
<br/>
Well, fuck him. You're now taller than him, with better dark looks, twice the poise, and you're a <i>fucking jock,</i> too. You're <i>going</i> to get a girlfriend, unless you decide you're going to have a string of them instead. Maybe Lisa won't be your girlfriend, and maybe she won't even be a pearl on your strand if you decide to go that route. But damn you if you're not going to make Geoff twist and sweat and shit in his pants the way he made <i>you</i> twist and sweat and--<br/>
<br/>
Lisa comes through the door without looking at you and takes her seat. You know there isn't a seating chart in here, so you take the desk in front of her. You fiddle with your books, and turn to hang your backpack on your chair. You pretend to do a double take, and give her a direct look. She looks directly back at you with an expression that mixes bemusement and curiosity. You smile. "Hey, I'm new," you say. You hold out a hand. "Lane Mc-- Burton."<br/>
<br/>
"McBurton?" she teases. "Scottish-Welsh?"<br/>
<br/>
"Burton," you say, thinking fast. "It was McFarland until the divorce."<br/>
<br/>
Her eyebrows go up. "Isn't it usually the ex-wife who changes her name?"<br/>
<br/>
"Dad's an asshole. Sign of solidarity." She smiles; she <i>would</i> eat the feminist stuff up. "And you're?"<br/>
<br/>
"Lisa Yarborough, and I'm very sorry for you."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, it's nothing. Divorce is--"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I mean I'm sorry for what's about to happen to you. That's Chelsea Cooper's desk."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, is Chelsea in here?"<br/>
<br/>
"I thought you were new."<br/>
<br/>
"I am." You kick yourself; <i>you're a new student, W-- Lane.</i> "Word travels fast."<br/>
<br/>
"Mm." She glances at the doorway. You follow her glance--<br/>
<br/>
And then you really do a double take.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea is there, her back to you. <br/>
<br/>
Will Prescott is with her. She has her hands around his shoulders, and he has his hands on her hips. They are kissing.<br/>
<br/>
Deeply.</span></div></div>


path: 112221111112122
author_id: seuzz
title: A First Fight
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You stare until they part. Chelsea brushes at his chin; Will brushes at her hair. You wheel away, blushing deeply, and freeze at Lisa's amused expression. "Yes," she says dryly. "Chelsea has that effect on guys. And you're about to get the other half of her effect."<br/>
<br/>
As you take this in, Chelsea comes up to you with a frown. "That's <i>my</i> desk," she says firmly but not discourteously.<br/>
<br/>
Well, if you didn't let Lester and Steve push you around-- "Is there a seating chart in here?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, and I'm in charge of it. Move."<br/>
<br/>
No point in making yourself unpopular before you've had a chance to figure out what's going on. "I'm new and I didn't know," you say as you get up.<br/>
<br/>
"Learn. Fast," she says, and slides in without another glance at you. Lisa shrugs lightly as you retreat to an empty seat at the back.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Recon, you decide, is the order of the day. Though they are nowhere near your new locker, after class you make a quick pass by the lockers shared by Will Prescott, Caleb Johansson, and Keith Tilley. Prescott isn't there. Caleb and Keith are, but there's no way you can approach them to find out what's going on. You have a late lunch break, and on your way to it you peer into the class that your replacement should have. Yes, he's there in the back, sitting very alertly. That's not the only change.<br/>
<br/>
Your cap--the dirty white thing you liked to slap sideways onto the mat of straw you call a haircut--is gone. So is the wild hair. It still looks unkempt, but in a way that is much more flattering, as though it's been ... <i>styled</i> that way?! The clothes are also much neater. Gone are the baggy shorts; in are some conservative but nicely casual Levis. No more sloppy t-shirt; he's wearing a long-sleeve shirt woven of a heavy fabric: again, casual but tasteful, and the deep red color matches well the blush in his cheek. He twiddles a pen nervously, as is your wont, but it looks more like nerves of concentration rather than boredom. As you watch, his hand shoots up to answer a question.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Who is this imposter, and what has he done with the real Will Prescott?</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's no consolation to know exactly who he is--who he has to be, since Chelsea can't have gotten the mask off--and who put him in for you. You move through the hall in a daze, letting yourself bounce off the other students as they jostle you.<br/>
Chelsea must have taken to heart your injunction about not fucking your life up; about maybe having to live with the consequences of what she did with it. It must be. She's never been a strong student (that you know of); neither are you, but you've always thought of yourself as being clever, at least. Maybe by stacking your intelligence on top of her own, and firing it with her own stamina and ambition, she is trying to make as good a life for herself as she can. Yes, that must be it. It makes sense; Chelsea Cooper has never seemed like the sort to lay down and--<br/>
<br/>
"Wanna die, fucker?" The soft voice uncoils from somewhere below your shoulder, and with a frown you turn to take in the student you'd just jostled. <i>Aw, crap.</i> It's Kirkham.<br/>
<br/>
He looks up at you from behind his dark sunglasses, and pushes the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. "I asked if you wanna die, motherfucker," he repeats again. Passing students crush into each other to avoid touching him, though he stands in the middle of the hallway.<br/>
<br/>
You sigh. Kirkham might be the worst asshole in school, because you never know what might set him off, and he fights longer, dirtier, and against far worse odds than anyone else. Even the big guys, like Patterson and Black, you hear, avoid tangling with him, just because it takes so long and causes so many bruises just to put him down.<br/>
<br/>
But your first day is not the day to back down, even if you wind up bloodied. So when he starts again, this time much louder and harsher, you just snap back: "That's up to you, isn't it?"<br/>
<br/>
The real Lane probably would have been taken by surprise, but you've tangled with Kirkham before, and seen him fight enough times, so you're prepared; and Lane has good instincts. So when Kirkham strikes fast with a fist, you catch it, deflect it, grab his arm, and pull him past. As he stumbles into the vacuum where you're not, you grab him by the back of the neck and ram him hard, forehead first, into a locker. And since he will still be dangerous, you knee him in the small of the back. The sound of air bursting out his throat is very satisfying.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know who you are, asshole," you say quietly into his ear as you press him against the locker. "But-- Gwuh!" He's kicked backwards, and the lucky shot has brushed your nuts.<br/>
<br/>
He squirms out, and flips his backpack off his shoulder, plainly meaning to swing it around at you as a fat, heavy club. You step back, letting the blow expend itself on space where you are again absent. You grab it and pull it toward you, hoping to catch him in a clinch. But he's also a fast thinker, and you stumble backwards as he lets it go. You fall into some students--girls, you guess; they squeal and shriek--and you go backwards. You can imagine the gleam in Kirkham's eye as he leaps at you.<br/>
<br/>
But he's not the only one who can kick. Your leg goes up, fast and hard. He gasps, and his mouth opens, dropping the toothpick, but inertia carries him onto you. You've hardly room to swing, but you thrust your fist out, and gravity, as he falls, takes care of the rest.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Mr. Sagansky, the school principal, stares at you over his desk and steeples his fingers. "He's going to need stitches," he says. "Lots and lots of stitches."<br/>
<br/>
"He started it," you reply.<br/>
<br/>
The answer doesn't seem to impress him. "This is your first day, Mr.--" He glances quickly down at the paper in front of him. "Burton. You're not a brawler, are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Only with people who start things, sir."<br/>
<br/>
"We take a dim view of brawling at Westside," he says. Your throat turns to stone as you stifle the bark of laughter: Westside is nothing if not an arena of torture and abuse. "This is your first day," he repeats. "Which means I can either treat this incident as an ... <i>educational</i> opportunity, or as a probationary period." His eyebrows arch meaningfully. "Which would you prefer?"<br/>
<br/>
"If it's all the same to you, sir," you say in a tone just as quiet and firm as his. "I would say I have learned a great deal about the school today. And it's not even fifth period."<br/>
<br/>
His smile is wintry. "Then let's see if you learned the right set of lessons," he says. "You may go."<br/>
<br/>
You smile deferentially as you rise and depart his office. <i>Fucker can't be blind. He knows all about Kirkham. He knows he got what's coming to him. But he's not going to stop you if he can't stop the Kirkhams and the Pozniaks and the Lynches and the--</i><br/>
<br/>
You freeze as you come out of the office. For there's Jason Lynch (psycho thug extraordinary) and Seth Javits (basketball bully) and a clutch of other assorted jocks waiting outside with folded arms. They smile as you emerge.<br/>
<br/>
<i>This is going to be a very long and hard day if you have to prove your bona fides against every lowlife in Westside. And your victory against Kirkham notwithstanding, at least part of it was luck. Good instincts and luck will take you far, but only so far, and not against odds like these portend.</i><br/>
<br/>
But Lane--dammit, you had to copy a guy who won't lay down--isn't going to take any shit. "And what're you," you hear yourself blurt out before you can stop yourself. "The fucking Chamber of Commerce?"<br/>
<br/>
Lynch chortles--one of the most unpleasant sounds you've ever heard in your life. He saunters up, grinning maliciously. "Check out this fucker," he says, looking you up and down. "Not a scratch or bruise on 'im!"<br/>
<br/>
"Way to go, Burton!" Javits laughs. He follows Lynch up, and mimes throwing a punch in your stomach before clapping you on the shoulder. "I heard they almost had to call an ambulance!"<br/>
<br/>
To your astonishment the others crowd around, slapping at you, and taking turns clutching at your hand for meaty handshakes: Jonas Martin and Luke Bennett; Shep Tsosie and Joseph Stewart; Nathan Hall and Dalton Douglas. You turn so you won't gape: even Lester Pozniak wants to touch the guy who laid out David Kirkham less than thirty seconds. You find yourself smiling despite yourself; this sauna of testosterone is extraordinarily satisfying. You pretend to learn all their names and shrug off the praise while secretly milking it. When you say you need to get some lunch, Nathan tells you the cafeteria is now closed, but thrusts his own bagged lunch at you. Before you've realized it, you've accepted an invitation to hang out after school with the lot of them.<br/>
<br/>
Well, this is unexpected: You came in expecting to fight for your place against the bullies. Now, it appears you can be one of their group, if you want. In fact, you realize in the post-congratulatory daze, it may now be harder to reject them than to join them.</span></div></div>


path: 112221112
author_id: seuzz
title: Lucy Takes the Lead
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"You don't have to be the one that goes," you say, and point to the mask in your hand.<br/>
<br/>
She hesitates, then shakes her head. "I appreciate the offer, but I don't want any more ... copies of me ... running around."<br/>
<br/>
You understand, and say so, and help her carry the golem down into the basement so she can change into her regular clothes. You make sure to keep your distance from the windows while she does so. She looks more like herself when she reemerges, but not nearly as poised as the golem had been. <br/>
<br/>
You pack all the clothes and the accumulated masks into her SUV and set off for Blackwell's. You are both silent until you are nearly there, when Lucy speaks. "You know, he 's going to try taking the mask off as soon as I step in the door."<br/>
<br/>
"Which is why we need to get him out of there," you say. "Park behind the house." <br/>
<br/>
She complies, and following your further directions she calls Blackwell and tells him she's been in an accident. The professor charges out his door a scant two minutes later and races away in his car, to pick her up. The intersection she gave him is two-thirds the way across town.<br/>
<br/>
"You wait here," you order her. "Keep watch and ring me if something comes up. I'll go in and prepare a surprise for him."<br/>
<br/>
"What do I say if he calls from where we sent him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Tell him the police hauled everything away, and that you've got a cab and will meet him back here." Between the travel time there and back you should be able to cook something up.<br/>
<br/>
Inside the house you quickly strip and change into Blackwell's double, so that you can disarm the guardian and prepare a proper welcome for the professor. The first step is easy to do, and while you dress back up as the house's owner you ponder how to encompass the second. Sleeping powder? A mesmeric flash? Paralytic lotion on the door knob? The man sure knows a lot of nasty tricks.<br/>
<br/>
You finally settle on a sleeping web, which is the trick he used to catch Lucy herself—turnabout is fair play. "Listen, you need to let him go in front of you when you come inside," you tell her over the phone while you refresh the compound spray. "Whatever happens, don't get in front of him. You can go into the library, but I'll try to draw him off into the trap." There's silence on the other end, and because you are using Blackwell's own voice you feel the need to add, "It's me, Will."<br/>
<br/>
"I know," she says. "He just called, and it took me a moment to recover."<br/>
<br/>
"What? He got out there already?"<br/>
<br/>
"He just called to tell me to take a cab when I could."<br/>
<br/>
You bite your lip. This could still work—it might be even better. "Then go hide in the back. I've got the booby trap almost set up. He'll walk right into it when he comes in."<br/>
<br/>
"Will," she says, and seems to struggle. <br/>
<br/>
"Yes?"<br/>
<br/>
There's a long pause. "Nothing. I just wanted to say thanks. For what you tried to do." The phone goes dead.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Tried to do?</i> You don't like the choice of tense.</span></div></div>


path: 1122211121
author_id: seuzz
title: A Bad End to a Bad Man
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You trot out the front door as quickly as Blackwell's bulky form will allow and out the front gate. The in the gloom of late dusk you can barely make Lucy out; she stands by the wall, unmoving. "Lucy!" you call, but she doesn't reply. You run over to her. She stands limply, staring straight ahead. You shake her and call her name. She rouses herself but only gives you a sad look. <br/>
<br/>
"I'm afraid she won't answer," a familiar voice says. Aubrey Blackwell steps from around the corner. His eyes gleam. "They say it's bad luck meeting yourself," he says softly, "but in this case bad luck for whom?"<br/>
<br/>
It's probably the shock and bemusement of confronting himself that slows him down; you, on the other hand, have the man's own instincts. You raise the spray bottle and squirt it in his face. <br/>
<br/>
He gasps and takes a step back. A puzzled look comes over his face, and he wipes at it uncertainly. In the dark you see the white whisps begin to cross and criss-cross his features. He begins to rub wildly, to tear at the threads, and then a scream—a horrible, bubbly thing—breaks from his throat. But it is already muffled, for the soft, cottony threads have bound themselves thickly and tightly over his face. He staggers back and falls.<br/>
<br/>
This is bad—for him, at least. The webbing is not meant to be blasted into a man's face in such concentrations in such a small space. You drop the bottle and start tearing at the threads, which have now completely covered his face in a soft white mask. His struggles impede your own vain attempts to help him. Finally, you have to rise off him, to watch as he twitches and suffocates and finally grows still. <br/>
<br/>
You turn to Lucy and gently knead her cheeks, calling her name. She still doesn't respond. You tear the Blackwell mask off your own face, fighting all the time to stay awake. You reel and fall against her, but steady yourself and keep calling to her. With a deep sigh, she comes back.<br/>
<br/>
"Will?" she asks, and then throws her arms around you sobbing. "I'm so sorry," she says. "I didn't mean—" <br/>
<br/>
"It's alright," you say. "You couldn't help it." Blackwell must have put a post-hypnotic spell on her since last wearing his own mask, just in case she escaped. A crude form of mind control, but very nearly effective. <br/>
<br/>
She looks down at Blackwell. "What are we going to do with him?"</span></div></div>


path: 1122211122
author_id: seuzz
title: A Sticky End for a Substitute Teacher
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It must just be nerves on her part. You'll go out and check on her once you've got the trap ready. <br/>
<br/>
You go in the kitchen, and across the doorway leading into the foyer you spray a fine mist, which materializes as a very find cobweb. When Blackwell comes in the front door you will make a noise in the kitchen to draw him so that he steps into it. The rooms are all dark, so he won't see the webbing.<br/>
<br/>
You are just taking out your cell phone to call Lucy back when you hear a noise behind you: the kitchen door opening. Why is Lucy coming into the house, and through that door? But the silhouette seems too big to be her. It steps forward and a dim ray of light falls on its face. It is Aubrey Blackwell, smiling malignantly at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Should I congratulate you, Mr. Prescott, or congratulate myself?" he muses. "I wondered how you could have shown such an eerie degree of competence, but it all makes sense now. I'm not sure whether to be angry or immensely pleased at my own ingenuity at nearly thwarting myself."<br/>
<br/>
He suddenly raises his hand, and you stagger back. Too late you realize you were standing in front of your own trap. The cords wrap softly around you, and you are overcome with a powerful drowsiness.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wake in a dark room. High above light streams in from a rectangular patch. You groan and sit up; you are on a bed.<br/>
<br/>
There's a shifting noise from nearby. "Will?" It's Lucy.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm here. What happened?" She says nothing. "Lucy, come on, work with me."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry, Will," she says. "I tried to fight it, but ..."<br/>
<br/>
"Look, just explain. I won't be mad."<br/>
<br/>
She comes over and sits next to you. Even in the dark you can tell that she has been weeping. "He called back, right after you went inside. He said ..." She struggles. "He said a word. I don't know what it was, but after he said it, then I had to do whatever he said. He kept me on the phone, talking and talking, until he got back. Then he had me hang up. I told him everything that we were trying to do. <br/>
<br/>
"Then you called. He was listening in. I ... I got free long enough to thank you, but ..."<br/>
<br/>
"But then it was too late," you say bitterly. "He caught me in the kitchen in my own ambush."<br/>
<br/>
You look around; you are back in your own form but are still wearing Blackwell's clothes. Whatever he has planned for you apparently couldn't wait. "We're back in the basement, right?" you ask. She nods. "Well, at least he left the door open. Come on."<br/>
<br/>
"But Will, there's that ... thing ... on the staircase." She hangs back and tugs at you. "I tried to get past, but I couldn't." She hangs her head. "That's why he left the door open. He knows we can't get out."<br/>
<br/>
But you have to try yourself. You gird your loins and set a foot on the bottom step of the metal circular staircase. At once you are aware that something just above your head is staring down at you.<br/>
<br/>
You take the next step, and the next, and an oppressive feeling of malice grows. Your footsteps become heavier and heavier, and your shoulders bend as though under a weight. By the sixth step you are crawling and panting. The thing ... the Watcher on the Staircase ... bends closer. You look up, fully expecting to see some horrible face pressing against yours. But there is only the light streaming in through the doorway. You raise a hand to grasp the next step, but your grip is nerveless, and with a cry of horror you let go and slide back down to the bottom.<br/>
<br/>
Lucy helps you up. "It's over, Will. We came real close. At least we can say that."<br/>
<br/>
"We can say more than that," you retort. Your voice is still weak, but once away from the Watcher your resolve returns. "Sit on the bed, and don't look at me. Whatever you do, don't look in my direction." You take up a station under the staircase, where you can't be seen from the top.<br/>
<br/>
You don't have long to wait before a shadow appears in the light. Lucy looks up. The staircase groans as Blackwell sets foot on the first step. Then there's a pause. "You can come out from under the bed, Mr. Prescott," he says. "You aren't fooling anyone."<br/>
<br/>
Lucy—bless her!—glances down at the bed and studiously avoids looking at your hiding place. You hear a sigh, and the footfalls resume. One by one they approach. And then Blackwell's foot appears directly in front of your face.<br/>
<br/>
You grab it and pull. With a cry he tumbles face forward, and there is a sharp clang as something hard hits something even harder. He's too fat to tumble all the way to the bottom and gets tangled up, but he releases the talisman and is very still.<br/>
<br/>
"Come on!" you shout at Lucy. You grab up the statue that lets you get past the Watcher and take her hand. It's hard getting up and over Blackwell; Lucy in particular has trouble, and your captor grunts insensibly as she steps all over his torso on her way up. But you get past the Watcher and out into the library, and slam the secret door shut. Blackwell is caught below the Watcher, and won't be coming back up again.<br/>
<br/>
You and Lucy collapse against each other, hugging each other without any sense of self-consciousness. The night is dark and the library creepy, but you've escaped, and that's enough to make you happy. <br/>
<br/>
"So what do we do with him?" she asks after you have unclasped. <br/>
<br/>
It's a good question. He was going to kill both of you, you're sure, and as long as he's alive he is a fatal danger to you and to many other people. But to kill a man in cold blood ... You're not sure you can do it.</span></div></div>


path: 11222112
author_id: seuzz
title: The Missing Magician
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>After picking up some clothes, you swing by a burger place and take something to eat back to Lucy; she devours it hungrily while you talk. <br/>
<br/>
"Do you have any idea who might be close to Blackwell?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck if I know," she mumbles around a mouthful of bread and beef. "Why don't you put on the mask again and poke around."<br/>
<br/>
You make a face. "I was hoping to avoid that. Maybe he has some assistants or star students?"<br/>
<br/>
She shrugs. "I only had him for one class, and I never went. That's how come I—" She catches herself and turns very red. "That's how come I went to him for help, and that's how he caught me," she finishes lamely.<br/>
<br/>
You spitball various possibilities, and finally give in and put Blackwell's mask back on. But the guy's a complete loner, obsessed with his magical research. There are a few students, though, that he might let close to him, and you decide to skip school the next morning to see if you can snag copies of any of them.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
His first class is at 10:30 the next morning—dang, these university students are lucky!—and fortunately its crowded, so you figure there's not much chance that he'll see and recognize you in the back. You spot Melody Weiss, but you can't get close to her, and are reduced to hiding in a corner. Maybe when the lights go out for the video presentation ...<br/>
<br/>
But after fifteen minutes have passed, Blackwell still hasn't shown up. The class grows restless, and by 11:00 most of them have left. <br/>
<br/>
It's the same story for his 12:30 class, which you attended in the hopes of spotting an alternate prospect.  Those are his only two classes of the day, and at the Archaeology department office they say they have not heard from him. So you call Lucy (who has your cell phone) and ask her for her own daily schedule. Maybe if you can find her doppelganger you can follow it. But even the fake Lucy seems to have disappeared.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Check it out," Lucy says, turning the laptop toward you. You'd dropped it off in the morning, so she would have something to do during the day while hiding out. <br/>
<br/>
You look over her shoulder. "Jesus!" you explode. "Updating your social network sites?! Why don't you just call Blackwell directly and tell him where you are?"<br/>
<br/>
She hits you. "No, you fuckwit. That's just it, I'm <i>not</i> updating them. My evil twin has been doing it for me. Until last night. Last post was at 5:45. Normally, I'd be up until two o'clock. Nothing last night, and nothing this morning."<br/>
<br/>
You tug your lip. "Maybe he got rid of her ... I mean, it? Like, he found out you were missing and knew he had to get rid of the fake?"<br/>
<br/>
She grimaces. "Much as I hate to say it, the fake is as good as me. It would be a total 'she said she said' situation if they put us together."<br/>
<br/>
"But he doesn't want people even suspecting that there can be duplicates. So he pulls her away."<br/>
<br/>
"I guess. Except if I showed up and said I'd been missing for a couple of days, when my double had been seen in public only a few hours before—"<br/>
<br/>
"Wait, stop. Say that again."<br/>
<br/>
More slowly, like she's talking to a retard, she says "If I showed up and said I'd been missing for a couple of days—"<br/>
<br/>
You jump up and down, clutching your head. "That's it. Why didn't we see it? You should have gone to the police. Or, that's what he was expecting you to do. Naked girl, running down the road. A cop's gonna stop you even if you don't stop him. Blackwell would expect to get a knock on the door at any moment."<br/>
<br/>
She blinks uncomprehendingly.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you see," you shout. "He's bugged out. Run away. He thinks the cops will be looking for him, so he's hiding under your face!"<br/>
<br/>
She turns pale. "And what do you think he's doing?"<br/>
<br/>
You pick up Blackwell's mask, but can't bring yourself to put it on. "Hiding in a cheap motel. Probably got the book with him. Some tools." You shiver. "Making new masks and hiding places. So he could come back. As anyone."<br/>
<br/>
She licks her lips. "How long would that take?"<br/>
<br/>
You do some quick calculations. "If you're desperate and work without taking a rest? Eighteen hours, maybe? Twenty-four?"<br/>
<br/>
"Shit. Then it's already too late."<br/>
<br/>
"I could be wrong. Maybe he got sick. Come on." You rise.<br/>
<br/>
"Where are we going?"<br/>
<br/>
"To his house."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The car is out front, the mail is still in the mailbox, and the newspaper—only a true archaeologist would still be subscribing to that thing—is in front of the gate. Lucy stays hidden in your truck as you, more bravely, go up the front walk. If Blackwell is home, you can always just claim you are looking for your money. <br/>
<br/>
But no one answers the door. You try the handle and find that it is unlocked. You step inside and call.<br/>
<br/>
No answer.<br/>
<br/>
You remember what happened yesterday when you broke in, and even knowing what it was all about doesn't make you feel any less nervous as you creep through the house. The dishes in the kitchen are dirty. The library is disorganized. The bedrooms are empty. And at no point do the noises start up again.<br/>
<br/>
If he left the guardian in its cage, then that means he wasn't planning on coming back.<br/>
<br/>
You double-check in the library, opening the secret door and stepping cautiously onto the spiral staircase. But no waves of horror rise up; he has even scrubbed the Watcher away.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"He was expecting the police to search it," you suggest to Lucy afterwards, and he didn't want to leave any evidence of, you know, funky stuff."<br/>
<br/>
She gives you an odd look. "You know, 'funky' is not a word I'd expect to hear you say when you're looking like that."<br/>
<br/>
You grimace. You are wearing Blackwell's body but are trying not to relax into his mannerisms even as you rely on his memories and inclinations to figure out what must have happened.<br/>
<br/>
"The <i>Libras</i>—the mask-making book, I mean—is gone," you continue. "Of course. Also the tools he used to make some of the devices. Maybe one or two books I haven't spotted as being missing. The mask cabinet is still locked and the key where I hid it, so he doesn't realize just how vulnerable he is." You think back through the hour-long search you'd made. "Even his keys and bank cards are still here. He must have figured he shouldn't leave a trail to his new hiding place. He'll be using your money."<br/>
<br/>
She starts at that. "We could cut him off, right, by canceling them?"<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head. "He'll have enough supplies to make a new mask, and then he'll just copy someone for their money." You smile. "The thing is, we could basically do the same to him."<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
You don't immediately reply; an idea is forming in your head. "What I mean," you finally say, slowly, "is that he's left his entire life behind. His house. His library. His plastic. Even his face and memories. We could step right into it, use everything he's got and turn it against him." Your smile turns into an evil grin.<br/>
<br/>
"I want to go home," Lucy says. That causes <i>you</i> to start.<br/>
<br/>
"What? Don't be silly. That's what he's expecting you to do. You'd be painting a target on yourself."<br/>
<br/>
"I have a life, you know, and my family thinks I've been missing for 24 hours. Besides, he'll think it's funnier if I escape and then <i>don't</i> reappear."<br/>
<br/>
She has a point. But— "Look, to be honest," you say, "I was kind of expecting that you'd take over for Blackwell. Use his stuff, even his image and memories, to get back at him." She shudders, but she still looks intrigued. "But if you go home, then I should take over for him."<br/>
<br/>
"But then you'd be the one who's disappeared," she points out.<br/>
<br/>
You think long and hard. Both of you do. But there's no way around it, not if you're going to use Blackwell's own assets—which are your only real weapon—against him. <br/>
<br/>
"Either I play Blackwell, and you go home," you say. "Or we use the last blank mask to copy you again. Then you play Blackwell, and I go out pretending to be you."<br/>
<br/>
"Why shouldn't I go out and pretend to be you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because you're right about Blackwell looking for you. Someone has to go home as Lucy, to act as bait. It's the only way to draw him out.<br/>
<br/>
"The only question is whether the Lucy who goes home is real or another fake."</span></div></div>


path: 112221121
author_id: seuzz
title: The Departure of Lucy Vredenburg
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Lucy wants to go home, and you can also tell she's far from the thrilled at the idea of becoming the grotesque Aubrey Blackwell. "Alright," you say. "But before we take you home, I want to prepare a few things."<br/>
<br/>
You haven't liked it when Lucy's been out of your sight. It's not that you don't trust her, it's that you worry about what might happen to her. For the past hour, while you've been sitting in Blackwell's head, you've had various half-baked ideas for dealing with that floating around. So you ask her to sit in the living room while you go up to the work room. <br/>
<br/>
It doesn't take long to prepare the sigil; in fact, it takes rather longer to find something that looks like a piece of jewelry, but you finally settle on the silver chain attached to the cord of a bedroom curtain. When you are done you have a passable silver necklace. <br/>
<br/>
And then you have to prepare the other spell.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You pull up next to a small park a few blocks from her house, in your own form and in your truck. You no longer have Blackwell's own mind to guide you, but you made copious notes, which you now consult. <br/>
<br/>
"First of all," you tell her, "I want you to put this on." You hand her the necklace. "I put a charm on it. It won't protect you, but it will let me keep an eye on you. If Blackwell is going to come after you, you need to be under some kind of surveillance."<br/>
<br/>
She nods and silently puts it around her neck.<br/>
<br/>
"Second, I need you to drink this." You hand her a water bottle containing a milky liquid. "It's not going to taste good, but I didn't have time to make lemonade."<br/>
<br/>
"What is it?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Just something to help you deal with your family," you reply. She drinks it down, making faces all the time. "And now, I need you to look into this light." You shine a pencil flashlight into her face.<br/>
<br/>
"You've been through a lot, Lucy," you say softly. "You've seen and heard and even felt and thought many horrible things. You can't tell your parents about them, and you don't want to be a liar. In fact, you don't want to remember them." <br/>
<br/>
Her eyes go glassy as the mesmeric flash takes effect.<br/>
<br/>
"You will not remember today. You will not remember yesterday. You will not remember the day before that." Her breathing becomes shallow. "The last thing you remember is going up to Aubrey Blackwell's office, to ask how you could improve your grades. He told you he couldn't. And then you left."<br/>
<br/>
She is very still. The brew must be kicking in, to fix and preserve the effects of the hypnotic light.<br/>
<br/>
"You do not know where Blackwell lives. You have never seen his house. All that you have seen, or heard, or felt since you left his office ... is gone from your mind. It is gone forever."<br/>
<br/>
She closes her eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"You will get out of the truck and you will walk to the end of the street. You will not look back. You will then run home. When your parents ask where you have been, you will tell them the truth: <i>You do not know.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
She nods, and a peaceful smile crosses her face.<br/>
<br/>
"One last command. Never take the necklace off, even when you go to bed."<br/>
<br/>
She touches the necklace gently, and nods.<br/>
<br/>
"Good-bye, Lucy. It was fun, in a horrible kind of way. But this is the safest thing for you. I wish we could have become friends."<br/>
<br/>
She is still for a moment, and then she stirs and gets out of the truck. She walks slowly to the end of the street, and pauses. For a moment you fear that you messed up the amnesiac spell, but she doesn't look back as she turns and runs off toward her house.<br/>
<br/>
She's gone now, and will never remember her time with Blackwell, or her escape, or the help she received from you. But if you did it right, she should be safe; if Blackwell discovers that her memory is gone he may leave her alone. Though you wish you still had an ally, you know this is for the best. At least she has a chance at having her life back.<br/>
<br/>
But you probably won't. Even if you beat Blackwell, it may be too long for you to reestablish yourself by returning home. You took something from her, but you're giving away even more of yourself.<br/>
<br/>
You get out of the truck, leaving the keys in the ignition, and catch a cab back to your new house.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The first thing you do, after putting Blackwell's body back on—it is gross, but it seems the safest thing to do—is to figure out how you're going to live his life. You could suddenly just resign from the university, citing ill health, and retreat into the house as a hermit, watching and waiting for Blackwell to reappear. Or you could pick it up where he left it off. The former would be safer, since it would preserve Blackwell's belief that he is only dealing with an escaped prisoner. But if you continue to play his part, it could also draw him toward you, to discover who the imposter is. That would be another way of preserving Lucy's safety.</span></div></div>


path: 1122211211
author_id: seuzz
title: The Story Behind the Book
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The particulars of your resignation from the university are tedious, but Blackwell's obduracy and unpopularity with his colleagues and the administration smooth the way, and everything is done over the telephone. That leaves you free to spend every waking hour—which you stretch out to absurd lengths—to immerse yourself in Blackwell's library and his knowledge.<br/>
<br/>
It's scary how much the guy knows, and the uses to which he has put it. Hexes and curses are his specialty, but he has a full armory of devices and potions capable of doing nasty things. Guardians—like the things that guard the hidden staircase and the inside of the house—are something else he has studied deeply, and carefully, for they are extremely dangerous. But mostly you put yourself to studying the notes he left behind on the<i>Libras Personas.</i><br/>
<br/>
The most interesting, of course, are the sigils. The compositor of the <i>Libras</i> was very careful, and he meant to bind his designs in such a way that only those contained within the book itself are alive; any copies made are copies only and should not effect the making of a mask. But Blackwell made many notes and tracings of them, and as you study the sigils for the masks, and the mind strips, and the golems, you are soon able to discern their meanings and implications and structures. You are also able to go further than Blackwell had, and discover an interesting loophole in the golem spell: It is designed to be able to sense the presence of its master, even when the master is wearing a mask, and that means you are able to take that part of the spell and craft new spell of your own that lets you see through a mask to the wearer beneath. It takes several days of steady of work, but you are able to imprint the sigils onto the lenses of Blackwell's spare reading glasses, giving you a quick way of being able to scan for imposters.<br/>
<br/>
You are also able to improve the surveillance spell you put onto Lucy. It's a jury-rigged affair, and you're not sure it will work. But by piggybacking a spy onto your own spy and connecting them to a third spy you are able to set a kind of alarm that will go off when Lucy is in the presence of a golem. This saves you having to check every hour or so to make sure she is still alright. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Scarcely less interesting is the history of the <i>Libras</i> and the underhanded methods by which Blackwell got ahold of it. Accounts of doppelgangers and changelings, of imposters and shapeshifters, go back thousands of years, of course. This may reflect echoes of actual experiences, but it may also reflect more. At any rate, the first well-attested account of a mask-wearer occurred in the 13th century in connection with the Knights Templar, and an imposter who absconded with a large part of their treasury. Another account from 16th century Japan mentions a cabal of ninjas who used astonishing disguises to impersonate those close to their victims; when their castle was finally overrun it yielded a collection of ornamental masks that, though not obviously magical, were destroyed for fear of their occult properties. And in the same century, a witch trial in Germany climaxed with the revelation that more than a few townspeople had been replaced by golems. <br/>
<br/>
First mention of the <i>Libras,</i> though, came in 18th century Britain, where a low-ranking member in the suite of the Elector of Hanover (newly ensconced on the British throne as George I) was charged with compiling "magick devices" with the aid of a French sorcerer and writing of their manufacture and use in a book. The <i>Libras Personas</i>, as it was named, was supposedly burned, but a book by that name turned up in the private library of the Duke of Devonshire fifty years later when a catalog was made shortly after the Duke's death. It was to be put up at auction but disappeared first, apparently stolen. From there it dropped out of sight until 1969, when an anonymous inquiry was made at Sotheby's of New York and a book similar to the one described by 18th century sources was submitted for examination, only to be instantly dismissed as a worthless and transparent hoax. <br/>
<br/>
That was all Blackwell had been able to find, until he received an inquiry from a dealer in rare books in upstate New York who contacted him about a book called the <i>Libras Personas.</i> He had hurried out, only to find that the book, part of the estate of a local "crazy woman," had been withdrawn by her lawyer and put into a trunk to be shipped to her nearest of kin, who the lawyer had finally identified as one Mark Shabbleman. The trunk was still at the office, but there were too many people about for him to lift it or to influence the lawyer into surrendering it, so he had done the best he could by surreptitiously switching the address, choosing Harris Prescott of Salopek Engineering as a neutral delivery point. (He had a letter from Salopek, for some precision instruments he'd recently had made, on him.) Back in Saratoga Falls he had been able to slip his way into the delivery room before Prescott could pick up the trunk and had hurriedly lifted the book from it. <br/>
<br/>
And then two weeks later his last library assistant had accidentally sold it to Arnholm's. <br/>
<br/>
You reflected over how the book came to you, and by the odd and narrow coincidences along the way. Aside from the fact that the book nearly landed in your own house thanks to Blackwell's own maneuvering, and still came to you via Arnholm's, there is the matter of "Mark Shabbleman." You don't know who this man is, but you have cousins by the name of Shabbleman who live in the next state over, in a little hillbilly burg named Cuthbert, which is the town the book was supposed to go to. You know what Blackwell would think: that either the <i>Libras</i> was trying to get to you, or that something was determined to divert it to you from its intended destination. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But the real discovery comes on the second day of your life as Blackwell, as you sit in the library and copy out one of the mask-making sigils for further study. After you finish you reach for book on the far side of the desk, you tip a drinking glass over and water spills over your work. And as the water hits the sigil it boils way into steam in a flash explosion.<br/>
<br/>
You rear back and blink. That should not be. The sigils copied outside the book are supposed to be dead. You give it another test, and are rewarded with the same behavior. You copy out the other sigils, and find the same thing.<br/>
<br/>
It should be impossible, but there it is: The sigils that you make are alive, ready to be used in making masks. <br/>
<br/>
In the back of your mind you try to work out how this could be, but you are too excited to actually puzzle for long over it. Instead you hurriedly start putting the ingredients together—Blackwell has them all on hand—and before night falls you have a blank but unfinished mask and a golem of your own cooking away.<br/>
<br/>
The work of making the blanks is easy; the tedious part is waiting for the golem to be ready and polishing the mask. Fortunately, you have nothing but time, and your reading and research—both on the masks and on other useful spells, absorbs your attention as your hands buff the mask to a brilliant shine. By your fifth day in the house you can add three more items to the blank mask Blackwell left behind: a golem; a metal strip that you can use to copy the mind of anyone; and a blank mask you can use copy the image of anyone. The last two can also be combined so that any mind can be put together with any body.<br/>
<br/>
You tremble slightly as you consider the possibilities. You never thought you might be in a position to reclaim your life, and so soon: you can use the blank mask to copy yourself and use the golem to reappear; it can even take the extraordinary punishment that is waiting for you while you continue to wait for Blackwell's reappearance. But the flexibility engendered by the blank strip and blank mask suggest implies lots of other possibilities that might be useful for dealing with Blackwell.</span></div></div>


path: 11222112111
author_id: seuzz
title: Two Prodigals Return
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><br/>
Your duplicate gives you disgusted look once he's up and dressed. "You're an asshole, you know that?" <br/>
<br/>
"Just go home and take what's coming to you," you retort.<br/>
<br/>
"And what the fuck am I supposed to tell mom and dad?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's up to you." It groans. "Look, just pray the truck is where we left it."<br/>
<br/>
That's even worse. "You know, if it got stolen, your life isn't going to be <i>worth</i> returning to."<br/>
<br/>
"Then it'll be all yours, won't it? But mom and dad won't actually kill you—"<br/>
<br/>
"Only a little bit," it mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"—whereas I can always just take that mask off you and you'll cease to exist."<br/>
<br/>
It grimaces. "When you put it like that, I have to take back what I said earlier. You're not just an asshole, you're a <i>fucking</i> asshole."<br/>
<br/>
You push it out the door and go back to work: You are alone in the house, and you feel the need for a little more protection.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Two nights later you receive a visitor.<br/>
<br/>
You're in the library working by its dim light, when you hear a rattle and the front door opening. The light from the library, of course, streams out into the foyer where you unannounced visitor can see it. You hear nothing else, and that is enough to confirm in your own mind that it is not your own twin returning. Besides, he would have called before coming over.<br/>
<br/>
After a few minutes, slow footsteps approach. Into the light steps a figure. He is young looking, with raven-black hair and dark eyes;  he wears an overcoat and boots, and has a satchel looped over his shoulder. He looks very familiar, but you can't quite place him.<br/>
<br/>
"May I help you?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
You can just make out his eyes as they widen and dart around the room before settling back on you. He licks his lips and hesitates. "There seems to be some mistake," he says slowly.<br/>
<br/>
You lean back in your chair. "It's Professor Blackwell, isn't it?" you say.<br/>
<br/>
He blinks and his mouth twists. "You have me at a disadvantage."<br/>
<br/>
"I find that hard to believe. The Aubrey Blackwell I know doesn't allow himself to be placed in such a position by anyone."<br/>
<br/>
"Who are you?"<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. "That's mutable, isn't it? For instance, you answer to the name Aubrey Blackwell, but you might also answer to the name ..."<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't fill in the blank. "Don't play games," he warns. "You are playing with something very dangerous."<br/>
<br/>
"I know that, and you know I know that. I thank you for your interest in my welfare, though." You gesture him in. "As we are treating each other so kindly, perhaps you would like to come in, and we can discuss things like gentlemen."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not a gentleman," he snarls. But he steps forward regardless, and as his feet land on the rug in the doorway, he freezes.<br/>
<br/>
"No, you're not a gentleman," you reply. "And neither am I."<br/>
<br/>
He struggles, but his feet are fastened to the floor, and even his legs are paralyzed. He can only twist helplessly from the waist up. He glares up angrily, and then hunches defensively as you open a drawer and take out a small bottle and shake some blue powder into the palm of your hand. <br/>
<br/>
"What are you going to do?" he asks, turning pale as you approach.<br/>
<br/>
"You're too intelligent to ask stupid questions like that," you retort, and blow the knockout powder into his face.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It all turned out to be so very easy, you reflect, a little morosely, after you have released his insensible body from the "bear trap" sigil you'd placed in the library entrance way. You tug him down into the basement, strip him of his clothes, release the mask from him, and press Blackwell's own mask to his face, to charge it with his most recent memories. Back upstairs you sigh as you ponder the mess he's left you to clean up.<br/>
<br/>
First, there is matter of Jack Freeman, the professor of French Literature whose form he most recently appropriated. The real professor is now dead, his body dumped in the countryside; the man is a bachelor, and there's no need for him to return home right away. But you'll need to fashion a golem for his mask to wear, and will need to finish it tonight.<br/>
<br/>
Luckily, you can take care of that and Blackwell at one stroke, using one of the spells that Blackwell had unlocked since recovering the book. It takes a little while to gather the graveyard dirt, but after knocking Blackwell out again, you spread forty pounds of the stuff over him, toss in the magic mix, set it on fire, and get yourself a new golem. By one in the morning, a pliant Jack Freeman is on his way home again.<br/>
<br/>
But there is still the matter of Samuel Orson, a local businessman that Blackwell captured to use as a monetary milch cow during his exile; the man has also been turned into a golem, one that is under Blackwell's influence, and you'd like to free the former. That will require a great deal of work. The <i>Libras</i> is damaged, and though you now have access to two more very useful spells, the rest of the book is inaccessible. It will have to be repaired, since you think the task of restoring golemized individuals is beyond even your skill.<br/>
<br/>
And after that, there is the matter of what comes next for you. You don't want to return to your old life just yet, not until the aftershocks of your truancy settle down. Maybe you could return to the high school in some other guise, to watch and see what is happening there. And then there is Lucy. There is no way to restore her memory—your wipe was meant to be permanent—but you still feel a quickening interest toward her. Maybe there is some way of reestablishing a connection there, in some other disguise.</span></div></div>


path: 112221121111
author_id: seuzz
title: Return to the high school.
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Before going any further, you decide, you need to do something about Blackwell's last free golem. From Blackwell's memories, you know that beneath the businessman's mask is Samuel Orson himself, transformed into a golem. Having reviewed the new information you have from the <i>Libras</i>, though, you know at least how to render the golem beneath impotent: you can modify Orson's mask so that it carries a "golem" of your own inside its surface, that will cover and override Blackwell's. That will keep Orson docile until you can figure out a way to reverse the spell.<br/>
<br/>
You have to bluff your way into Orson's company, though. You call him up the next morning at his office and tell him you need to see him: being out of your presence, he does not know if you are the real Blackwell or not, and he hurries over to the house. Once there, of course, he rebels, and you have to use Blackwell's own considerable bulk to pin the recalcitrant Orson to the wall so you can rip his mask off. It discloses a grim sight: the stone-like Orson beneath the illusory flesh.<br/>
<br/>
Before modifying his mask, though, you put it on, to see if there is anything important you need to know.<br/>
<br/>
Samuel Orson, Jr., you learn, owns a construction company, which provides him and his family with a large but not magnificent income. You spend quite a while rifling through his memories, getting to know him. He himself isn't very interesting, but he has two kids attending Eastman High School (and a third in elementary school); you want to eventually return to high school, but does it have to be Westside? And why can't you just make a duplicate of Blackwell to continue the research you need to finish?<br/>
<br/>
You are seized by the sudden urge to shift back into something like your own age, but away from the school, where your own golem is surely doing a fine job of continuing your old life. Quickly, you make up another stock of special powder, and use it to golemize the insides of both Orson's mask and Blackwell's mask. You put the latter onto the golem of Orson, and direct the new Blackwell to continue his life and to find out a way of repairing the damaged book. This would be more or less in line with Blackwell's own wishes, and your new servant readily agrees.<br/>
<br/>
You yourself don the Orson disguise and go back to his office—a tedious job, but one that he is good at. Blackwell had set his slave to secretly polishing up a new mask, and it is practically done, which means that tonight you should be able to use it to switch into one of his high school kids: his senior-level son Sammy (the III) and his freshman-level daughter Cindy. (His seven-year-old son Mark doesn't interest you.) <br/>
<br/>
The pity is that you now have four golems running around: Jack Freeman, Aubrey Blackwell, Will Prescott, and Samuel Orson. Golems are tricky things, because they contain some of their maker's own essence within them. If that essence gets spread too thin, Blackwell's mind has told you, it could cause terrible problems. You don't dare make a fifth golem for fear of the consequences. This puts a bit of a premium on finding a cure for Orson so that you can destroy his mask and cut the number of golems down.</span></div></div>


path: 11222112112
author_id: seuzz
title: Blackwell's Return
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You are extremely conscious of the fact that you are alone in the house with an unscrupulous and highly intelligent mage after you. So you put in a call to the university athletic department, asking if they have any football players who would be willing to act as day laborers for a few hours. You offer one hundred dollars a person for up to three volunteers, capping it with a fifty dollar bonus if they arrive at your house by ten o'clock the next morning. Your bait is quickly snapped up, and at nine-thirty the doorbell rings and you usher in three husky lads, each over six feet tall and bound up with all kinds of muscles. <br/>
<br/>
You put Todd to work in the garden, shoveling dirt from your private cemetery into burlap bags; it was ugly work making the golem, and you're glad to have someone else bag the four hundred pounds of graveyard dirt each golem requires. You lead Mitch upstairs and ask him to wait while you fetch something from downstairs. In the library you ask Taylor to sit down. You then slip behind him and put the blank mask to his face. After he revives and you fetch him some water you go back upstairs where you repeat the same trick with Mitch. He is confused and a little put out when you take him back down again, and ask him and Taylor to start moving the desks in the library around. Outside, you catch Todd and put his image in the mask as well. <br/>
<br/>
After you get Mitch and Todd to put the desks back as they were you set them to helping Todd dig. They soon have all the dirt you could want bagged and boxed and moved into the mausoleum, which is where you manufacture the golems. You then pay them off and send them home—bemused but happy to have been so well paid for not much work. <br/>
<br/>
Back inside, you seal the mask, strip down to your natural form, and put the blank mindstrip to your own forehead. When you revive you attach it to the blank mask.<br/>
<br/>
"Holy shit," your new slave exclaims when it wakes. It flexes and touches itself all over. "I like the new body." It is a fine form, built just like a powerful linebacker but not looking like anyone in particular. It grins at you. "I could beat the snot out of you."<br/>
<br/>
"You could, but you won't," you reply. You are back in Blackwell's form; after so many days inside it, you feel strangely naked as yourself. "I need muscle around here, but you know that."<br/>
<br/>
"True, dat," he smirks back. "I got your muscles right here." He glances down and flips his willy around. "But I could also use some clothes. Or a little lovin'." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be disgusting, and don't let your new body go to your head." You pull some slacks out, along with a belt and an undershirt. "Get some scissors and you can turn these into cutoffs or something. None of the underwear in this house will fit you, so you'll have to go commando style." He laughs. <br/>
<br/>
Once he's dressed you lead him down into the library. The mind strip, of course, only copied your own natural memories, not Blackwell's, so he isn't much help downstairs except to fetch books and keep you company. He's not much good at the latter, though, since he keeps sneaking over to mirrored surfaces to check himself out. Finally, you give him the keys to the car, some money, and send him out to buy some proper clothes and shoes.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The climax to the adventure comes quickly, more quickly than you had guessed it would. The next night you are in the library, studying, when a terrific commotion from outside draws your attention. You'd set the golem to patrolling the garden, so you guess he's caught someone. Sure enough, when you turn on the porch light and step outside, you find he has a dark figure in a headlock. "Hey boss, I caught a prowler!" he exults. He shoves the prisoner forward.<br/>
<br/>
"Will you get this ... ape ... off me!" the stranger exclaims. You tell "Bill," as you've named your golem, to haul him up onto the porch for a closer look. The man struggles, but two hundred and twenty pounds of muscle are too much for him. Under the light you find a dark haired and handsome man, dressed professionally but casually in a blazer, dress shirt, and jeans. He has a brown leather satchel around his shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
"This is private property, sir," you tell him stiffly. "What is your business?"<br/>
<br/>
He gasps and his eyes go very wide when he looks up at you. "What the—?"<br/>
<br/>
You smile faintly—it's practically a confession on his part—and yank the satchel from his shoulder. Inside, you find a mask, a small bag of tools, and the <i>Libras Personas.</i><br/>
<br/>
"I see," you murmur. "Billy, hold him here for a moment." From inside the house you fetch some of your special blue powder. The man has sagged when you get back and is a limp thing in Billy's headlock. <br/>
<br/>
"I want to thank you for returning my property," you tell him. "I was most disconsolate when I returned home last week to find that this very valuable book had gone wandering."<br/>
<br/>
"Who are you?" he spits.<br/>
<br/>
It's a good question. "Let's just say that I'm someone you foolishly tried to cheat." You blow the knock out powder into his face and have Billy carry him down into the basement. There you strip Aubrey Blackwell of his clothes and his last disguise, recharge his mask with his most recently memories, and leave him.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Thanks to the recovered <i>Libras</i>, Blackwell's new memories, and the dirt gathered yesterday, you soon have things well in hand: The erstwhile Aubrey Blackwell is now an impotent golem; Professor Jack Freeman is back home without having been missed; and you have several choices before you.<br/>
<br/>
There is, for instance, the matter of all the toys that Blackwell has left scattered. Jack Freeman may be dead and replaced with a golem under your control, but there is the old Lucy Vredenburg mask (now sitting before you on your desk), and there is one Samuel Orson, another golem under Blackwell's influence. Whatever else you do, you need to snip off these loose ends.<br/>
<br/>
But after that? You have grown quite used to this house, and quite enamored of Blackwell's own research. There is still the <i>Libras</i> to consider: the book is damaged, and most of its spells are inaccessible. You could adjust your life so that you can concentrate on those matters without being chained down to the house; with a few golems out working to support you, you could continue your research while still having a life of some kind.<br/>
<br/>
Or maybe you should put some distance between yourself and Blackwell's magic. It exercises a very strong pull on you; perhaps too strong a pull.</span></div></div>


path: 1122211212
author_id: seuzz
title: The New Magician
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Nice of you to show up today, Aubrey," the department chair says sarcastically as he passes your office. "Think you can call the next time you take a sick day?"<br/>
<br/>
"I am many things, Terrance, but I am not a clairvoyant," you reply. That stops him in his tracks. <br/>
<br/>
"Care to explain that remark?" he snaps.<br/>
<br/>
"My nanny taught me never to explain anything," you retort. "I am not in the habit of explaining myself to you, and I do not propose to acquire the habit now."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe you'd be happier explaining things to the dean."<br/>
<br/>
"I allow that I might. I might tell him about a once in a lifetime opportunity to acquire a very interesting artifact that necessitated my immediate departure late one night and hasty return two mornings later with an acquisition that would reflect great credit upon this department."<br/>
<br/>
"You picked something up?" His eyes narrow.<br/>
<br/>
"Possibly. I might tell you about it if you begin lacing your conversation with spoonfuls of sugar, and after I have squeezed it to my own purposes."<br/>
<br/>
He departs with a dark look.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
He doesn't even raise his hand. "But weren't the Carthaginians, like, into the whole burning children alive thing?"<br/>
<br/>
You give him your most disgusted look. "And in what comic book did you read that, sir?"<br/>
<br/>
The rest of the class titters, and the boy flushes. "I read it in, like, a history book."<br/>
<br/>
"By whom?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't remember. In one of my classes."<br/>
<br/>
"Heaven preserve us from survey-level experts. Now if I may continue—"<br/>
<br/>
"So you're saying they didn't?"<br/>
<br/>
"I say nothing. The histories were written by the victorious Romans, and there were very few Carthaginians left to dispute them. Like many imperialists, the Romans liked to impute the ugliest behaviors to their enemies."<br/>
<br/>
"So you're saying there's no independent evidence that they sacrificed babies to Moloch?"<br/>
<br/>
"Let us rather say that there is ample evidence that whatever they did was ineffective. Which suggests either that they did not sacrifice infants to Moloch, or that they didn't read the owner's manual before firing up the ovens. They wouldn't be the last people to plug something in without understanding how it was supposed to work."<br/>
<br/>
The class laughs at what they think you mean as a joke.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"And how was the filet, Professor."<br/>
<br/>
"Back to your usual standards, Henri," you sigh as you contentedly push the plate away. "Seared with just the right red on the inside and black on the outside, and with just the right breath of rosemary. Your new chef is a keeper."<br/>
<br/>
"Thank you. I think so too."<br/>
<br/>
"And how is Paolo? Did he get his fingers reattached?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, but he flinches every time he sees a meat cleaver."<br/>
<br/>
"It's no more than he deserves. He was slacking, Henri, slacking." You return to your book. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So pass the days of Aubrey Blackwell. The days are the worst: dealing with bureaucrats and narrow-minded colleagues, dim-witted students and coeds, and incompetents at their trades. His great respite—which you feel too, given your own needs—is his nightly research, and you feel a feverish excitement as you pore through his library. In his mask you know it intimately, of course, and can lay your hands on exactly what you need at any particular moment; and you have his own prodigious store of knowledge to draw on. But it is more than that. <br/>
<br/>
Blackwell considers himself a fine magician, and he is quite skilled at what he regards as his true calling. But he is slow and methodical, and is blind to things that come to you in a flash. His own memories tell you that certain sigils should be draw up very carefully and slowly, for fear of accident. (He has learned many times in very hard ways just how dangerous these things can be.) But you can dash them off quite easily. Thanks to what he knows, you can read the sigils easily and discern their intents and meanings; but you can also see implications and latent modifications that you feel certain he couldn't. You feel yourself progressing rapidly to his level and beyond as you scribble out notes and ideas, and things that he finds hard—like the molding of icons—fairly fly out from under your fingers. You feel like a master clockmaker who has to work with Tinkertoys, but who given only a little time and the materials could fashion something much more intricate than was dreamed by their designer.<br/>
<br/>
For instance, you are quickly able to discern certain exploitable gaps in some of the notes that Blackwell left behind about the <i>Libras</i>. That cunning book has been constructed so that only the sigils it contains are alive, and copies—even exacting ones—will not allow you to make the devices yourself. But he has left copies around, and you soon master and absorb their details. The golems, for instance, give up their secrets as you study the intricate ring of symbols that craft them from the earth. They are designed to recognize their masters, no matter that their masters are disguised, and you soon see what Blackwell (you are sure) never could: that this provides a mechanism for piercing the illusion created by a mask. You are soon able to craft a custom-sigil of your own—one that is quite alive—that if properly employed can create devices that can reveal its wearer under his disguise. Figuring out how to connect it to a mundane device, to make it actually useful, proves trickier, though.<br/>
<br/>
On the other hand, you have an easier time using a variation on the same device to jerry-rig a better surveillance spell to watch over Lucy. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The test comes about a week after moving into your new life. It is nine o'clock in the morning, and you are in your office when your watch begins to glow warmly, which is the signal that the spy you've set on Lucy has picked up the influence of a nearby golem. You quickly take from your pocket the small silver statue that you constructed as part of the surveillance spell, grasp it, and close your eyes. A ghostly vista opens to you: <br/>
<br/>
To your surprise, you are looking down into the departmental office. Lucy has not been coming to class, but she is there now, with the departmental secretary, the chair, a student who looks like a football player, and another man who looks familiar but who you can't place. The modified spell is telling you that one of them is a golem.<br/>
<br/>
You quickly go down to the hall to the office to look in. Fran, the secretary turns at your entrance. "Ah, here he is now," she says to Lucy. "Saves you a trip."<br/>
<br/>
Lucy turns. She looks a little thinner and less healthy, but her eye is bright, and it holds none of the fear or worry that you last you saw her suffering. She holds out a slip. "I need to withdraw from your class, Professor Blackwell."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry to hear that, my dear," you say with oleaginous insincerity as you take the drop/add slip. "May I inquire why."<br/>
<br/>
"I've been ill."<br/>
<br/>
"This is Lucille Vredenburg, Aubrey," the chair snaps. "You might have read about her."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh! I didn't realize— I'm so sorry, Miss Vredenburg." You sign the slip with a flourish. "I am appalled that the university has not made other arrangement for you."<br/>
<br/>
"I think they have," she says uncertainly. "But this is one of the things I have to do."<br/>
<br/>
You smile and had it back to here. The football player, who has been looking her up and down greedily, mumbles something and gives a similar slip to the chair, who signs it without looking at it.<br/>
<br/>
After the player and Lucy go, the chair gestures to you. "Can I have a word with you in my office, Aubrey?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll do better and give you a word outside your office. No." <br/>
<br/>
You turn to leave, but the stranger catches your elbow. "Excuse, Professor Blackwell, is it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes?"<br/>
<br/>
He holds out his hand. "Jack Freeman. I teach French Lit."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yes! Now I know where I've seen you."<br/>
<br/>
"I understand you're the one to talk to about the Grail legend."<br/>
<br/>
"Probably. What would you like to know?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hopefully," he says, looking at his watch, "I haven't got time right now to learn everything you can tell me. Can we meet for coffee later this afternoon?"<br/>
<br/>
"Possibly." You exchange cell phone numbers so you can set up a rendezvous later.<br/>
<br/>
After he leaves you ask Fran the name of the male student. She gives it to you: Mitch Farmer.<br/>
<br/>
You now have four suspects to check out. The chair would seem the likeliest to be the golem. Fran, a widower, would be easy to get to. The football player could make himself attractive to Lucy. And the French Lit guy seems to have materialized out of nowhere.</span></div></div>


path: 11222112121
author_id: seuzz
title: The Magician's Return
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I'll see Moser now," you tell Fran the secretary an hour later.<br/>
<br/>
"The protocol is that <i>he'll</i> see <i>you</i>," she tells you archly.<br/>
<br/>
"Fran, my princess, you will never achieve an executive position if you don't <i>put</i> yourself over people."<br/>
<br/>
"I already run this department, Aubrey." She leans past you. "Dr. Moser, are you able to see Dr. Blackwell now?" she shouts.<br/>
<br/>
"No!" comes the muffled reply from behind his door.<br/>
<br/>
"Go right in," she says sweetly.<br/>
<br/>
"I see that <i>I</i> must become <i>your</i> adept," you reply. You frown as you look at her. "You have something by your eye." You indicate the place, and she wipes at it. "No, over ... over ... Hang on." You reach forward slowly and brush your fingers near her brow while mutter a senseless Latin phrase under your breath. When you reach the third repetition, you grab hard at her brow and pull.<br/>
<br/>
"Ow!" she exclaims and pulls away. "The hell, Aubrey ..."<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry," you mutter, and continue to frown. You point at her brow. "You might have that looked at by a doctor." Her eyes grow wide. You retreat from the office shaking your head sadly.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Because you'd avoided him earlier, Moser seems intent on keeping you waiting this time, and you have to cancel your meeting with the French Lit professor. You run home to fetch a few instruments that will make the chair more pliant as an interview subject, but by the time you get back to the university he has already gone home for the day. Spitefully, you use one of the pieces of chalk you brought back with you to draw a hex in his parking space that will make his tires attract sharp metal pieces.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You tell yourself you're just checking on Lucy, to make sure that no golems have replaced members of her family. But you know that's a lie, even if you can't figure out why you're going to see her. But you do.<br/>
<br/>
Mrs. Vredenburg answers the door pleasantly and is quite polite when you introduce yourself and ask for Lucy. She shows you into the living room, where her husband is, and calls down to Lucy. Your amnesiac ally looks more relaxed when she appears than when you saw her this afternoon.<br/>
<br/>
"I merely wanted to stop by and offer my sincerest condolences for what happened," you tell her. "After we met, I remembered you. I'm afraid you weren't do very well in my class, and I wanted to apologize for doing better to help."<br/>
<br/>
"It's alright," she says. "It's my own fault, I guess, for not studying harder."<br/>
<br/>
"Will you be returning to the university in the spring?"<br/>
<br/>
"I think so."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm very glad to hear that. I will be teaching the same course that semester, and I would be quite happy to extend you extra help in getting through it. You have already been exposed to some of the material, so it should be easier on a second time through."<br/>
<br/>
"That's nice of you to offer, but I'll just have to see."<br/>
<br/>
"Of course. I beg your pardon, I don't mean to pry, but is that your car out front?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes," she nods. "They found it—" She stops, as though uncertain whether this is something she should be discussing with a relative stranger. "They found it yesterday."<br/>
<br/>
"I suppose the police are making headway in their investigation?"<br/>
<br/>
"They're finally <i>starting</i> to investigate," Mrs. Vredenburg says waspishly.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that's good. I thought they'd be more on the ball."<br/>
<br/>
You make some more chit-chat, because you want to see Cindy come in and see if she sets off the "golem detector," but eventually you run out of excuses and leave.<br/>
<br/>
Your delay was well-timed, however, for you meet her coming up the walk; a car is just racing off, so it appears she has been dropped off. Swiftly you draw the blank mask from beneath your overcoat and press it to her face, then drag her unconscious into a shadow where she can't be seen from the front of the house. When the mask reappears you quickly leave before she can come to.<br/>
<br/>
As with your visit overall, you tell yourself you're just checking up on Lucy, using the mask to confirm that Cindy has not been replaced by a golem. (Masks when placed on mask-wearers do not function properly.) But maybe you are actually planning for contingencies for after you've defeated Blackwell.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But that's being optimistic. There's no telling what further forms of nastiness Blackwell has unlocked with the <i>Libras</i> since eluding you. You are jumpy the next morning when you go in to the department; yesterday Fran was herself, but is she herself today? You avoid her while charging directly into Terrance Moser's office.<br/>
<br/>
"You wanted a word with me yesterday, Moser?"<br/>
<br/>
He leans back with a grimace. "I've wanted to have several words with you, Blackwell, for a very long time." He drifts from your face down to your hands; you are twiddling your fingers in a manner that looks aimless and fidgety, but which are yet very deliberate. "I took over as chair a few years ago, you know, because <i>you</i> said you couldn't deal with the hassle any more."<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, and you've done a fine job, as I expected."<br/>
<br/>
He seems to be fascinated by your fingers. "It's a tough job, but I'll tell you point blank the toughest part is dealing with <i>you</i>, which makes it about three times harder than when you were chair."<br/>
<br/>
"I allow I'm not a shrinking violet," you say. With one hand you continue to distract him while with the other you take out the pencil flashlight and shine the beam into his face. <br/>
<br/>
"You're not a plant of any kind," he says. The words continue to come as you swing the light back and forth, but they lose their emotion and character, and become slurred. "You're a grizzly bear, Blackwell, a grizzly bear in the garden."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"<br/>
<br/>
"I said you're ... a ... grizz ..."<br/>
<br/>
You shut his office door, then hurry around to grasp his brow. Nothing happens; he is the authentic pain in the ass. <br/>
<br/>
You bend near his ear and mutter in a low voice. "I've grown much more powerful in the time since you've taken over as chair, Terrance. You are afraid of me. Very, very afraid of me. You can call me names and you can complain about me bitterly. But you will not cross me and you will not plot against me. Because you are <i>terrified</i> of what I will do to you." You wave your hand in front of his face, and he nods.<br/>
<br/>
Satisfied, you return to your spot and snap your fingers. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Terrance," you say in a cold, firm voice. "But do you plan to do anything about it?"<br/>
<br/>
He gapes, and then he quails a little bit. He swallows uncertainly, and shrugs. "Just ... just carry on, Blackwell," he says, and dismisses you with a nervous wave of the hand.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
That leaves the football player and Freeman. You call the latter, but have to plead a busy schedule and arrange to meet him for coffee at five. You track down the former at a house that is full of other loud guys. He tells them to shut up while you talk.<br/>
<br/>
"I said I one of my colleagues was very impressed with your work in his class, Mr. Farmer, and I wanted to encourage you to stop by my office to discuss your becoming an archaeology major."<br/>
<br/>
There's a pause, and then a snicker, and then his voice becomes very muffled; all you can make out is the phrase "some asshole professor." He comes back on and asks when.<br/>
<br/>
"This afternoon?"<br/>
<br/>
"I got practice. How about ... I dunno, later this week?"<br/>
<br/>
You hang up. Blackwell's golem would be much more eager to meet you. That leaves Freeman.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You hurry home to pick up a few things that you might need while dealing with him, and are surprised—and then pleased—to see a strange car out front, and the front door open. You go quietly in, and find Jack Freeman standing in the doorway leading into the library. He is rooted to the spot, and can only twist at the waist when he turns at your entrance. His expression is desperate.<br/>
<br/>
"Why, Professor Freeman," you say quietly. "You seem to be rooted to the spot." He doesn't reply, and he doesn't resist as you reach up and tear his mask away. There's a ripping noise as his body distorts; buttons fly off his shirt and his trousers sag. Aubrey Blackwell stands before you. "I hope you haven't been waiting long, Professor Blackwell," you snigger. "The gwarcheidwad is not the best company."<br/>
<br/>
"You're not a real magician," he mutters angrily. "You can't hold me."<br/>
<br/>
"I think I am holding you, and quite easily, too. As for me not being a real magician—" You twitch aside the corner of the rug he's standing on, revealing part of the "bear trap" sigil you'd set there. "That's a little thing I designed on my own. Better than you could have come up with."<br/>
<br/>
"Who are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm Aubrey Blackwell," you gloat.<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, really."<br/>
<br/>
"Wouldn't you like to know." You blow knockout powder into his face.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
He has left a real mess for you to clean up, but he is now impotent, trapped in the basement for the moment; and after fetching the <i>Libras</i> from Freeman's car and recharging the Blackwell mask with his most recent memories, you feel you actually have things well in hand. The question is now what to do <i>after</i> you finish dealing with his mess.</span></div></div>


path: 112221121211
author_id: seuzz
title: The Witch-Queen
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You already have an entry point back into Westside, and it seems a shame to waste it. So after dealing with the most pressing issues—using one of the new spells to turn Blackwell himself into an impotent golem, and slapping the Jack Freeman mask back on him—you put in a call to the Vredenburg household. <br/>
<br/>
She's extremely surprised to hear from you, and still more surprised by your request, but she agrees, and shows up at your office the next day just after four o'clock. She seems confused but flattered by your attention and interest in her upcoming collegiate career, but it doesn't matter: you drop a special word into her subconscious as you speak about the good things you've gleaned from examining her high school record, and she goes away looking rather pink.<br/>
<br/>
After that you spend a week tidying up and preparing for your move. Mostly that involves typing up copious notes to yourself, summarizing the basic sigils and hexes and spells, and scanning in the most basic and helpful pages from the dictionaries and lexicographies and magico-grammatical works in Blackwell's library and emailing them to a new address for later retrieval. You will not have Blackwell's prodigious memory at your command in your new life, and you want to have the fundamentals at your fingertips for study and absorption. But of course you will be able to stop by the house and make whatever consultations you want. You also establish a connection between Blackwell and the golem of Professor Jack Freeman so that you can also use the latter for scutwork: so you make up a dozen blank masks and mind bands, and set him to polishing them up in his spare time at his bachelor pad.<br/>
<br/>
And then on a Sunday afternoon you call Cindy Vredenburg back, and use the special word to "convince" her to come out to your house. She looks puzzled and distracted—as well she should—when you open the door to let her in. You smile and casually press the already-made mask of her to her face.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"You are an extremely perverted young man," Aubrey Blackwell says in a disapproving voice as you bounce to your feet in your new body. <br/>
<br/>
"Said the kettle to the pot," you smirk back. You lazily thrust your young taut ass at him. "I know what you want, you dirty old man, and you can't have it."<br/>
<br/>
"You do make a fine young bitch, I'll allow that," he says hollowly.<br/>
<br/>
Of course, he's not the real Aubrey Blackwell. You've used the last accessible spell in the <i>Libras</i> to place a "golem" on the inside of his mask, and putting it over the real Cindy Vredenburg has turned her into his doppelganger, one utterly beholden to you. That doesn't mean his personality doesn't manifest itself, though.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know what you're complaining about, Aubrey," you say as you fluff your panties and pull them on. "I've got things nicely set up for you. The department chair won't be giving you any more crap after he retires at the end of the term. Leyling will probably be the one to take over, and you can wrap him around your finger without using special tricks."<br/>
<br/>
"It's a waste of your talents, young Prescott, this return to a high school life in ... this guise."<br/>
<br/>
"That's only your opinion," you retort. "The way I look at it, the world needs cleaning up, one situation at a time. I've got the Archaeology department set up for you; now it's time for the Westside student body to get a new administration." You tie your shoes and stand up again, tossing your hair back. "You've been very sweet, Aubrey. Just keep teaching classes and flunking frat boys, and you'll be happy. Okay?"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Lucy is mostly back to herself, which pleases you—both as her sister and as her secret benefactor—though "being back to herself" also involves being bitchy to your boyfriend. She has many more cutting things to say about Seth when she drops you off at school on Monday, but you are so excited about returning in your new form that you let them roll right off you. You go straight to the girls' locker room, which is mercifully empty, and the lock to Chelsea Cooper's locker yields easily via non-magical means: Cindy has enough of the witch in her to have watched and memorized Chelsea's combination. You've already got the sigil traced onto a transparent sticker, and all you have to do is slap it onto the bottom of one of her sneakers. Ten minutes into first-period practice, and Chelsea takes a bad tumble that results in an extremely nasty fracture. Your have a talk with the head coach and are extremely persuasive: by the end of the day you are the new captain of the cheerleading squad!<br/>
<br/>
You spend the next two days drinking in congratulations and expressing your own teary regrets at the way it came about. But it soon proves that you've underestimated Chelsea.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Look, it's not you, Cindy," Seth says. "You are really sweet and really sexy. It's just ..." His words trail off. Apparently he has no way of finishing that sentence.<br/>
<br/>
The tears behind your eyes are hot and you feel you voice tremble. "Is it that you've had your fun and now you want someone new who's also sweet and sexy?"<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, don't be like that."<br/>
<br/>
You slap his hand away and angrily pull out the unValentine's Day card he'd given you in July as a romantic-joke gesture, and which you've carried and treasured since then. You fumble at the special fountain pen and start to draw in it. Though the bleary gauze of tears you can sense the eyes of everyone else in the library. "And you had to do it here, in public? You're such an asshole, Seth."<br/>
<br/>
He leans back and folds his arms, his expression a mix of agony and anger. "Look, can we say we're just taking a break? Until, uh, next year, after the championships? Be non-exclusive?"<br/>
<br/>
You stare daggers at him. So that's it. "It's Gordon, isn't it? He threatened to throw you off the team if you didn't break up with me!" Seth takes a deep breath and his face twists up. "Oh, for God's sake, grow a pair, Seth. Tell him to go fuck himself. Tell him you'll break up with me only if he starts giving you blow jobs." You bend down back over the intricate design you are carving into the card.<br/>
<br/>
He bends forward and puts his mouth near your ear. "You don't know what it's like on the team!" he hisses. "You think your girlfriends are bitches, but you haven't seen what Gordon and Steve are like when they get an idea in their head. Some of the things they do in the locker room—it's like ... like something in a prison movie."<br/>
<br/>
"So tell the coach. Or Sagansky."<br/>
<br/>
He curses under his breath. "You just don't get it."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I get it alright. They can't <i>make</i> you their bitch, Seth, because you already <i>are!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
He chews furiously on his fingernail. "What if I told you I wouldn't see anyone else. That I'd ... I'd take myself off the market, until the season is over?"<br/>
<br/>
Your lip curls. <i>Like that's not going to happen one way or another.</i><br/>
<br/>
He strokes the back of your head. "I love you, Cinders. And when it's all over, and we've won the championship, and we're all heroes, then I'll tell Gordon where to stick it."<br/>
<br/>
"That's brave of you," you sneer. But you compromise with yourself, and add an expiration clause to the sigil. "Look, just go find a girl, someone Gordon and Chelsea approve of. Just try." You put the cap back on the pen and hand him the card. "Here. I don't want it any more. I've turned it into a break up card, special for you. Take it."<br/>
<br/>
With a heavy hand he takes it, and your knowledgeable eye sees the invisible stream of smoke glide from it up his hand and arm and shoulder, to curl like a hood around his head. They won't know why, but any girl who looks at him is going to feel turned off, and even mildly repulsed by him. Until his twenty-first birthday, only professional sex workers or the really, really desperate will so much as kiss him.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Of course it's Chelsea behind it all, and you can see the play clearly now. She convinced Gordon that any player who was dating the "head cheerleader" would become a threat to his own pre-eminence, and so he struck down a potential rival beforehand. And Seth was too dumb to see what was happening. <br/>
<br/>
Well, Seth wasn't the best choice to replace Gordon Black at the top of hierarchy; he's a corrupt bully like the rest. And your taking the position of head cheerleader is not, by itself, sufficient to take down the interlocking alliances of athlete bullies and mean girl bullies.<br/>
<br/>
You're going to need allies.</span></div></div>


path: 1122211212111
author_id: seuzz
title: Casting the Coven
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I know what we should play!" You grin as you draw the board and glass triad from your sleepover bag. "I know because I brought it. Supernatural Truth or Dare!"<br/>
<br/>
"What is that?" Gracie McGraw asks.<br/>
<br/>
"It's a Ouija board," Sophia Wilson squeals. Missy Taylor turns a little pale.<br/>
<br/>
"Here's the way it works," you start. "We ask each other questions, and if we think the answers are bullshit, we challenge the spirits to tell us the right answer. So," you shrug, "I guess it's more like Truth or Bullshit, with the spirits playing judge."<br/>
<br/>
"Oujia boards are all bullshit," Missy says with transparent distaste.<br/>
<br/>
"I guess, but it's still fun," you laugh. "Anyway, what's the harm?"<br/>
<br/>
Actually, Missy is quite right: ouija boards don't work as advertised. But they are easy to manipulate if you set things up right.<br/>
<br/>
"Now, this is a special board I made myself," you explain. "You have to put this special oil on your fingertips, or it won't register. Give me your hands." Gracie and Sophia eagerly put their hands out, and you delicately trace the symbols onto their index fingers. You have to give Missy a long look before she reluctantly extends her hand.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, now we put the glass piece in the middle, and we each put an index finger on it. No, your other one, Gracie. That's right. Okay, now who goes first?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't we have to invoke demons or something," Missy asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be such a Sunday school girl," you retort. "I'll go first. Be the first subject, I mean. Ask me anything."<br/>
<br/>
There's a pause. Then Gracie jumps in. "Were you really in love with Seth Javits?"<br/>
<br/>
You hesitate. "No," you reply firmly.<br/>
<br/>
"I call bullshit!" Sophia exclaims.<br/>
<br/>
"No, you say 'Spirits, resolve the question!'"<br/>
<br/>
She rephrases her challenge. There's a pause, and then the glass triad wobbles and slides to "Yes." You turn red as everyone laughs. "Okay," you say hotly, "it didn't take a spirit to see I was lying. Who's next?"<br/>
<br/>
"Me!" Gracie says. "Ask me anything."<br/>
<br/>
"Did you cheat on that algebra test?" Sophia asks.<br/>
<br/>
Gracie gasps. "Of course not!"<br/>
<br/>
"Spirits, resolve the question!" The triad slides to "Yes."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Jesus!" Gracie hops back, letting go of the triad. "It's not cheating if Marcus drops his test and you pick it up and you see you did half the problems wrong."<br/>
<br/>
"The spirits are real sticklers, aren't they?" you chortle. "Come on, put your finger back on! Sophie's turn."<br/>
<br/>
Grace glares at her. "Did you cheat on that algebra test?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I didn't!" Upon the challenge the triad slides to "No." Sophie looks very smug.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, now a question for Missy." You eye your one reluctant player carefully. "Are you in love with anyone?"<br/>
<br/>
She turns very red, and everyone holds their breath. "Yes," she says.<br/>
<br/>
No one challenges her. "Who?" Gracie asks, her eyes shining.<br/>
<br/>
"I answered the question. It's someone else's turn. Cindy, do you really believe in this spiritual crap?"<br/>
<br/>
"Do I believe in magic, you mean? Oh, definitely." No one challenges you. "Gracie, who are you most in love with?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, God." She grins in embarrassment. "Um ... Lee Reynolds?"<br/>
<br/>
"Spirits, resolve the question!"<br/>
<br/>
All but Missy lean forward eagerly as the triad traces a complex pattern. "G. E. O. F. F. D. Geoff Dunholm!" There are squeals all around, and Gracie gasps. <br/>
<br/>
Surreptitiously, you slip your middle finger onto the triad. "Sophie, who is your true soulmate?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh wow, how would I know that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, who do you think it is?"<br/>
<br/>
She ponders long and hard. "I think that ... Chuck Johnson probably is."<br/>
<br/>
There are grimaces all around; he's just the kind of stolid, not-quite-ugly, Future Farmers of America kind of guy that Sophie would settle for. "I think the spirits need to be heard from," you say. "Spirits, resolve the question!" The triad traces out a quite different name. "Scott Bickelmeir!"<br/>
<br/>
"No fucking way!" Sophie leaps up and throws herself excitedly on the bed. "No fucking way!" Scott is a wide receiver on the football team: hunky and handsome in a shaggy, laid-back way.<br/>
<br/>
"Why are you teasing us this way," Missy says in an accusing voice. "You're doing it. I can tell."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not doing anything, Missy," you say quietly. You hold her eye. "Do you think you'll ever have a boyfriend?"<br/>
<br/>
Her jaw clenches, and the room becomes very quiet. She starts to shrug, but then she says "No, I don't," in a raw voice.<br/>
<br/>
"Spirits, resolve the question."<br/>
<br/>
The triad trembles and then violent jumps in the air and flips upside down. Everyone draws a sharp breath.<br/>
<br/>
"That means they can't answer," you say coolly. "It means it's up to you, Missy. There is someone out there for you. You just have to open yourself up and be receptive. Or you can choose to close yourself off."<br/>
<br/>
Missy doesn't say anything, and she doesn't put her finger back on the triad when Gracie turns it back over again. "Cindy, how do you know how all this works?" she asks when it has been reactivated.<br/>
<br/>
"Because I'm a witch," you smile. The triad, upon challenge, slides over the letters W, I, T, C, H.<br/>
<br/>
Missy leaves the room; the other two exchange glances. "I know lots of fun tricks," you say, leaning back. "This game is just one of them. And it's just a toy. If you want, I can show you some more." Gracie and Sophie lean forward eagerly. "But not tonight. I don't want to upset Missy any more." You nudge Gracie. "But you and me should get together next week. How about Monday after school?"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You've chosen your acolytes well, you think: Gracie and Sophie, at least, will be highly receptive to your plans. Three lower-tier girls, all astonished when you invited yourself to their Saturday sleepover. Dumpy, taffy-headed Gracie; Sophie with her weirdly-shaped breasts and second-hand clothes; and plain-jane Missy, crushed by her own lack of confidence. Well, Missy might be problematic. You didn't realize she would have such an aversion to magic. Still, that might just mean she'll take to it with a vengeance once she's exposed to its possibilities.</span></div></div>


path: 11222112121112
author_id: seuzz
title: To Switch a Witch
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Back with me, girls?" you ask. Gracie and Sophia sit up with a groan. You just concentrate on getting the magic mix into the two masks without spilling it. "Gracie, dear, hand me the scissors." <br/>
<br/>
She blinks stupidly, then picks up the scissors from your desk. Without warning, you chop off a hank of her own hair. "Hey, what was that for!"<br/>
<br/>
"It's part of the spell, of course," you say and drop her hair into the mask you'd just made. "Sophia, I need some of your hair too."<br/>
<br/>
Both girls are looking very queasy, but they comply with your demands, and watch with interest as you balance each mask in turn on the open book and set the mixtures on fire. "What do these things do?" Gracie asks in a worried voice.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing yet," you reply as you take out and work your cell phone. "I have to pick up a few more ingredients. Hi Kendra, it's Cindy!" you exclaim into the receiver. "Listen, have you done the homework yet for Rothman's class? Yeah, what did you get for number ten?." You make a wry face at Gracie and Sophia. "Uh huh. Oh, shit. I don't-- Look, I can't figure this stuff out for crap, you know? Do you think you could, like, come over and we could go over it? I'll totally make it worth your while. Like, I just got off the phone with Charles Hartlein." You giggle. "Yeah, like totally tell me about it! Okay, see you in a few!"<br/>
<br/>
You clap the phone shut and turn to the puzzled Gracie and Sophia with a smile. "Not to be rude, but could you girls go for a ride and get some coffee or something? Trust me, you'll love it when you get back."<br/>
<br/>
They give you and each other strange looks. But they are so used to being ordered around by alpha-girls like you that they don't argue.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You put your hand in your chin and smile quizzically at Gracie McGraw. She winces and draws the sheets up closer around her naked body. "This is really weird, Cindy," she says in a mousy voice. "Could you ... could you get me my clothes and let me go?"<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head. "I'm afraid not, Gracie. I don't have your clothes. Someone else is wearing them?"<br/>
<br/>
"What?" She looks like she's going to start crying. <br/>
<br/>
You pat her hand reassuringly. "Don't worry. I just called them, and they're on their way over. You had a bad fainting attack, didn't you? But everything will be alright in about ten minutes. You'll understand then."<br/>
<br/>
Gracie bites her lip and sniffs back some tears. You don't speak any more before voices from downstairs tell you that you have more company on its way up.<br/>
<br/>
You meet them at the door to your bedroom, stopping them with a quiet warning. "Whatever you do," you say, "don't scream when you see what's inside. I don't care how scared or shocked you are. Do. Not. Scream. You got that?" You give them your strongest "warning" face and jab a fingers at them. They nod super-seriously.<br/>
<br/>
Of course Gracie screams when she goes in. You pull her in and slam the door shut. "What did I tell you?" you growl, shaking her hard. "It's bad enough for her," you jerk your head at the girl in the bed, "so how come you have to be the one that pops out like that?"<br/>
<br/>
But she's not paying attention to you. She just points to her duplicate, who returns the same panic-stricken stare from the bed. "She-- She-- It's <i>me</i>!"<br/>
<br/>
"Of course she is, you fuckwit!" you snarl. "That's the whole point!" You compose yourself. "This is the new Gracie McGraw. She'll be taking over your life."<br/>
<br/>
Three terror-stricken faces turn toward you. Probably that wasn't the best choice of words.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, okay, yes, she looks just like you. She also talks just like you and acts just like you and thinks just like you. She can fool anyone. She will fool <i>everyone</i>. But there's nothing for you to worry about. Because she's your slave. You got that? She can't hurt you, and she has to do everything you say. Isn't that right?" You address the last question, stupidly, to the Gracie-golem, and it just stares back. So you nudge the real Gracie. "Go on, ask it. Say 'Are you my slave?'"<br/>
<br/>
Gracie's lips work soundlessly, and when the words come they are like a bleat: "Are you my slave?"<br/>
<br/>
The figure in the bed nods unhappily.<br/>
<br/>
Gracie's face twists up. "But there can't be two of me. I mean, what will my parents say?"<br/>
<br/>
This isn't going as smoothly as you'd hoped, so you just take the new mask and quickly jam it over Gracie's face. Now it's Sophia's turn to scream as Gracie collapses and begins to contort in an alarming fashion. You leap on Sophia and jam your hand over her mouth.<br/>
<br/>
When the transformation is complete, you beckon Sophia over to look down and examine her friend. She gasps. "It's Kendra Saunders!"<br/>
<br/>
"Very good," you say with light sarcasm. "Let's help her up."<br/>
<br/>
She wakes in a groggy state and has to be helped to her feet. She blinks stupidly between you and Sophia and the Gracie-in-the-bed. Then her arms go wide in alarm and she claps her hands to her cheeks. You clap your hand over her mouth before she can let out another shriek.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you going to be quiet?" you ask her. She nods. "Can you be calm?" She shrugs. "Close enough." You take away your hand. "Who are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm Gracie McGraw," she says. "But I'm also ..." She bites her lip her eyes go wide. "I'm also Kendra Saunders."<br/>
<br/>
"How do you know?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because ..." Her nostrils flare excitedly. "Because that's what I want to say when you ask me who I am!"<br/>
<br/>
"Very good." You lead her over to the mirror in your closet. She gasps to see Kendra's light brown African-hued skin and gleaming smile staring back at her. She runs her fingers down the long, auburn wave of her hair. She strokes her strong Nubian cheekbones. "Where do you live, Kendra?"<br/>
<br/>
"734 Woodcutter Lane," she replies without hesitation.<br/>
<br/>
"What is your mother's birthday?"<br/>
<br/>
"May third."<br/>
<br/>
"Who's the last guy you slept with?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not going to--!" She blushes. "Some guy from Eastman. I don't even remember his name."<br/>
<br/>
"You see," you say, putting your arm around her and looking over at the astonished Sophia. "You are Kendra Saunders. But you are also Gracie McGraw. That's why you are so happy to have this body."<br/>
<br/>
"But where's the real Kendra?" Sophia demands.<br/>
<br/>
You nod toward the bed. "She's safe. She's asleep, sleeping peacefully under that face over there. She can't hear anything or see anything or feel anything. Don't worry about her. Just concentrate on this." You pick up Kendra's clothes and hand them to the new Kendra Saunders. "She will go home as Gracie McGraw, and she will live your life perfectly for you. She will do whatever you ask, if you happen to ask her for anything. And you will go home as Kendra Saunders, and can do anything you want."<br/>
<br/>
Her blinding white smile splits her tawny face in half.<br/>
<br/>
You turn to Sophia. "And who do <i>you</i> want to become, Sophia?"<br/>
<br/>
She and Kendra grab each other and scream again--this time in delight.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Nice tumble," you call. Kendra returns you an elaborate bow. "Lin?" Lin Pol does a run and a long line of somersaults. "Oh, very nice!" you call. "Gloria?" She's a little uncertain on her landing, and you say so. She gives you a look as she runs to the back of the line.<br/>
<br/>
You look over your shoulder. Though she is completely sidelined and no longer even captain, Chelsea insists on watching practice. Today sits on the front row of the bleachers. Student president Kim Walsh sits beside her, in low consultation.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, that's enough of that. Now, anyone have any ideas for new routines? The old ones are getting kind of stale." You say it in a loud enough voice that Chelsea can hear, but you don't turn to look in her direction. "Maria, do you have any ideas?"<br/>
<br/>
Maria Vasquez just continues to look vacantly over your shoulder. You snap your fingers. "Earth to Maria, Earth to space girl, Cosmo wants to talk to you."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh?" Maria starts, clearly retrieving her attention from very far away. "Oh. Well, how about--" She outlines a long and ingenious routine that soon has you and Kendra and the Garner twins and Gloria exchanging glances of astonishment. <br/>
<br/>
"That's really something," you say. "Did you come up with it all by yourself?" She shrugs, and goes back to eavesdropping on distant radio signals. <br/>
<br/>
"Don't pay attention to what Maria has to say," Chelsea says after practice has broken up and she's hobbled up to you. "She gets these crazy ideas. She'll drive you batty if you give in to her even a little bit." She limps away before you can reply.<br/>
<br/>
Kim rolls her eyes. "I think it was a great idea," she says. "Though what do I know? But I wouldn't underestimate Maria. I've talked to her, and she's a lot smarter than she lets on."<br/>
<br/>
"She'd be hard pressed to be dumber."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be mean, Cindy. I'm serious. I think she's got this whole idea that brainy girls are a turn off. Just let her get a guy who isn't afraid of smart girls, and she'll start opening up."<br/>
<br/>
You still want a third ally, now that you've rejected the idea of adding Missy to your coven. But if what Kim has just said is true, then maybe you can get a fourth. Hmmm ... Put Maria in a good body that would let her blossom intellectually; put another grateful nobody into Maria's body ... Trouble is, Maria is one of Chelsea's closest friends.</span></div></div>


path: 112221121211122
author_id: seuzz
title: Grabbing Gloria
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"What do you think?" You hold red and white stripe top up to your torso. <br/>
<br/>
Kendra steps back and arches her eyebrows in a smile. "Definitely Christmasy," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"But a little too on the button? Makes me look like one of Santa's elfs?" She gives an equivocal shrug and you put it back. "Maybe something in green instead." You paw lazily through the rack.<br/>
<br/>
You and the transformed Gracie are in Nordlinger's, the premiere department store in Saratoga Springs. Cindy's mother, pleased by your promotion to cheerleader captain, has rewarded you with a large sum of money and told you to buy something pretty. You've been inside Cindy long enough that her pleasure and excitement is also yours. "What did Chelsea say when you talked to her today?"<br/>
<br/>
"She was spitting mad," Kendra says as she also looks through the new arrivals. She bites her lower lip as she grins. "She really liked the idea of me getting close to you and spying on you."<br/>
<br/>
"I told you she would," you reply. "She's so predictable. So what horrible things have I done that you can report to her?"<br/>
<br/>
"You should buy that red-and-white number, and we can gossip about you looking like a candy cane? Oh, here's something green for you." She holds up a forest-green blouse.<br/>
<br/>
You eye it critically. "A little dark. It's a nice pattern, but I think I could use something a little more emerald."<br/>
<br/>
Time passes as you keep idly shopping and making little exclamations over what you've found. Finally, one of the girls you've been waiting for appears. "Sorry I'm late, guys," Sophia says, hurrying up breathlessly. "The shift manager was late getting in, so--"<br/>
<br/>
You cluck your tongue distastefully. "What are <i>you</i> doing here, Sophia?" you ask, and crinkle your nose. Sophia blinks and takes a sharp breath. "If Gloria sees you here with us-- It is <i>Gloria</i> you say you want, isn't it?" Sophia nods numbly. "Well, luckily she's late too." You pick a bit of invisible lint off the front of her frumpy blouse. "Kendra, take Sophia back into one of the dressing rooms until we're ready for her." You smile and wink at Sophia, and she lets out a breath of relief.<br/>
<br/>
Kendra goes and returns, and you continue shopping. Ten minutes later, as you're holding up a blue-and-white striped scarf to your throat--"Oh, I <i>love</i> it," Kendra exclaims--Gloria Rea appears. <br/>
<br/>
She greets Kendra warmly, but is a little frosty toward you: apparently Gloria is not very good and pretending to friendly with people she despises. You thank her for showing up and begin to ostentatiously court her, picking out ensembles for her and praising her for her ability to look naturally good in almost anything. Her manner never relaxes, though, and you catch her making muttered asides to Kendra when she thinks your back is turned. When you've had enough, you suggest that the three of you go off to the changing rooms to try on some of the outfits you've picked up.<br/>
<br/>
Kendra steps into the room with Gloria, and you knock softly on the door beside it. "Sophia?" you ask, and open it without waiting for a reply. She looks up at you palely as you close the door behind you. "Here's the mask we made of you," you tell her as you draw it from your bag. "It's all ready to use, but you need to put it on so that it'll hold all your most recent memories. Can't have the fake you going off all confused, can we?"<br/>
<br/>
Sophia swallows as she takes it, and jumps a little when the wall behind her thumps sharply. "What's that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just Gracie getting Gloria ready," you tell her smoothly. "Come on, we haven't much time."<br/>
<br/>
She takes a deep breath and puts it to her face, falling back onto the leather settee as she swoons. You purse your mouth as you watch her. She really is a sweet girl, and you hope she doesn't change once she's been transformed into Gloria. You've been watching Gracie closely, and you've noticed nothing alarming there--Gracie is able to imitate Kendra perfectly without losing herself. But then Kendra, perhaps because she's one of the few African-American girls in the school--is rather insecure and pliant. Gloria is much more assertive and self-confident.<br/>
<br/>
The mask reappears, and you exit without waking Sophia. You knock at the door to Gloria's room, and Kendra practically wrenches it open. "I've been so scared," she whispers breathlessly. "I was afraid she was going to wake up!"<br/>
<br/>
"Not until the mask comes out of her," you say. "And here it comes." A mask drops onto Gloria's lap, and you put Sophia's face onto the cheerleader before scooping Gloria's mask back up. "All done," you smile, and Kendra breathes a sigh of relief. "Get her out of her clothes and bring them over when you're done." You tap on the partition that separates her room from the one next door.<br/>
<br/>
Sophia raises her head groggily as you re-enter. "Kind of like getting punched, right?" you laugh lightly. "Well, shake the cobwebs out, then put this on." You hold out Gloria's mask.<br/>
<br/>
Sophia takes a deep breath, and for an instant you think she's going to back out. "Should I change out of my clothes first?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head. "You can, but it doesn't matter. Just put it on." Her hands tremble as she takes the mask from you, and with a gulp sets it to her face. Her form seems to alter and bend and go in and out of focus, and you step back from her. Then the mist that envelops her evaporates, and Gloria Rea appears--albeit, a Gloria Rea dressed like Sophia Wilson.<br/>
<br/>
You touch her shoulder gently. "Sophia?" you ask. You shake her a little harder. "Come on, sweetheart, tell me you're there."<br/>
<br/>
She opens her eyes and stares through you, then raises her head. "Cindy?" she says thickly.<br/>
<br/>
"What's your name?" you ask cautiously.<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean, what's my name?" she asks with a trace of irritation. Then her eyes go wide and she claps her hands to her face. "Oh my God!" she exclaims.<br/>
<br/>
You bend down to peer closely at her. "Come on, sweetheart. Tell me your name. Tell me who you are."<br/>
<br/>
A mischievous smile appears in her eyes. "Gloria Rea, of course," she says smugly. She leaps to her feet and tosses her head back haughtily. "Who else would I be?"<br/>
<br/>
Something catches in your throat, but you relax a little when she looks down at her outfit and groans. "Did I really used to dress like an old <i>tia</i>?" Impatiently, she starts to pull her blouse open. "Where are my things?"<br/>
<br/>
You snap your fingers in her face. "I need you to concentrate, Gloria. What's your real name?"<br/>
<br/>
She sighs. "I know what you're asking. Yeah, it's really me in here." She shakes her head, tossing her hair behind her shoulders. "It's just a rush, is all." She arches her back and stretches. "I'm going to go for a run when we get out of here."<br/>
<br/>
"Business before pleasure," you say, but you're mostly relieved. The transformation seems to have intoxicated Sophia, but you acted much the same way when you first put on Cindy's form, so it's probably okay. There's a knock at the door, and Kendra presses a bundle of clothes through the crack when you open it. "I'll be over a in a few minutes with Sophia's things," you tell her. "How's our old friend doing?"<br/>
<br/>
"She's not freaking out," Kendra says quietly, "but she doesn't seem very happy."<br/>
<br/>
"I wasn't when <i>I</i> was her," Gloria says. Kendra glances over at her, then shares a private smile with you before withdrawing.<br/>
<br/>
The new Gloria is so wrapped up in her physicality that she doesn't pay much attention as you drink her in as she changes. She's half Cuban, so her skin is tawny rather than brown, and there's some Celtic in there someplace, for her hair--which is long and mane-like--is a dark red color. She's a runner and a cycler, so her legs and hips and strong and shapely, and she does a little weight training too, so her arms have definition without bulk. But it's her breasts--great, firm globes--that hold your attention while she is out of her bra: they sit over the strongly convex curve of her tummy like twin guardians. But she turns her back on you as she slips out of dowdy bloomers and into a thong so that you don't get to see her nest. You imagine it's tight and red and fiery.<br/>
<br/>
"You really are sexy, you know that?" you tell her as she pulls on the athletic bra, and she looks up at you from under her long eyelashes. "You, not Chelsea, ought to be the most popular girl in school.<br/>
<br/>
"That's nice of you to say," she replies, and sits to pull on the creamy-white canvas sneakers. "I've had my share of admirers. Now, what's this 'business' we're supposed to discuss?"<br/>
<br/>
Wow, she is a lot more self-confident, even pushy, than Kendra; you wonder now if it really is safe to bring her in on the plan that you've begun to formulate. She might prove argumentative, even after you point out how it will rebound to her benefit. On the other hand, she might be even more recalcitrant if you just try maneuvering her into fulfilling your intentions for the school and the destruction of the ruling clique she's a part of.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 1122211212111221
author_id: seuzz
title: Confessions of Two Dangerous Minds
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"If you wanna talk about it, you'll have to postpone that run," you say. "We'll go get coffee somewhere." Gloria sniffs and pulls her blouse down tightly. Her eyes are hooded, but they do twinkle.<br/>
<br/>
Kendra and the new Sophia are waiting outside when you appear, and out of the corner of your eye you watch Gloria: she doesn't so much as glance at her old self. "Anything you want to say before we send your replacement off?" you ask her.<br/>
<br/>
She shrugs, then gives Sophia the briefest of glances. "Keep your mouth shut about what happened," she snaps. "All this is a secret. And stay away from me." <br/>
<br/>
The Sophia-golem's face tightens, and it looks like she's about to cry. You touch her shoulder lightly. "If you have any problems, come talk to me," you tell her. "Gloria doesn't mean it. She's just, you know, a little embarrassed." Gloria shoots you a dark glance, but says nothing. Sophia scurries mousily away. "You really should be nice to her," you chide Gloria. "You'd have liked it if Gloria had been nice to you."<br/>
<br/>
"It's not like-- It's not like her to be nice to girls like-- like that," she replies, tripping over her pronouns. "I'm just trying to be in character."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, don't try so hard. It'll come naturally. Maybe too naturally. Try to keep ahold of who you are. Sophia Wilson is a sweet girl. That's why I picked her for our little coven." Gloria says nothing, but her face relaxes a little: At least she's still sufficiently herself to respond well to the compliment.<br/>
<br/>
"So, who are <i>you</i> going to replace?" Kendra asks.<br/>
<br/>
"No one," you calmly reply. "I'm staying myself. But I've got plans, and that's what we need to talk about. Come on, let's get our things and go hit a café or something."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You take your purchases to the front--a blueberry-and-cream scarf for yourself; a knit woolen cap for Kendra; and a red sweater for Gloria--and pay for them all yourself: bonus gifts for your helpers. You then go off to The Flying Saucer, one of the more intimate little coffee shops near the university, and hide out in a back booth. <br/>
<br/>
"The first thing," you tell them after you've settled back, "is that you two are to continue to act normal at school. That means you're to continue to play Chelsea's little bitches. She thinks you're only hanging out with me to spy on me for her, right?" Both girls nod. "Good. Kendra's already got a little material for today, but each day I want us to figure out what you'll be telling her about me. It has to be enough to keep her interested, but not enough to be really damaging. Otherwise, just do what you've been doing. Be her little enforcers."<br/>
<br/>
"Why don't you just replace her?" Gloria asks. Her gaze continues to be hooded, challenging. <br/>
<br/>
"Because I want to ruin her," you explain. "Humiliate her. Break her. Replacing her is too good for her. If I do that she won't know what's happened to her. And after I'm done with her <i>no one</i> will want to take her place." The others' eyes go a little wide. "Beyond that, we're going to <i>fix</i> the school."<br/>
<br/>
"How do you mean?" Kendra asks. "What's wrong with it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing, from your point of view," you retort. "Or maybe you do know what's wrong with it and are just too chicken-hearted to acknowledge it. It's this whole 'reign of terror' thing that Chelsea and Gordon have going. The way they break people." Your knuckles whiten as you grip the handle of your coffee mug. "It <i>was</i> Chelsea, right, who got Seth to break up with me?" They hang their heads, and Gloria gets a shifty look. "Come on, girls. Tell me why you're so much in Chelsea's pocket. She's got you terrorized, even though you're both smarter and sexier than her."<br/>
<br/>
They look everywhere but at you. "I see what you mean," Kendra says quietly. "If we don't ... play along--" She shoots Gloria a dirty look; her companion just crosses her arms and glares over your shoulder. They both fall silent.<br/>
<br/>
You lean forward and rest your chin in your hand. "For the next ten minutes, remember who you really are. You're not really Kendra Saunders or Gloria Rea, so you can confess all their horrible little sins and secrets." You look between them: though they are seated side by side, across the table from you, they seem to draw apart from each other. "They're not exactly friends, are they?"<br/>
<br/>
Kendra bites her lip, but it's the other who speaks. "Gloria used to bully Kendra in middle school," she says bluntly. "Pushed her around, set the other girls on her. Chelsea was the one who put a stop to it."<br/>
<br/>
You blink: Chelsea, putting a stop to bullying? The fuck?<br/>
<br/>
"She pulled Kendra into her circle," Kendra says, picking up the story. "She turned the other girls against Gloria. For a little while. Then she made friends with Gloria again."<br/>
<br/>
Still doesn't make sense. "So why are you two so close?"<br/>
<br/>
"We're not," Gloria says bitterly. "I--" She catches herself and sighs. "I'm sorry, but Gloria hates Kendra's guts."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't apologize," Kendra says. "She hates yours."<br/>
<br/>
"So why are you--" you start again.<br/>
<br/>
"Because if I don't do what Chelsea says she'll drop me," Kendra says heatedly. "She'll push me out of her circle and let Gloria and the others tear me apart."<br/>
<br/>
"And if <i>I</i> don't play her game," Gloria says, drawing herself up stiffly, "she'll do the same to me. Kendra would love to get a knife in me."<br/>
<br/>
You fall back against the booth. <i>Of course Chelsea wasn't being altruistic. She just balances these two she-wolves against each other, and sets them to competing for her favor.</i><br/>
<br/>
They are both startled by your laugh. You lean forward again, smiling warmly and merrily. "Alright guys, you need to get yourself out of your new heads. Come on, remember. Sophia, that's Gracie who's sitting next to you. You guys are friends, and you like each other and trust each other. So Kendra and Gloria can like and trust each other now."<br/>
<br/>
They shift uneasily in their seats, giving each other sidelong glances until by chance their eyes meet. They hold each others' gaze and then start smiling: shyly at first, and then they start giggling. They fall against each other, and wind up hugging. The fraught atmosphere evaporates.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, you see what I mean," you say with sunny beneficence. "This is how fucked up Chelsea has things. And that's what we're going to get rid of."<br/>
<br/>
"How?" Gloria asks. All suspicion and truculence has lifted from her face, and her eyes shine brightly. <br/>
<br/>
"Well, that's what I'm not quite sure of, yet," you admit. "I pushed her out as head cheerleader, and that's a start. But she's got her hooks in a lot of people. The second step was getting Kendra and Gloria on my side." You bite your smile. "Okay, I'll admit, I kind of <i>nudged</i> you into taking over for these two instead of some of the others you suggested. Gloria and Kendra probably know most of her weaknesses, and you're the ones who feed her information. With them turned, she's blind and deaf and doesn't even realize it."<br/>
<br/>
"We start giving her, like, bad information," Kendra says excitedly.<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head. "Not at first. You can't blow your cover, not until we've got a definite plan and set it in motion. Until then, you're still her loyal lieutenants. Keep playing your parts, even the backstabbing stuff." The girls exchange a sly glance: their eyes are daggers, but their smiles are mischievous. "In the meantime I want you to think about where and how Chelsea is vulnerable."<br/>
<br/>
"She and Gordon are fighting again," Kendra offers.<br/>
<br/>
"They're always fighting," Gloria retorts. "It won't last. When Gordon gets horny enough he'll buckle."<br/>
<br/>
"Is there some way we can push them apart before they have make up sex?"<br/>
<br/>
Kendra shrugs. "She doesn't really talk to me about Gordon." You look at Gloria, and she also shrugs. "I think Maria's the person she talks to about relationship problems."<br/>
<br/>
"What about replacing Maria," Gloria asks. "We could still try getting Missy to join."<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head. "It's too late for that, and I like it just being the three of us. Still ..." You trail off, and don't speak even as the others wait expectantly for you to continue.<br/>
<br/>
You could make a temporary swap with Maria, find out what she knows, spread a little mischief, and leave her a pliant slave after you've switched back into Cindy. But why go the long way around? You could also get to Gordon directly and just bust him and Chelsea up permanently. It wouldn't be a neat solution, and you'd like to break and humiliate Gordon the same way you want to deal with Chelsea. But it would, instantly, be a hugely damaging blow to Chelsea.</span></div></div>


path: 11222112121112212
author_id: seuzz
title: It's Witchcraft
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Putting a golem in for Gordon would be the quickest way to bust him and Chelsea up, but it would be an inelegant solution. But magic will probably be required, so you get Kendra to drop you off at Blackwell's so you can check out some possible spells.<br/>
<br/>
"Where do you keep the love potions," you ask as you brush past him through the foyer.<br/>
<br/>
His lips purse. "I've always found it better to be feared than loved," he acidly replies. His eyes rove over your fine young form. "And I can hardly believe you need the use of one."<br/>
<br/>
"It's not for me, silly," you retort. "I need something that will make a guy fall in love with one of my friends." <br/>
<br/>
"Well, I haven't any," he admits. "Potions <i>or</i> friends. You being so clever, though--"<br/>
<br/>
You sigh and press on to the library. Hexes, mind manipulation, illusions ... Your eye travels over the books, hoping for inspiration. "Show me some of those 'fear spells'," you call over your shoulder. He frowns, and pulls down a thin tome from one of the upper shelves. You leaf through it slowly, examining the sigils and elements. They are all variations on a theme: horror of things, horror of people, horror of words. You could put one on Chelsea, giving Gordon an aversion to her, but you'd rather tie him up with someone specific--someone inappropriate. After all, you want to damage his standing in school, too. Wheels begin to turn when your eye falls on a page for "Timor Omnes" ...<br/>
<br/>
"I'll be taking this with me," you say, snapping it shut. "Now, let's have a look at the <i>Libra.</i> You haven't been snooping through it, have you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Golems cannot operate magical items," he says stiffly. "You know that."<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, but I like to rub it in." You open the book and look at the next spell. "You can read them, though, can't you? Pick up these things, like a dear?" He makes a face as he glances at the page's ingredients. "Also, get supplies for some new masks. I haven't got plans for them yet, but it's best to be prepared."<br/>
<br/>
"No one would ever mistake you for a Scout, so don't think you're fooling anyone," he sneers. But his shoulders sag in acquiescence. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Not many girls can wear black every day and pull it off."<br/>
<br/>
"Not many girls are brave enough to try." Morgana's head tilts a little.<br/>
<br/>
"I meant it as a compliment," you tell her placatingly. You brush at her loose black blouse. "I don't normally go for black, you know," you say, "but Halloween is coming up and I was thinking of going as a witch. You know, like Samantha in <i>Bewitched.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Morgana--real name "Sandra Hollis"--continues to look skeptical, guarded. Few, if any, of the alpha girls talk to her, and insofar as they talk about her it's to make fun of her as a "black, flowing thing." And yet here you are, the newly elevated captain of the cheerleader squad, openly chatting with her in the crowded halls just after first period. She's not making it easy. "Kind of a cliché, isn't it? The sexy blonde witch?"<br/>
<br/>
"I bet you could make it work for me," you tell her gently. "Can we get together? I know, Halloween is far off, but you'd probably have your work cut out for you. We might have to get together quite a bit, make a few shopping trips."<br/>
<br/>
She shrugs and returns to her locker. You wait patiently, and then closely accompany her to her next class, talking loudly in a friendly way. You pass Gloria as you go, ignoring her. Her eyes go wide, then narrow with gleeful suspicion. <i>Good. You've given your secret confederate some material for Chelsea.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's not standard practice for the cheerleaders to watch the boys' basketball team drill after school, but as the new captain you sense you have to put in an appearance, so you go to the gym after classes. You're not surprised to see Chelsea there in her pink ankle cast; nor are you surprised to see Kendra and Gloria with her, talking in close consultation. You are surprised, though, to see Kelsey Blankenship and Brooke Galloway with her. They are two of the "respectable girls": upper middle-class, AP students, well on their way to good colleges after graduation. Chelsea normally hasn't time for such. You take a seat on the bleachers on the opposite side of the floor, and surreptitiously watch them while pretending to take in Gordon and Steve and Seth and the other players.<br/>
<br/>
After about ten minutes Kendra detaches herself from the group and skirts the floor to join you. "I'm supposed to find out why you're being so unfriendly," she says softly with a huge and transparently insincere smile as she sits. "Chelsea's telling everyone over there that you don't have any real friends because you're so stuck up."<br/>
<br/>
"What <i>is</i> going on over there? I've never seen Brooke or Kelsey here during practice."<br/>
<br/>
"That's what I asked, and Chelsea got all huffy with me, said she invited them. I had to come over here because I think I'm in the doghouse. Gloria saw you with Morgana earlier today, so she's the golden girl today."<br/>
<br/>
"So tell her I said something nasty about her new friends, about how they're too smart to go for jocks or something like that. I like your hat, by the way." It's one you picked out for her on your earlier shopping trip. "That's a bonus bit of insensitivity you can pass along."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, you're awful," she giggles, and hugs your arm. "I can milk that forever. I told her I only wore it today because you made me feel like I had to suck up to you." You smile and reach up to resettle it on her head; she plays along by pulling back in distaste. Out of the corner of your eye you catch Chelsea openly watching you; she quickly turns and starts giggling with the other girls. <br/>
<br/>
 "What are you doing with Morgana?" Kendra asks.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not sure yet. And you don't have to concern yourself. In fact, the less you know, the cattier you can be. She <i>is</i> a weirdo, isn't she?"<br/>
<br/>
You talk some more, about nothing really, but you need to put on a show for Chelsea. Kendra goes back over just before practice ends. You linger for a bit, in case Chelsea wants to come over and say something cutting, but she remains ensconced with her group.<br/>
<br/>
Before you can leave the boys come out of the changing room. Gordon and most of the others gather around Chelsea and her group, but Steve Patterson--Gordon's best friend--glances over his shoulder and trots over to where you are. "Nice to see you here, Cindy," he says, and there's a glow in his normally cool gray eyes. You're sitting several steps up on the bleachers, but he can still look you in the face from his great height.<br/>
<br/>
"It was a nice show," you reply cautiously. Steve hasn't a girlfriend, and appears to not want one. Why should he, when he has a reputation for hooking and discarding one girl after another?<br/>
<br/>
"I'll return the favor when I can," he says. "What are you doing now?"<br/>
<br/>
You shrug noncommittally. "I need to call Lucy, get her to come out and give me a ride home."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't bother. I'll give you a ride."<br/>
<br/>
"Will you?" You smile. "I hear you're good at giving rides."<br/>
<br/>
Cindy had been dating Seth for quite a while, so Steve never really had an opportunity with her; his interest, now that you broken up, is transparent. "I gotta get some stuff from upstairs first," he says, and reaches out to pluck at your shoulder. "Come along?"<br/>
<br/>
You're reluctant to give Chelsea an eyeful instead of saving it as possible gossip for your own girls, but with a cock of the head you rise and follow him over to the stairs that lead up into the storage space over the gym. At the top, Steve unlocks the door and stands aside to let you in.<br/>
<br/>
<i>So this is the famous 'fuck room',</i> you think to yourself as you go in. It's piled high with boxes and crates and gym detritus; a couple of old gym mats are spread on the floor; and it stinks of sweat and old clothes and beer and-- You pull at your nose. Yes, it has definitely been used for a different kind of exercise.<br/>
<br/>
"I've never been up here," you say aloud, turning to Steve, who is lingering by the still-open door. "You guys didn't let Seth and me have the run of the place."<br/>
<br/>
"That was because of Seth, not you," he says meaningfully. "That can change."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you believe in courting a girl?" you ask. His face tightens; obviously this <i>is</i> his idea of courting a girl. "So what do you do up here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Like I said, I just need to get some things." He brushes past and starts rooting around aimlessly. You watch him fumble for a bit, then when his back is turned glide over to the door. He turns at the sound of it closing, but his frown fades when he finds you grinning back at him.<br/>
<br/>
"When I asked what you do up here, I was hoping for a demonstration," you say softly. "You know, of the hands-on variety?"<br/>
<br/>
His mouth tightens in a smirk as he straightens up. He's still not happy with you, and he isn't gentle. But he is thorough and he knows his way around a girl's anatomy, and he even lets you sit on his naked lap afterward and slowly rake your fingers through his close-cropped hair and try to bring yourself to a second climax.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But he's easy to put out of mind afterward. You spend that night making another close study of Blackwell's "fear" spells, and you are soon able to discern a complex of spells that might pull off the kind of trick you want for Gordon. Thing is, it would require taking Morgana into your confidence--at least a little bit. </span></div></div>


path: 112221121211122121
author_id: seuzz
title: Love Is ... Kinda Screwed Up, Actually
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"So, do you believe in witchcraft?" You lean back against the frame of the open window. It's a beautiful September day, and the air is cool even as the sun is strong.<br/>
<br/>
Morgana, who has been digging through her dresser drawer, stiffens. "I believe in the supernatural," she says cautiously.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'm talking about spells and magic," you say. You crinkle your eyes into a smile. "I'm perfectly serious." She shrugs and doesn't meet your eyes. "Because I do."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh?" She returns to the drawer, but you can tell she's thinking furiously about what you said.<br/>
<br/>
You study her closely. It's a few days after your initial approach, and it's your first real meeting, and you can tell she doesn't trust you. But it seems best to take things directly. You hop off the window sill. "Let me show you something," you say, pulling a piece of paper from your pocket. It's a crudely cut out heart, like a Valentine, and all around the edges is traced an intricate sigil. "I found the design in an old book. It's a love spell."<br/>
<br/>
"Really," she says in a dead voice.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, really. I can tell you're not impressed, but--" You shrug. "You have to start somewhere."<br/>
<br/>
"That's just mumbo-jumbo," she retorts. "You shouldn't waste your time."<br/>
<br/>
"Normally I wouldn't. I don't want it to sound like I'm bragging, but, well, I don't really need to use things like this." Her eyes narrow, and red spots show in her cheeks. "You shouldn't have to, either," you add. It's a lie, of course: Morgana clearly favors the black, flowing look because it covers up her rather dumpy figure, and she has a moon face. "But I want to show you I'm sincere. Here, take it."<br/>
<br/>
She looks down at it, her face drawn up in distaste, but she takes it and glances at it cursorily. But the intricate ink work catches her attention, and she brings it up close to her face to study it.<br/>
<br/>
"Do you recognize any of the magic symbols?" you ask. You doubt seriously she will, for her entire persona is an act.<br/>
<br/>
But she runs her fingers around the edges of the paper, and you're surprised to see her lips moving. Is she reading it? "I've seen stuff like this," she says cautiously. "There's a fortune teller in one of the strip malls--" She catches herself, and her eyes dart up to meet yours. "Do you know her?"<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head. "I know a professor, an old archaeologist. He showed this to my sister. She was having ... romantic troubles."<br/>
<br/>
She chews on her lip for a moment, then thrusts it back at you. "If this is real, it's probably really dangerous. Mrs. Andrassy yelled at me when she caught me looking through one of her books."<br/>
<br/>
"It got my sister a boyfriend," you reply. You press it gently back at her. "Come on, I'm trying to show that I take you seriously. You've already told me that you recognize the symbols, and I'm telling you that I know that they work."<br/>
<br/>
"And what do I want with it," she says. "It's all a fake, and even if it isn't, I don't want to use a spell to get a boyfriend."<br/>
<br/>
"There are other things in that book," you say. "This is just a test. I don't want to use it because you're right, I don't want to use magic to land a guy. But if we tested it, and it worked, we'd know the other stuff in the book probably works too."<br/>
<br/>
"What are those other spells?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't really know. But you should try this one. Try it on a guy. You don't have to become his girlfriend. We just want to see if he falls in love with you."<br/>
<br/>
She rolls her eyes and pulls away. "I don't like being teased, Cindy," she says firmly.<br/>
<br/>
"Morgana," you say, and can't keep the note of exasperation from your voice. "If I was teasing you, I'd be all, like, 'Who do you like? You should totally try to hook him with this love spell.' But I'm just suggesting a science experiment. Don't pick a guy you like. Pick someone else, use it on him and see what happens.  Oh, I know!" You snap your fingers. "What do you think of Gordon Brown?"<br/>
<br/>
"The basketball guy?" She makes a face.<br/>
<br/>
You laugh. "I know. Total lunkhead. And Chelsea has him totally wrapped around her finger. Try it on him."<br/>
<br/>
Her face twists up in disbelief, and for a moment she can't find her voice. "That is the most ... fucked up thing ..." she finally stammers out.<br/>
<br/>
Again you laugh. "I know. That's what makes it perfect. Here's what you do. You just go up to him and thrust it at him. Say, 'Here's an early Valentine for you.' And he'll take it, because he'll be so dumbfounded. And you just walk away, don't wait for him or anything. It'll be like <i>you're</i> teasing <i>him.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Her face turns crimson. "And then you'll all have a good laugh at me," she sneers. "Honestly--!"<br/>
<br/>
"Honestly, Morgana," you interrupt her. "None of those girls even think about you. And if you do it at his locker when there's no one else around they won't even see it. Gordon won't say anything, because he'll just think you're being weird. Unless it works." You get a mischievous look. "And wouldn't <i>that</i> be awesome?" She peers at you closely. "I'm not trying to help you with your love life," you say softly. "Like I say, it's an experiment."<br/>
<br/>
She looks back down at the spell and chews on the inside her cheek. The battle is half won, and after ten more minutes you've got her agreement to try it.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Still, she might chicken out, and then so much for most of your hard work, which entailed two more sessions with Steve up in the fuck room so you could get your hands on some of Gordon's things. At first you weren't sure if the cast off athletic shorts you'd found were his--even after Steve said they were--but you'd managed to make off with them and inscribe the elastic band with the other half of your complicated spell. The next day, though, you'd confirmed that you'd chosen right, for Gordon spent the whole day hunched over with a furtive expression. The "Timor Omnes"--"fear of everything"--was doing its work, leaving him unsettled and apprehensive and jumpy around everyone and everything, and at practice he'd even flinched from most of the balls passed at him. Morgana's half of the spell--if she passes it to him--won't cure his anxiety, but it will relieve him of it when he sees her and is in her company. It won't be the basis for love, but you don't really want him in love. You just want him to seek out her company. <i>That</i> will certainly put a spanner in his relationship with Chelsea, and make him the object of lot of uncomfortable gossip and ridicule behind his back.<br/>
<br/>
So the next day at school is rather fraught, as you want to stay close to Gordon and Morgana, alternately, to make sure she follows through. At least first-period cheerleader practice goes smoothly. You've been extra nice and supportive of Yumi Saito, Lin Pol, and the Garner twins--but Cindy has usually been on good terms with them--and they respond enthusiastically to your prompts and suggestions. "Thank God you're the captain now," Lin mutters to you at one point. She glances over her shoulder at the bleachers, where Chelsea is sitting. <br/>
<br/>
"I've learned a lot by watching Chelsea," you smile. She cocks a quizzical eyebrow. "Like, not what to do," you add, and she giggles. You glance back at Chelsea yourself. Kendra and Gloria are standing near her, and you can tell by their expressions that they are playing up their "loyal lieutenant" personas to the hilt; Gloria in particular wears a hostile aspect, and as she catches your glance she turns to mutter something to Chelsea, and your nemesis suppresses a quick smile. <br/>
<br/>
Kendra, though, seems slightly distracted. Jason Lynch, the baseball captain and one of Gordon's close friends, has skipped his own first period to hang out in the gym, sitting near his friend's girlfriend. But his eye keeps wandering back appreciatively to Kendra, and she keeps glancing nervously in his direction. Apparently Steve isn't the only one excited by the upheaval in the cheerleader ranks and eager to score a little action ...<br/>
<br/>
Despite your best efforts, of course, you are not able to keep close tabs on Morgana and Gordon, and it's not until just before fifth period that you get confirmation that Morgana has acted. A claw-like hand grabs your upper arm as you turn away from your locker, and you swing around to find Morgana gasping in your face. "You have to do something about Gordon," she says<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong?" you ask. "Are you having trouble getting the spell to him?"<br/>
<br/>
"I gave it to him just before lunch," she says, and her face turns a ghastly white. "It was industrial strength or something, because--"<br/>
<br/>
A hoarse voice shouts Morgana's name over the buzz in the hallway, and she shudders. Gordon bulldozes his way through the throng, thrusting students hither and yon. "Hey Cindy," he says distractedly as he looms over Morgana, then bends down eagerly over her. "So, is this your class here?" he asks, nodding at a nearby door. "Can you skip? I'm skipping mine."<br/>
<br/>
You turn your gasp of laughter into a cough, but Morgana's horrified gaze locks onto your face. "Please," she mouths desperately.</span></div></div>


path: 1122211212111221211
author_id: seuzz
title: An Afternoon with Morgana
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Come find me after school," you tell her as you back away. "If you can turn loose," you add mirthfully. She doesn't smile back, and Gordon just ignores you. <br/>
<br/>
You need a few minutes to think before heading off to your next class, so you duck into a nearby restroom to touch up your make up. Cindy's pale blue eyes shine back mischievously as you add a little lipstick and rearrange your long, platinum hair. <i>Cindy really does make a fine witch,</i> you think to yourself. Well, she has the appearance. You've got the brain and talent, and you can't help congratulating yourself on discovering your true calling and making such a success of it. <br/>
<br/>
These rather fatuous self-congratulations are cut short by a brutal shout. "All you cunts! Out!" You turn to find Gloria glowering in the doorway at the other girls. She gives you a piercing glance as the others meekly file out. <br/>
<br/>
"You here to do some of Chelsea's dirty work," you ask her loudly before the last of the stragglers can leave.<br/>
<br/>
"No, this is about our business," she replies more mildly, and as she draws closer you can see she's a little pale. She catches sight of her own reflection as she comes over, and turns to do some touch up work of her own as she talks to you. "We need to do something about the boys."<br/>
<br/>
"If it's about Steve, it was just a one-time thing. Well, a three-time thing."<br/>
<br/>
"Good, because people are talking. I know you want that, but it's probably getting out of hand. Anyway, I need to talk to you about Kendra. Jason is stalking her."<br/>
<br/>
"I noticed he was at practice this morning, but it didn't look like stalking."<br/>
<br/>
"He was behaving himself. But he's a psychotic fuck. You know that."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, get Chelsea to deal with it."<br/>
<br/>
"I thought you were in charge," she says bluntly. "Besides, Chelsea just rolled her eyes when me and Kendra complained. Said we should keep him happy for Gordon's sake." She makes an ugly sound in the back of her throat. "Honestly, I can't wait until we take her down."<br/>
<br/>
"Just keep under cover," you reply. "I'll think about what we can do about Lynch in the meantime. What exactly is he doing?"<br/>
<br/>
Gloria recites a litany or boorish behavior--an immense catalog, considering it has apparently all occurred only over the last few days. "And I don't know how much Chelsea trusts us, still," she adds. Her hands fall to her sides. "She's been getting really tight with Kelsey and the others. More and more it feels like she's just using us as spies, nothing else."<br/>
<br/>
"That's just Chelsea buttering up some new people. She can't count on the girls like Lin and Yumi toeing the line anymore. But she still needs you and Kendra and Maria."<br/>
<br/>
"I guess. Two-faced bitch."<br/>
<br/>
You regard her evenly, then reach over and stroke her face. "It'll be okay, Gloria." She closes her eyes, and wilts a little. "We'll get Chelsea knocked down, and then it'll be us at the top, and you can kick her around as hard as you want."<br/>
<br/>
She hugs you, and you hug her back; she feels very good in your arms. When you part she shakes herself hard, pushes back her hair, and puts her imperious expression back on. "You got anything you want me to feed the creature?" she asks as she studies her demeanor in the mirror, getting the little notes right. <br/>
<br/>
"Maybe later," you say. She nods curtly and exits. <br/>
<br/>
You follow a few moments later, pausing to get a drink from the fountain. You flinch as you turn, for you see Brooke Galloway exiting the bathroom you and Gloria were just in.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You quickly text Gloria and Kendra, warning them that Brooke probably overheard that rather compromising conversation. You're not able to follow up on the warning, though, for Morgana intercepts you on the way to the gym after school. "Just the person I'm looking for," you quickly say.<br/>
<br/>
She looks nervously over her shoulder. "Can we get out of here? I'm not sure I've shaken him for good."<br/>
<br/>
"Not many girls would run away from Gordon Brown," you say. "But you said you're not like many girls, didn't you? Come on, you can give me a ride to where I'm going, and we'll talk."<br/>
<br/>
You have her drive you over to Blackwell's, and she gives you the story on the way. She'd done as you directed, writing her name onto the spell and pressing it upon him just after second period. She'd thought nothing of it until lunch, when he suddenly materialized at her locker, looking for her company and asking her all kinds of questions about herself. He was intense and unhappy. "It sure doesn't seem like he's in love with me," she whines. "Not that I want him to be, but this is worse."<br/>
<br/>
"He's fascinated by you," you say smoothly. Actually, it must be that he's more freaked out by the "Timor Omnes" hex than he's let on, and is desperate for the relief that her presence confers on him. "Well, I guess we know that it works. Hooray for us."<br/>
<br/>
"You have to fix it," she says unhappily. "This isn't fun. And when Chelsea finds out, she'll kill me."<br/>
<br/>
"Leave Chelsea to me. As for the spell, we're going out to that professor's house. We'll find a cure."<br/>
<br/>
Blackwell isn't there when you arrive, but you have a spare key and let yourself in. Morgana lingers nervously in the entrance to the library and only steps into it with vast reluctance. "This is <i>not</i> a good place for us," she says firmly. <i>She</i> is<i> sensitive to the occult,</i> you reflect. <i>Good.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Just ignore it," you tell her. "It's like with bees. You leave them alone and they'll leave you alone. At least you now know I'm on the level when I tell you that I've been studying witchcraft."<br/>
<br/>
She winces, but sits when you order her to, and watches twitchily as you pull open a book and study it. Actually, you've no intention of lifting the spell that has bewitched Gordon; you want her good and frantic before you spring the eventual surprises on her, so that she'll be receptive to joining you. So it's the <i>Libra</i>, the Book of Masks, you are perusing, not one of the books on hexes.<br/>
<br/>
You've thoroughly digested the early spells by this point. There was one tricky point where a torn page stymied you, but it had quickly yielded to your intuitions--just a puzzle to stop amateurs, and you are beginning to feel a sense of kinship with the author of the book. You are now into the really advanced spells. You have gone past the spell that shows how to copy a person's <i>anima</i>--their life force--ignoring it and the band you'd had to manufacture as not having an immediate use, and are working your way through three rather tedious sequel spells. Has Blackwell picked up those supplies yet? Without warning Morgana, you exit the library, going up to his third-floor workroom.<br/>
<br/>
Yes, there are the sacks of stuff, and you quickly mix up a blank mask. You've just set a note next to it, ordering him to polish it up for you, when there's a shriek from downstairs. Dashing back down, you find Morgana in the foyer, her hand on the front door, trembling. "There's something in the library," she whimpers.<br/>
<br/>
"Of course there is," you sigh, rolling your eyes. "I told you, ignore it."<br/>
<br/>
"But it's-- It's--"<br/>
<br/>
"It's just watching to make sure you don't get up to any mischief. But come on, we'll go in the kitchen."<br/>
<br/>
"What if it follows us?"<br/>
<br/>
"It won't. It goes in supernatural terror of ... of linoleum." Grudgingly, she follows.<br/>
<br/>
As you mix up the varnish-like material specified by the next spell, you ask her about her own circle of friends and acquaintances: Sarah McDonald, Lotte Linde, and Wendy Silbert. "Are they happy," you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"I guess," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, do they like their lives? Their families, their prospects. Their place in the school?"<br/>
<br/>
"What are you talking about?"<br/>
<br/>
You are quiet for a little while, for you are through the next spell, and onto the next. It leaves you smiling: you don't need to test it out to see what it does and how it might be useful. "I don't know how to help you out with Gordon," you tell her finally. "Not right away. But I've got an idea. The thing is--" You tilt your head as you fix your gaze on her; her own expression is troubled and confused. "We're not exactly friends, are we? Where you'd be going, you'd want friends. Real friends. Familiar friends."<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean, 'where I'd be going'?" Her tone is now seriously alarmed.<br/>
<br/>
"Never mind. It would be good. But for now, you can do me and you both a favor. Talk to your friends. Find out who would-- Well, find out which of them would like to be <i>someone else.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Quickest way to deal with Chelsea would be to deal with Chelsea. But again, it would be neater to deal with her indirectly, and in a way that would advance your own plans for making over the school hierarchy.</span></div></div>


path: 11222112121112212111
author_id: seuzz
title: Shifting Alliances
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You've ignored the buzzing from your phone all this time, and when you finish up you find several messages from Gloria, and call her back. "What's the damage," you ask, ignoring Morgana's frank eavesdropping.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm out," she says tonelessly. "It was ugly. I ran into Chelsea and the others in front of the gym, and she just cut me off, told me to get lost. Fucking Brooke was there, looking totally smug. I wanted rip her face off."<br/>
<br/>
"Did you tell her you were just sucking up to me?"<br/>
<br/>
"She blew me off, left it to Kendra to call me a liar and a cunt and a two-faced bitch."<br/>
<br/>
"Kendra said all <i>that?</i>" <br/>
<br/>
"Yes. She was worse than all the others. She kept whispering at Chelsea, too, calling me even worse things, I could tell."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sure she's just play-acting," you say cautiously. "You know, to protect herself."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. She called me a little while ago, saying how sorry she was, but still. It fucking <i>hurt.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we'll get together tonight, make sure we're all still friends."<br/>
<br/>
"She says she can't," Gloria says bluntly. "She has to cut us off because of Chelsea, to make sure she's still okay with Chelsea."<br/>
<br/>
You swear and sigh, and with muttered kindnesses let Gloria go. You're mostly silent on the drive home, and ignore the sidelong glances Morgana gives you. Without your two agents next to Chelsea--Gloria cut off and Kendra having to lay low--it will be a lot harder to keep track of your nemesis's plans and intentions.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Well, whatever reverse you suffered with Gloria's cover being blown, you can at least take satisfaction in seeing that the social hierarchy has already shifted radically. The changes show up in odd ways and places. Next morning's cheerleader practice, for instance, is deranged by unspoken animosities and confusions. Kendra and Chelsea are bitingly cold toward you and Gloria the entire time; Lin, Yumi and the Garner sisters are entirely bewildered at the attention you lavish on Gloria. Afterward, in the locker room, you wait until Chelsea, Kendra, Maria, and Gloria herself have gone, then call the others together. "I'd really like it if you guys started being friends with Gloria," you tell them. "Chelsea's kicked her out of the group, and she's going to need some support." They look around uneasily. "What is it?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
Silence for a moment. Then Lin speaks. "She's a snake, Cindy," she says bluntly. "She and Chelsea will kiss and make up, and then she'll stab you and everyone else in the back."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think so," you reply firmly. "I know more about what's going on than I want to tell, and it's permanent. Chelsea is going to destroy her."<br/>
<br/>
"Couldn't happen to a nicer girl," Yumi says bitterly. You frown, and she frowns back. "I've known her longer than you."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you don't have to be best friends with her," you say. "Just don't be mean to her. Don't do Chelsea's business for her." There are grumbles all around.<br/>
<br/>
Later, you connect with Gloria. "I talked with Lin and the others," you tell her quietly. "I told them to be nice to you, but you're going to have to change your personality a little. You know, don't be quite so much the ice queen."<br/>
<br/>
"Not going to be easy," she mutters, and her face is hard in a way that leaves you wincing. She turns toward you. "I didn't have any 'friends,' except for Chelsea and Kendra and Maria, and now ..."<br/>
<br/>
"Do your best. It'll work out once we've taken care of the old crew."<br/>
<br/>
She's silent for a moment, then starts talking in a rush. "I didn't want to say anything before, because what you did for me was <i>incredible.</i> I really like ... being Gloria." She tilts her chin and glances around at the crowded hall. "I like that all the boys leer at me and that I can just blow them off," she says in a low voice. "But it's not a perfect life, and if Gloria wants it back, she's welcome to it." You give her a curious look, but she won't expand on what she's said, except to say, "You know, she has a life outside of <i>school.</i>" Then the bell rings, and you have to part.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Chelsea may have been marginalized on the cheerleader squad, but she still runs every other aspect of the school, as you discover when you go to lunch, and find that the normal seats at the cafeteria's alpha table are occupied by her new crew: Brooke, Kelsey, Megan Farris, Deanna Showalter, and Constance Reynolds, along with some of their guy pals. There's no room for you, and even Lin and Yumi and the Garners, who normally have a spot at the main table, have had to decamp. The new girls all look very smug, if a little uneasy at mixing with Chelsea and Kendra and Steve Patterson and Jason Lynch and some of the others. Kelsey's eyes gleam briefly as they fall on you, before she looks away: Steve is sitting next to her, with his arm draped around her shoulders. Chelsea herself glances only briefly at you, then she turns to Megan and loudly says, "That Saturday will be perfect, Megan. Me and the others will be out early to help you set up."<br/>
<br/>
"That'd be awesome," says Megan. "My mom's a little freaked out. She thinks she'll have to do all the work herself."<br/>
<br/>
"What are you guys talking about," you ask bluntly.<br/>
<br/>
"A party," Chelsea says brusquely without looking over at you. "The first big autumn party of the year. Oh, this'll <i>make</i> you, Megan," she adds enthusiastically.<br/>
<br/>
Megan blushes happily. You peer down at her. She has long been one of the "wannabes": a rather plump and plain girl who with a little too much transparency has tried using her family's money as an enticement--and sometimes an outright bribe--to win herself popularity. <i>So, Chelsea has finally decided to avail herself of Megan's sweaty desperation.</i> "When is it?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
No one says anything; instead Chelsea begins to loudly suggest possible caterers and decorators. "You don't want to spend so much it'll make the rest of us look bad," she says, "but you want to make a really good impression."<br/>
<br/>
You snort to yourself. You can't quite believe that these girls--who have always seemed such "goody-goodies" to you--would let themselves be used so openly. On the other hand, some of them, like Megan, have always been hungry for prestige; and others, like Kelsey, have always seemed rather stuck up. As you look at them carefully, at the way they stiffly tilt their shoulders and surreptitiously look around the cafeteria, you suddenly realize it all makes perfect sense: They are the rich girls, the smart girls, the girls who are destined for great things. How it must have rankled them that a bunch of jocks and twiggy bubbleheads--not them--should have run the school. And now Chelsea is using her position to lift them up. You have to give Chelsea credit for seeing this and seizing on them to shore up her own position; but surely she's had them pegged for a long time.<br/>
<br/>
But it still pisses you off. "Where's Gordon," you ask loudly, though you can easily guess. He is conspicuous by his absence, and it's got to be a bleeding wound in Chelsea's psyche.<br/>
<br/>
But she doesn't flinch; she doesn't even seem to hear you. So you leave them, walking slowly through the cafeteria. Big lug like him shouldn't be too hard to-- <i>Oh my God.</i> He's sitting at a distant table, almost as far from Chelsea as you can get while still being in the cafeteria. And if his tablemates aren't the unhappiest group ever, you've never seen a more miserable-looking bunch.<br/>
<br/>
Morgana is next to him, of course, a ghastly smile glued onto her chalky face. They are flanked by the weedier lowlifes at the school, guys and girls whose names Cindy doesn't know, but who you yourself recognize: nerds and geeks; anime enthusiasts, computer programmers, fantasy role players. Not one of them will look at Gordon or Morgana, and they hunch over the table, whispering to each other with terrified looks on their faces. Gordon himself seems to be trying to shrink down inside himself, with his head ducked under his shoulders and his hands under the table. He wears the same sweaty, terrified smile as the others, and he gabbles at Morgana in a low voice, apparently trying to make conversation for the both of them. You skitter away before anyone can catch your eye.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So curious are you to know what is going on with Gordon that you gamble on calling Kendra after school. "I can talk," she says in answer to your query. " But I can't see you. I'm supposed to meet up with Maria and Brooke and some of the others for a study session." She tells you about Megan's party--it's scheduled for a week from Saturday--and grunts when you ask about Gordon. "I can try finding out from Maria," she says, "but I'm not sure I should tell you whatever I hear. If you use it and Chelsea traces it back to me--"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, just tell me what you already know. I saw him in the cafeteria with Morgana Hollis today--"<br/>
<br/>
"Isn't that your doing?" she asks. "Did you put them together?" You've only time to wonder if you should confess your involvement before she gasps again. "Oh my God! It's <i>Morgana</i> who's really running things, isn't it?"<br/>
<br/>
You almost drop the phone. You'd picked Morgana out only because you thought she'd be receptive to a little "magic," and because she would be so hideously inappropriate as a match for Gordon. You hadn't seen that in her you have a perfect decoy--a girl onto whom accusations of "witchcraft" can be safely and plausibly directed.</span></div></div>


path: 112221121211122121111
author_id: seuzz
title: So Many Fakes
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Let's just say that I've learned a few things from her," you reply. Your mind starts to race. "Are you sure we can't get together?"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe," she says cautiously. "Chelsea sometimes has me and Gloria--" She catches herself. "I guess it's just me now, huh? Anyway, sometimes she has us drive around to see who is parked in front of people's houses. I could volunteer to go scope out your place. Thing is, she might get one of her new friends to do the same thing, and if she spots my car there--"<br/>
<br/>
"We could meet someplace neutral. But maybe we should be careful. Anyway, what <i>do</i> you know about her and Gordon?"<br/>
<br/>
"Only that she's <i>not talking</i> about it, except to Maria, maybe."<br/>
<br/>
"What's it like hanging around Kelsey and those guys?"<br/>
<br/>
"Horrible. They won't talk to me. Chelsea keeps trying to include me, and talks me and Maria up, but ..."<br/>
<br/>
You cut off the old gossip. "Well, just hang in there. I'm working on making some changes."<br/>
<br/>
"Like what?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know yet, but I'll keep you posted."<br/>
<br/>
After you hang up you spend the evening thinking long and hard, turning off the phone after the third time Morgana tries calling you. By the time you're ready for bed, though, you have a plan. A very dangerous and tricky plan, it's true. But also a deliciously evil one.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The first step is connecting with Morgana the next day, which is hard to do because Gordon is always around. Clearly, she will be free of him only when he is at after-school basketball practice, so you text her to meet you in the parking lot. "We need to go back out to that professor's house," you tell her when she appears.<br/>
<br/>
"Have you got a cure for the spell?" she asks eagerly.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you like being Gordon's girlfriend?"<br/>
<br/>
She gives you a dirty look. "It's not like that at all. I can tell he doesn't like me. He's only nice to me because--" Her face twists up. "Yesterday morning he said something about the way I dressed, and I told him to get lost. He stomped off. But after the next class he was back. He was all pathetic, apologizing and stuff, asking me to please not be mad at him, telling me he really wanted to hang out with me. But I could tell he just <i>hated</i> saying all that stuff." She pauses with her hand on the door handle, and shudders. "And at lunch today I caught him looking at me. It was just-- Just pure hatred. But he couldn't say anything, because he was afraid I'd send him away."<br/>
<br/>
"So why don't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because, honestly, I'm more scared when he's not around than when he is."<br/>
<br/>
"Then yeah, we need to do something." You smile broadly at her, but the smile she returns is very faint.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You spend nearly two hours at Blackwell's--enough time to make a few new masks and to press the one newly polished mask to Morgana's face. ("It's like making a mold," you tell her. "So we can try out possible antidotes without actually using them on you.") Then you have her drop you off at Gloria's, and as Gloria drives you home you outline the plan to her. "You're out of your mind," she tells you. "For starters, Chelsea thinks I'm a traitor."<br/>
<br/>
"This will get you back in with her. Tell her I finally told you what the full plan was for her, and you were so horrified you had to come and warn her."<br/>
<br/>
"Also, it's totally fantastic. Chelsea will never believe it."<br/>
<br/>
"How else can she explain Gordon taking up with Morgana?" you reply. "It has to be witchcraft."<br/>
<br/>
"But what if she asks <i>me</i> to try on the mask?" she asks, gesturing at the Morgana mask you hold in your lap. "Can I even put it on? I mean, over this--" She gestures at her own face.<br/>
<br/>
"No, you can't. But tell her she has to try it on herself, because--" You think a moment. "Tell her it's because a person who wears the mask can't take it off. If you put it on, Chelsea won't know how to get it off you. But if she puts it on, you can get it off her. You remember those words I taught you?" She repeats them, perfectly. "Good. And remember, be sure to tell her that Morgana is the one who is actually plotting everything. I'm just a pawn, like you."<br/>
<br/>
She pulls up in front of your house. "Is it really her?" she asks. "Or is it you?"<br/>
<br/>
You give her the same reply you gave Kendra: "Let's just say I've learned a lot from her." <br/>
<br/>
You start to get out, but pause when you see that she's looking at you intently. You return her frank stare with one of your own, and you don't have to be psychic to know what she's thinking: Are you really Cindy? Or are you an impostor--like her?<br/>
<br/>
The challenge amuses you, and you lean forward. "Would you like to try those words while tugging at <i>my</i> face," you ask mischievously.<br/>
<br/>
She doesn't reply for a moment. And then she stiffly raises her hands to your brow and tugs while muttering an incantation. She pulls, but nothing happens. "Satisfied?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry," she says. "It's just--"<br/>
<br/>
"I know. There are a lot of fakes running around, right?" You smile. "Just remember you can always trust me."<br/>
<br/>
You laugh to yourself as you trot up the sidewalk to your house, enjoying the feel of your skirt on your bare thighs and the wobble of your breasts. You've mastered the <i>Libra</i> enough that you know exactly where and how to insert the releasing incantation, and so Morgana's mask can only come off if its own special phrase gets used. After all, you don't want your acolytes to know how to get out of their own masks--or to get you out of yours.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You don't hear from Gloria that night, or the next day, though the dark looks Chelsea shoots you during cheerleader practice certainly suggests that they've had the talk. That evening, though, you do get a text message from Gloria: "She's on her way."<br/>
<br/>
Sure enough, ten minutes later the doorbell rings, and you find Morgana on the doorstep. Except, of course, it's not Morgana: It's Chelsea, disguised as Morgana. You start to laugh, but turn it into a bright smile. "Hey, I wasn't expecting you," you say. "But come on up."<br/>
<br/>
She follows, and again you have to suppress your gaiety. The mask does not contain a mind band, so Chelsea only has Morgana's body and features, and has to imitate her "black, flowing manner" from memory, and it's a piss-poor imitation, with lots of hammy, ostentatious flapping of limbs. Even the clothes--black, but far too tasteful--are wrong. <br/>
<br/>
Up in the bedroom you lock the door and from under the bed pull out the big sheet of poster board with the fake sigils scrawled over it. "I managed to make a bunch more masks," you say excitedly, drawing out the unpolished blanks you'd made yesterday. "I hope you don't mind that I made so many, but I think we might need some spares."<br/>
<br/>
"Why's that?" she asks cautiously.<br/>
<br/>
"Because it's gonna be hard getting close to Chelsea," you reply. Her eyes freeze, though you affect not to notice. "I-- Um, I talked to Gloria Rea about it last night? You said we needed a third for the coven, and I decided she'd be perfect. Her and Chelsea had a big-ass fight. Anyway, neither of us can get close to Chelsea, so I think we'll need to copy someone else and sneak up close to her that way." The fake Morgana picks up one of the masks and gingerly fingers it. You giggle. "Maria, probably. Or Kelsey or Megan or one of them. Maybe several of them. Of course, she'll never know until it's too late."<br/>
<br/>
Her lips press together and she turns a little pale. Clearly she is struggling to find something that will provoke you into spilling some details about your "plan" without blowing her own cover. That, after all, was the plot that Gloria pitched to her: go to your house while disguised as the "head witch" to find out what is going on. But the silly girl just can't come up with anything, so you finally have to do her work for her.<br/>
<br/>
"How's life with Gordon?" you giggle, leaning in close. "Is he the stud everyone says he is?"<br/>
<br/>
She starts, and then lets a coolly evil expression cross her face. "He's awesome. Got him totally tied around my fingers."<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing personal, but it's a real fucked-up scene," you say. "I mean, it'll look a lot better once we've replaced Chelsea." You take her arm in yours and squeeze it. "You'll make a much better Chelsea Cooper than the original." Her nostrils flare, but again, you pretend not to notice. Instead, you turn shy and girlish. "And, I dunno. Would you mind sharing her, once we've got the real Chelsea out of the way? You could be me while I'm being Chelsea? I ask, because I kind of had to hint to Gloria about what we'd be doing, and that she could maybe--"<br/>
<br/>
"I just wanted to check up on your work," she says, and grabs up one of the masks. "I'll take this with me, to find out if you did it right."<br/>
<br/>
"It's not finished," you protest.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll finish it for you." She stalks over to the door. "And don't bother me tomorrow. I'll be spending all day with Gordon." She practically runs out of the room.<br/>
<br/>
You fall back on the floor, laughing silently and hysterically. <i>That</i> should make her nice and paranoid, and cut her off completely from her new circle of friends, all which was your intention. And yet, now that the comedy is done, you find yourself wondering if maybe your pretended plot to replace her might not be a good idea: to trap her in a new body without a corresponding mind, to watch and stew while someone else becomes the new Chelsea Cooper.</span></div></div>


path: 1122211212111221211111
author_id: seuzz
title: More Faces
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Gloria is supposed to call you after she sees Chelsea again, and as you wait you spend the time pondering how to trap her. The end result is easy to picture: Since she has already worn the Morgana mask, you'll just get her back under it and leave her there, to take up Morgana's life while still knowing who she is and once was. But can you to get to her? You snatch up the phone eagerly when Gloria calls.<br/>
<br/>
"My God, was she ever freaked," she says. "What did you say to her?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not much," you giggle. "Basically, I told her that me and Morgana were plotting to replace her."<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus," she gasps. "No wonder she was almost hysterical. She's talking about going to the police."<br/>
<br/>
"Like they'd believe her. But did you get the mask back from her? That's the only evidence she could show them."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but I really had to argue with her. I reminded her that I basically stole it from you and had to get it back before you noticed it was missing."<br/>
<br/>
"Good. Are you back in her good graces?"<br/>
<br/>
"I think so. What do you want me to do?"<br/>
<br/>
"Call Sophia--the fake you, you know--and tell her to come pick me up. It's best if I handle the next stage."<br/>
<br/>
"What are you going to do?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll let you know when it's done. But trust me, you'll love it."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Sophia's golem shows up about twenty minutes later, and you chat amiably all the way out to Blackwell's, though she hasn't much to say to you; Sophia has escaped a rather boring life. The golem follows you only reluctantly into the villa, and isn't shy about giving Blackwell the fish eye when she sees him. "Just ignore him," you tell her bluntly, and Blackwell's unhappiness at your words deepens when you hand him three unpolished masks. "I'd like these ready to go by Monday," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"I do have research to pursue," he says peevishly.<br/>
<br/>
"Then you'd better get these done as quickly as possible," you retort. "Come on," you add, turning to Sophia. "I need you with me upstairs."<br/>
<br/>
In the workroom you spread out the contents of your bag: the <i>Libra</i> and the varnish you'd made up from the latest spell. You remove all of your clothes so you won't distend them, and take off Cindy's mask. It's quite disorienting to be naked in your own body, and you flinch each time you catch sight of your scrawny arms and sunken chest; your body is so much less sexy than Cindy Vredenburg's. Sophia stares at you openly, and you give serious thought to regolemizing her mask so that she will obey you; it's the only way to be sure that she doesn't tell her original about what she has seen and will see. But you decide to gamble on the fake Gloria continuing to ignore her former life.<br/>
<br/>
You apply the varnish to the interior of Cindy's mask, and then make up a new blank mind band and apply it to the interior of the mask. That done, you have Sophia lie down and remove the mask, revealing the real Gloria Rea. Before she wakes, you press Cindy's reconfigured mask down onto her face, and when that's done quickly get the Sophia mask back onto her face before she can wake. You then apply another layer of varnish to Cindy's, and place the mask onto the <i>Libra</i>; after lifting it, the next page turns. The subsequent spell surprises you only for being so tedious and obvious: it's a simple graphic that shows how to operate the altered mask. But as you'd made such a close study of the spells that made it, you have already guessed how to get it to work.<br/>
<br/>
You lay on the ground and put the mask back on. You are initially disappointed when you wake to find that you are still Will Prescott: But, of course, the mask's surface layer is now blank, so naturally it has sunk into you without making an alteration. The alterations will come now.<br/>
<br/>
You step into the next room, which is bare except for a large mirror, and eye yourself hungrily. You'd half feared to find your native form changed in some way for being submerged for so long; but except for a certain sallowness--probably the light from the bare incandescent bulb--and maybe some slightly longer whiskers, you seem to be unchanged. With a half smile you put your hand to your brow and brush it while making a small but complicated motion. A quick, light wave of nausea passes over you, and once again you are Cindy Vredenburg. <i>Much better!</i> You briefly cup your breasts and touch their hardening tips with your fingers. Mmm, but you can do more of that later tonight, after you've gone to bed. So you brush your forehead again. Another spasm of dizziness, and Gloria Rea stares at you from the mirror.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Whew!</i> You let out a low whistle. Of course you'd seen her changing in the locker room before and after cheerleader practice, but not yet had you gotten such a good, long look at her. She's fuller than Cindy, with wide hips and strong legs, and you can not only feel but even see the taut muscles in her tummy as you run an appreciative palm over it. Her breasts are bigger and rounder, too. Her throat is a strong pedestal, and you bite back a hungry smile as you lift an imperious chin to peer into her face. Such wonderful cheekbones she has. Again, you knew that, but to feel them, and to feel yourself touch them ... You toss back your mass of reddish-gold hair and brush it back behind your shoulders. What you'd told her before is still true--Gloria Rea, not Chelsea Cooper, should be the top girl at school.<br/>
<br/>
And yet you have to sigh as her memories wash over you. What a miserable home life: absent father, alcoholic mother, grandmother who is well and truly in the grip of Alzheimer's ... Yes, it's so much easier to not fight for the top slot, to simply ride along on the edge of Chelsea's skirt and accept the perks that can be gathered without too much strain. Much easier to not cultivate popularity by opening up and sharing personal problems.<br/>
<br/>
Two quick flicks change you back to Cindy Vredenburg, and you get dressed again.<br/>
<br/>
"Make sure you have one of those masks done by tomorrow morning," you tell Blackwell when you're back downstairs. "I'll be by before school to pick it up." He glowers up at you from his chair, where he is already working on one.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Chelsea isn't at school the next day, and neither is Gordon, much to the relief of Morgana. "I don't understand you," you tease her. "Most girls would kill to have Gordon for a boyfriend."<br/>
<br/>
She makes a face. "He doesn't fit in with my friends, and that's the <i>best</i> I can say about him."<br/>
<br/>
"You just need a new group of friends. Like Chelsea's friends. They get along great with him."<br/>
<br/>
"She can have him back."<br/>
<br/>
"I bet you'd appreciate him if you were her." You eye her meaningfully. "Would you switch places with her if you could?"<br/>
<br/>
"What kind of question is that?" <br/>
<br/>
"A variation on the question I asked you a few days ago. Do you have any friends who'd like to be someone else?"<br/>
<br/>
She stares at you, then looks around uneasily. It's lunchtime, and you're standing in front of the school; there are knots of students nearby, but none seem to be paying particular attention to the two of you. "Are you saying--" she starts slowly.<br/>
<br/>
"Just think about it," you say, and nudge her. "You. In Chelsea's place. Her popularity. Her power. Her friends." You lean in closer. "Her body." You tap your forehead. "Her memories and everything else, so that you could imitate her <i>perfectly.</i>" Her eyes grow wide, and you nudge her again. "You don't have to answer just now. Like I said, just think about it." And in that state you leave her.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You tell Gloria to meet you after school in one of the restrooms, giving her a few important instructions so she'll be prepared. She looks at you curiously at the rendezvous point, where she has dressed out in her gym clothes. "Did Chelsea agree to see you?" you ask as you take her regular clothes and start to change into them.<br/>
<br/>
She nods. "She sounded a little calmer, but got excited when I said I got ahold of Morgana's mask again. What are you going to do?"<br/>
<br/>
"Meet up with her, of course. I'll need your cell phone and car. You mind staying here? You'll have to keep out of sight."<br/>
<br/>
"I guess. I assume you're going over to her place <i>as</i> me, right? As Gloria, I mean? Do you need this mask?" She points to her face.<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head. "I've made other arrangements." You don't have the time to explain everything to her. "But with luck, it'll all be over this afternoon."<br/>
<br/>
You wait until you're in the parking lot and inside Gloria's car before you switch the mask over to Gloria's face. You are yourself rather excited, and look through your bag to make sure you have everything: the <i>Libra,</i> the blank mask, Morgana's mask, and even some of Blackwell's special knockout powder, in case everything else fails. You give Chelsea a quick call to tell her you're on your way.<br/>
<br/>
But all your anticipations haven't prepared you for the surprise that awaits you: Gordon's car is in front of Chelsea's, and he's the one who answers the door. There is a haunted, hunted look in his eye. "Chelsea's been telling me some pretty fucked up things about you and Cindy and Morgana," he says darkly. "It better not be bullshit."<br/>
<br/>
You swallow, and feel your knees weaken as he leads you upstairs to her bedroom, where Chelsea is looking disheveled and sleepless. "So you got ahold of that mask, huh? Good. Give it to me. I want Gordon to see this."</span></div></div>


path: 11222112121112212111111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Witch's Lair
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You reach into your bag, then pause. "Better change, first. Morgana is a little plumper than you." To Gordon: "Give us some privacy?"<br/>
<br/>
He resettles the cap on his head. "I've seen Chelsea naked." She makes a face at him. <br/>
<br/>
"If you don't mind seeing Morgana Hollis in the all together," you shrug. He groans, and with a oath stalks from the room. Chelsea starts to undress.<br/>
<br/>
As she does , you slip Morgana's mask back into the bag and take out the blank mask instead. Grimly, she puts it to her face, and falls back onto the bed. While the blank mask is copying her, you lock the bedroom door and then pull your own mask off, fighting the urge to pass out. You're groggy as you stumble to Chelsea's side, but you're able to snatch up the mask and the place the Cindy/Gloria mask onto her; while it is copying her, you scoop up her discarded clothes and stuff them into your bag. You're not sure what you are going to do, but they might be useful.<br/>
<br/>
You put your mask back on after it reappears, and set Morgana's mask onto Chelsea; in the time it takes her to wake you quickly check that your own mask copied Chelsea correctly--it has, and you give yourself a quick smile in her floor-length mirror before switching back over to Gloria. Just in time, too, for with a groan the changed Chelsea sits up. "Oh, God," she moans as she looks down at herself. <br/>
<br/>
While she stumbles to her feet, you dash out to fetch Gordon. He's standing in the hall, arms folded, frowning impatiently. "Brace yourself," you say, and lead him back to the bedroom. You knock softly. "Are you decent yet?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, but I'm dressed," Chelsea says, and you open the door. She's only half into some sweat pants and a loose t-shirt, but the main effect is in place: Morgana Hollis standing in Chelsea Cooper's bedroom.<br/>
<br/>
Gordon's mouth falls open, and he looks dumbly between you and the changed Chelsea. "It's me, Gordon," the latter says plaintively, and spreads her arms. "I told you she was a witch."<br/>
<br/>
Color rises slowly up Gordon's neck and into his face; it is soon black. "That ... fucking ... cunt!" he growls in a tight, hoarse voice. He turns blazing eyes upon you. "Chelsea says she put a hex on me or something. Right?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know for sure," you say, backing away from the hulking ballplayer. "Could be."<br/>
<br/>
He swings around and punches the wall so hard it dents. "That ... cunt! I'll kill her! I swear I will fucking kill her!"<br/>
<br/>
"You can't do that, Gordon," you say in alarm, for it seems like he means it. "Not if you don't want to go to jail." Maybe he hears you and maybe he doesn't, for he sinks to the floor with his head bowed.<br/>
<br/>
"But what are we going to do?" Chelsea squeaks. "How can we fight her?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't forget she thinks I'm on her side," you say. "Though I'm really on your," you quickly add.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you?" Gordon looks up with a dark expression. "Why does she trust you? Why did she let you take that mask?"<br/>
<br/>
"I told her I wanted to test it out," you say, thinking quickly. "I told her I wanted to see if I could fool people by pretending to be her. Because, you know--" You point at the changed Chelsea. "It only copies the body. And she trusts me because Chelsea and me got in a fight. Look, I'm sorry about all that," you say, turning again to Chelsea. "I thought-- Well, I just thought Cindy was, you know ..." You trail off. "But there's no way I'm going to help them with ... with something like what they say they want to do."<br/>
<br/>
"We take care of Cindy, too," Gordon says.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, the best thing to do," you say, desperately improvising. "Well, maybe we can get into Morgana's house? With you done up like that?" You point to Chelsea. "We get inside, and we steal all the stuff she has? Maybe that will stop her."<br/>
<br/>
Gordon and Chelsea exchange glances. "Do you know her shit well enough?" Gordon asks.<br/>
<br/>
"I think so. I can call her and get her of the house. I can tell her I want to bring some of her friends over as part of the test. To see if I can fool them at her own place."<br/>
<br/>
Gordon nods. "Call her now."<br/>
<br/>
"Alright," you say. "But it should just be me and Chelsea who go over there."<br/>
<br/>
"Why? I'm supposed to be, like, her boyfriend." Gordon looks like he wants to vomit.<br/>
<br/>
You grimace, but can come up with no counterargument. "Fine. It'll be weird, but if that's what you want." Chelsea looks relieved at the thought that Gordon will be along. "I need to figure out exactly what to say to her, so I'll leave you two to talk. I gotta use the bathroom anyway."<br/>
<br/>
It's a pitiable excuse, but they seem to accept it, and you leave for the guest bathroom, where you shift back over into Cindy and call Morgana. "Hey," you say cheerfully. "You ready to take over Chelsea's life?"<br/>
<br/>
"What?" she asks, clearly startled. "What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because I can have you in for Chelsea this afternoon. Probably."<br/>
<br/>
The line is so quiet that you think for a moment the connection has dropped. "Hello? Are you there?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. This is pretty serious shit you're talking about, Cindy, if it's even on the level."<br/>
<br/>
"It is. And it doesn't have to be permanent. Maybe just an afternoon, around town, pretending to be her? You know, like a test drive? If you don't like it, you can switch back with no commitment." You're not certain, of course, but you're willing to bet that she'd be willing to stick with being Chelsea.<br/>
<br/>
She just grunts. "How about you go up to the school," you tell her. "Look for Gloria Rea. She's one of my pals, part of our little coven. She'll fill you in. Tell her you want to join, and that I sent you to find her."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God," is all that she says, but agrees to head out.<br/>
<br/>
Back in the bedroom, Gordon and Chelsea look grim. "Okay, we're all set," you tell them. "Is anything wrong?"<br/>
<br/>
"I guess not," Gordon says, but he raises himself to his full height and strides over to tower over you. "But if you double cross us, Gloria, so help me--" He doesn't have to finish.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You have to remind Chelsea that she doesn't have to knock or ring the doorbell when you arrive at the Hollises' dumpy little tract house, and she flinches when her "mother" greets her and her group cheerily, though she gives Gordon a strange look. You send them back to the bedroom while you engage Mrs. Hollis in small talk--less because you want to talk to Morgana's mother than because you want some time to think. Luckily, inspiration hits you quickly, and you join the other two soon after.<br/>
<br/>
They are not being shy about rifling through her stuff, and you blanch a little at the way Gordon is turning drawers upside down and dumping the contents on the floor. "So where does she keep this occult shit," he demands.<br/>
<br/>
"She always had it under the bed," you say, and kneel to sweep a hand under the twin-sized bed. Your search only turns up a ... men's muscle magazine? <i>Yikes!</i> "It's not here," you gasp. They look at you suspiciously, but you ignore them and run into the closet and dig frantically through her clothes. "The-- The special board she had here!" you gasp. "It's gone."<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck is going on?" Gordon demands.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know, but I'm going to find out." You pull out your phone and pretend to dial a number. "Morgana? I'm at your place, and I can't find any of the-- What's wrong with your voice?" You turn pale. "What the fuck?" You listen, then gasp, and shriek and hurl the phone at the floor. Again, you scream.<br/>
<br/>
"What is it?" Chelsea asks. She looks haggard. <br/>
<br/>
"Hold still," you tell her, and put a hand to her face. You pretend to try prying the mask off, but naturally it doesn't come off. "It's stuck! Oh my God!" You collapse onto the bed and sniff back tears.<br/>
<br/>
"You have five seconds to tell us what's going on," Gordon warns.<br/>
<br/>
You point to Chelsea. "It won't come off. They double-crossed me! They meant to trap me in the mask. Morgana-- She made a copy of me, somehow. She sounded strange when she answered, and then I realized it was my own voice! They replaced me! That's what they were trying to do. Not you, Chelsea! They were trying to replace <i>me!</i>" You twist your face up. "I'm sorry, but now <i>you're</i> stuck like that!"<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea gasps and falls back into a chair. Gordon just gapes. You bury your face in your hands.<br/>
<br/>
"What are we going to do now?" Chelsea finally asks, tonelessly.<br/>
<br/>
You look up. "They don't know that they fucked up. They don't know <i>you're</i> under that mask. So there's that going for us. I can find them, show them that they didn't trap me. Then they'll have to change back."<br/>
<br/>
"Why?" <br/>
<br/>
"She can't pretend to be me if I'm around. She'll have to change back, and let you out."<br/>
<br/>
"So what do we do?"<br/>
<br/>
"I think you'll have to stay here, like that, for a little while. Gordon and me will go find Morgana."<br/>
<br/>
"Why do I have to stay here?" Chelsea insists.<br/>
<br/>
"In case they come back," you say. "You'll-- Well, you'll have to pretend to me, being Morgana. That will keep them off their guard."<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea starts to argue, but Gordon cuts her off. "Gloria's right, Chels. Anyway, we can take care of the cunts."<br/>
<br/>
She is very unhappy as you and Gordon leave, returning to Gloria's car. Your own mind is still racing. Chelsea is sidelined for the moment, but you need to get Morgana taken care of before she can return home and find her new double. But you've also got Gordon to deal with.</span></div></div>


path: 112221121211122121111111
author_id: seuzz
title: The New Member
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Gordon rode in the back seat on the way out to Morgana's, but he takes the passenger seat as you drive away, and his brooding presence seems to fill the very small space. Maybe you are just being nervous, but you have the distinct impression that he has lost all his trust in you--probably it's only because he has no idea of what else to do that keeps him from trying to beat a confession out of you. "I don't know where they are, but I know one place to check," you tell him as you drive off.<br/>
<br/>
He turns toward you; you can't see his face in the gathering dusk, but you doubt his expression is friendly.<br/>
<br/>
"Morgana has this weird uncle," you say. "I was only out to his place once. But I think he's the one that taught her most of this stuff."<br/>
<br/>
"Is it hard to make these masks?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't really know," you say. You're not sure what Gloria herself told Chelsea, and what Chelsea might have told Gordon. "I only saw a couple of them. Like the one of Morgana."<br/>
<br/>
"I just having a hard time knowing what to believe," he says. "Like, how come no one has ever heard of these things before."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, they'd be like a big secret, wouldn't they? I mean, government conspiracies and like that, you know?"<br/>
<br/>
"I guess there could be a lot of fakes out there," he says darkly.<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe. Maybe not. Like I told you, the masks only copy bodies, so it's kind of hard to permanently replace people."<br/>
<br/>
"But Morgana's trying to do it."<br/>
<br/>
"She's crazy. That's a big reason I didn't want to have anything to do with her. But I had to pretend, or else ..."<br/>
<br/>
"Or else what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, if I didn't play along, they'd have to get rid of me, right? I guess they realized I <i>wasn't</i> really on their side." You draw a breath that you hope sounds ragged. "Kinda late to find out."<br/>
<br/>
He just grunts, and the rest of the drive is silent. You pull up in front of Blackwell's house fifteen minutes later. "Try not to freak out," you tell him as you get out of the car. "The place is, like, really creepy."<br/>
<br/>
Blackwell's eyes freeze and glitter when he opens the door to find you on the porch; clearly, the golem senses your presence, but says nothing in acknowledgement. "Hi, professor," you say in a squeaking voice. "I don't know if you remember me, but I'm a friend of Morgana Hollis's? And Cindy Vredenburg?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't keep track of their friends," he says in a chilly tone.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, are they here? Because we can't find them, and we really need to find them. This is another friend of ours. Gordon Black?" <br/>
<br/>
His eyes flick up at the glowering ballplayer. "They're not here," he says, and lets a small, malicious smile play over his face.<br/>
<br/>
He's being a shit and a half: He knows you are pretending some act, and is determined to make your life as uncomfortable as he can. You shift a little so Gordon can't see your face directly, and give him a quick, hard glare. He sucks in his cheeks, and steps back. "But if you'd like to wait for them here, you're welcome to come in."<br/>
<br/>
Gordon tries to tug your elbow, but you push in past Blackwell. "Thanks. I'll give them a call. I thought they said they would be coming over here."<br/>
<br/>
Blackwell gives you both an oily, paternal smile as you pull out your cell phone, then retreats into the living room. Once he's out of sight, you put the phone away.<br/>
<br/>
"Come on," Gordon says impatiently in a low voice. "They're not here." <br/>
<br/>
"No, but their shit might be." You peek around the corner into the living room. "Hst! Look in there. Don't stare! Just glance in." Blackwell has plopped onto the sofa and begun ostentatiously polishing a mask. "He's got one of those masks. He must be helping them."<br/>
<br/>
"Fucking pervert," Gordon growls.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, I'll distract him. You sneak upstairs, see if you can find anything." Gordon chews on his lip, then creeps down the hallway to the stairway. "My phone seems to have died," you call out loudly as you enter the living room. "Can I borrow yours?"<br/>
<br/>
"Of course," Blackwell says softly. "But--"<br/>
<br/>
"But I need something else from you," you say in a low voice. "Where's that spider web stuff you use to catch giant flies?"<br/>
<br/>
"In the kitchen pantry, of course," he says through gritted teeth. "You know that as well as I."<br/>
<br/>
"Just wanted to sure you hadn't moved it." You trot quickly into the kitchen, and he has the presence of mind to follow you. You grab the canister--it's disguised as a canister of whipped cream--and sneak back out into the main downstairs hallway. The entryway at the foot of the stairs is very wide, but not so wide you can't spray a cobweb across it, being careful to stand back so none of it gets on you. "Okay, now grab me by the shoulders and don't let go until I tell you to." He complies, and you let out a scream. "Gordon! Gordon! Oh my God! Gordon!"<br/>
<br/>
Heavy footsteps sound, and Gordon appears at the top of the stairs, to see you struggling in Blackwell's grip. The scene is probably totally unconvincing, but it's enough to move him. He charges down the stairs, into the web, and careens past to crash into the doorjamb of the library just beyond. He wheels around, and then collapses onto the floor, completely unconscious.<br/>
<br/>
"My hero," you sneer at him. "You can let go now, you dirty old man." Blackwell releases you. "I hope that mask you've got in there is ready to go."<br/>
<br/>
"I just started it," he says smoothly.<br/>
<br/>
You frown at him mightily. "What have you been working on all day?"<br/>
<br/>
"I was teaching." Something sparks in the air between you, and he flinches as he smiles. "But though you didn't ask, I'll confess anyway. I <i>do</i> have another one ready." He points into the library. "You made your desire for the quick preparation of a clutch of masks quite transparent."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The web will have knocked Gordon for more than enough time to prepare a new mind band and some of the special bonding that will turn the mask's wearer into a pliant golem, like Blackwell. As you finish it up, you look down at Gordon, whom you have dragged into the library to sprawl on the floor. You could just copy him, golemize the interior with some of your own physical essence, and put the mask directly on him, and it will have the effect of turning him into your slave--and so much for Gordon Black.<br/>
<br/>
Before you can do so, your phone rings--it's Morgana, and you switch back into Cindy's form to answer. "How are you guys doing?" you chirp. "Everything clear with you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not really," she says. "It's really kind of confusing."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'll be out to meet you guys in just a bit. Where are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's where it gets confusing," she says. "I'm at home. And guess who's here with me."<br/>
<br/>
It's like getting hit in the chest. "What's going on?" you growl.<br/>
<br/>
"Like I said, we're not sure. Me, and Gloria, and ... well, me. We're all of us really confused."<br/>
<br/>
You hang up with a loud curse, then quickly finish up the mask and jam it onto Gordon's face. "Keep your mouth shut and listen," you snarl as he wakes with a bewildered expression. You give him a few short, pertinent facts, the main one of which is to remind him that he is now your slave, and tell him to keep his mouth shut and follow your lead, whatever happens. He glowers but follows you out.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Alright, Cindy, you win," Chelsea whines. She is no longer done up as Morgana--it seems a good idea not to have two of them, not with Morgana's parents in the house. She looks utterly defeated, and sags forlornly on the bed. Morgana--the real one--has taken her chair, and Gloria stands in the corner. Gordon isn't present--you'd dropped him off at Chelsea's, to collect his car and go home to await orders.<br/>
<br/>
"This 'replacing' business is really sick," Morgana says. "I don't want any part of it."<br/>
<br/>
"Suit yourself," you say with a shrug. "I was just trying to do you a favor."<br/>
<br/>
"Cut the bullshit," Chelsea snaps, showing a little of her usual spirit. "You were trying to get rid of me. You probably still are," she adds in a very audible undertone.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, it didn't work. But you <i>do</i> see now that <i>I'm</i> in charge of things, don't you?" Chelsea winces. "And as long as that's clear, I don't care if you're yourself or not."<br/>
<br/>
There's silence for a bit. Then Gloria speaks. "So what do we do now? Pretend none of this happened?"<br/>
<br/>
"We can't really do that, can we, <i>Sophia</i>?" Chelsea hisses. <br/>
<br/>
"If Gloria wants her life back, she's welcome to it," Gloria snaps back.<br/>
<br/>
"Gloria--the real Gloria and the real Kendra--stay exactly where they are," you say. "That doesn't mean Sophia and Gracie have to keep being them." You brush your forehead, turning yourself into Gloria again. "We can take turns." You brush your forehead a second time, and Chelsea gasps as you turn into her. "We can also take turns being Chelsea."<br/>
<br/>
"You wouldn't!" Chelsea shrieks.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm willing to let you into the group," you say, perfectly mimicking her usual, haughty tone. "But you have to know your place." Her head sinks, but she nods. "Good. As a reward, I'll let you pick first who you get to be. Anyone except me." You flick back to Cindy's form.<br/>
<br/>
You don't trust Chelsea, even though you think you've got her checkmated. You can give her a probationary period--or with golem-Gordon's help, you can actually carry through a permanent replacement of her.</span></div></div>


path: 1122211212111221211111112
author_id: seuzz
title: Unraveling Schemes
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"You'll let me <i>be</i> someone else?" Chelsea sneers. "That's really generous of you, Cindy. There's only two people in the school worth being. Me and--" She closes her mouth with a snap and looks away with a frozen expression.<br/>
<br/>
"And I told you, you can't be <i>me,</i>" you reply, finishing her thought for her. She casts a murderous glare at you. "You want to be yourself? Fine. But I'm the squad captain now. Kendra and Gloria are <i>my</i> lieutenants. Think you can get along with Yumi and Lin and Eva and Jessica? Good luck."<br/>
<br/>
"If you're going to talk about this shit," Morgana says crossly, "do it someplace else. I told you--"<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea stomps out. You and Gloria exchange a glance, and the latter follows your arch enemy. "I really was trying to help you," you start to say to Morgana, but she cuts you off.<br/>
<br/>
"Bullshit. It's just you and your friends and your stupid rivalry. You don't care about <i>anyone,</i> Cindy, and you don't care who you-- Just get out, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry," you say, and don't bother to hide your hurt feelings. <i>She's so ungrateful, and she ruined your plans.</i> "I'll get rid of Gordon for you. He won't bother you anymore."<br/>
<br/>
You leave the bedroom, but Morgana rushes out after you. "If you really cared about anyone except yourself," she shouts, "you'd do something about all the crap at school!"<br/>
<br/>
You wheel on her, stung. "But that <i>is</i> what I was--"<br/>
<br/>
You have to stop. She's right. You got so caught up in your scheme against Chelsea that you lost sight of what you'd told Sophia and Gracie, what you'd told yourself in quiet moments: that it was about making the school a better place.<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have to worry about it anymore, Morgana," you say. "We won't be bothering you or your friends. We'll get it sorted out. Without magic," you add, though you know you're lying.<br/>
<br/>
Morgana's mother watches with a deeply concerned expression on her face as you pass through the living room; you quietly wish her a good night, and join Gloria and Chelsea outside. They're not talking to each other, and neither acknowledges your presence. You shift awkwardly from foot to foot. "Okay, maybe I got carried away," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"You think," Gloria mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"You're one to talk, Sophia," you retort. "You went along with it."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't want to go along with it any more. I want to go back to being myself."<br/>
<br/>
"And who takes over for being Gloria? Me? Chelsea?" you ask. Chelsea blows a raspberry.<br/>
<br/>
"Just let her go," Sophia says. "It was a wrong thing to do."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I guess she can come back with a touch of amnesia. Of course, I'm sure <i>Chelsea</i> explain to her <i>exactly</i> what happened to her, and <i>who</i> was being her for the past week."<br/>
<br/>
"That's fine with me," Sophia snarls back in a tone that is perfectly Gloria-like. "I know who she'll <i>really</i> blame, too. You're the one who stole her life from her. I was just your puppet. You basically stole <i>my</i> life too!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, according to you, Gloria doesn't even have a--"<br/>
<br/>
You stop and stagger back a step. A sudden thought has hit you, and it's like being hit between the eyes with a two-by-four.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but it's least it's <i>hers,</i>" Sophia says.<br/>
<br/>
But you're not paying attention. "We need to go home, all of us," you say. "We all need to sleep on it. We'll talk about it tomorrow."<br/>
<br/>
"What is there to talk about?" Sophia says.<br/>
<br/>
"Plenty. I want you girls to meet me early tomorrow, at the school. An hour before practice. <i>Be there,</i>" you tell Chelsea, whose face has curled up in a sneer. "Sophia, I need a ride home from you."<br/>
<br/>
Your friend blinks a little, but seems slightly mollified by the use of her real name, and suffers to let you lead her back to her car. Neither of you talk on the ride back, and it's not until you pull up in front of your house that Sophia speaks. "So what are you thinking, Cindy? Like I really want to know."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm trying to figure out how to get you and Gloria switched back without causing any problems. Actually, it shouldn't be hard. Which kind of worries me. I feel like there's some problem I'm not seeing."<br/>
<br/>
"So just take us somewhere and take the masks off us," she suggests.<br/>
<br/>
"I know. It probably is that simple, but--" You trail off and nibble at a thumbnail. Then you shake yourself. "You're right, though. Call Sophia--the fake you, you know--and have her meet us in front of the gym tomorrow morning. Same time as we meet with Chelsea."<br/>
<br/>
"What are you going to do about her? Are you really serious about having join your little coven? Letting her switch with people?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. It would be a way of teaching her what it's like to be on the outside." You give her a sidelong look. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to switch with her? You be Chelsea and she becomes--"<br/>
<br/>
"Yuck. No. I mean, Chelsea, she's got advantages." Sophia shifts uncomfortably behind the wheel. "But she's a snake, and there's no way I'd want her in my life."<br/>
<br/>
"I get you."<br/>
<br/>
"And she'd do it to <i>anyone</i>, Cindy. Don't you even think about switching her with Gracie."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Gracie is someone else to worry about.</i> "Are you going to want me to switch <i>her</i> out of Kendra?"<br/>
<br/>
"You should. We should just stop all of this, forget about it."<br/>
<br/>
"But Gracie might have an opinion too." You sigh. "If you want to talk to her, you can. I won't object. You should do it while you're still being Gloria, though."<br/>
<br/>
Sophia just grunts, and you wish her a good night.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You spend the balance of the evening catching up with your more mundane concerns--parents, homework, Facebook and other social sites. After everyone else has gone to bed, though, you quietly lock your bedroom door and hide in the closet. There, you brush a hand across your face until you bring Gloria's mind and form to the fore.<br/>
<br/>
You settle back and sink into her memories and persona. And her resentments: the father who abandoned her family when she was only ten. The mother who has fallen into an alcoholic stupor under the pressure of working and raising a daughter and taking care of a demented mother without any other family to help. School is the only respite for Gloria, and it's not much of a respite either, for she has to deal with Chelsea and Kendra and the jocks and the lust-addled boys and the catty, jealous girls.<br/>
<br/>
You take grim satisfaction in concluding that yes, Gloria, probably would like to escape her own life. At least for a little while.<br/>
<br/>
But whose life would she like to escape into?<br/>
<br/>
Not Sophia's: there's no mistaking the bile that rises in the back of your throat as you try to picture yourself--Gloria Rea--taking over for the dumpy and not-at-all-popular Sophia. None of Sophia's friends, either. You think of Kelsey and Amanda and the other AP girls, and weigh your assumed persona's reaction to them: jealousy and resentment balance against curiosity about what it is like to be rich and smart and on the start of a glide path toward collegiate and professional success. Yes, there are possibilities for her there. Possibilities for <i>you</i> too, as you wouldn't mind having a grateful ally--like Gloria--inside <i>that</i> group.<br/>
<br/>
As for the other cheerleaders: Chelsea leaves her (you) feeling cool, and Kendra leaves her feeling bitter and angry, and Maria--<br/>
<br/>
<i>Whoa!</i> It leaps at you before you'd even prepared yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Yumi Saito. The aching, bitter jealousy she feels for Yumi is overwhelming.<br/>
<br/>
It's not just that Yumi is pert and cute and very good on the squad; there are lots of girls who are just as good if not better. Nor is it Yumi's academic success and the nice prospects she has before her; again, Kelsey and her peers are better for <i>that</i> kind of thing. But Gloria has been to Yumi's home and seen her brother and sister and mother and father, and seen the strict but loving environment: the sibling affections and rivalries that she herself has never had, and the structure and respectability that she yearns for. And Yumi has friends outside the cheerleader squad: she hangs out with Jenny Ashton and James Lamont and other impudent "outsiders." Gloria herself has a strong rebellious streak, but one she can't afford to indulge. <br/>
<br/>
Yumi has everything Gloria feels she herself is missing.<br/>
<br/>
It's perfect, you think to yourself as you switch back into Cindy's form. Or it would be, if it weren't that Yumi is already basically an ally. If you swapped Gloria for Yumi you wouldn't be gaining anything for yourself; you'd only be forestalling Gloria's own anger. And you could manage that same feat simply by burying the real Gloria under a mask of herself that had a golem shell inside it.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It amuses you to see that Chelsea has brought Gordon with her, and you wonder what plots she has tried to concoct with him. Of course they won't do her any use, since he is now just a golem under your own control. "Let's talk up in the loft," you archly tell Chelsea. "Gordon, you watch the door. Send Gloria and Sophia up, but don't let anyone else in." Gordon nods curtly, and you suppress a smile at the astonished look his girlfriend gives him.<br/>
<br/>
"Sophia says we should just forget about all this coven business," you tell Chelsea when you're alone. "And I've made my point. You know your place now." You have to credit your rival for keeping her cool; she doesn't even react. "And you know that, with these masks, you wouldn't even know who your real friends are, or if anybody really is who they seem to be. So don't think you could plot against me."<br/>
<br/>
You were intending to follow this little speech up with a sequel, offering her a junior position in your "coven." But maybe it is just best to return things to normal.</span></div></div>


path: 11222112121112212111111121
author_id: seuzz
title: The New Coven
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>But the thought of Chelsea being your "junior partner" is too much of a temptation. So you continue before you can second-guess yourself further: "But we could <i>own</i> this school, Chelsea. More than we already do. Right now we're just fighting for control of the squad. But if we used these masks, together, in a partnership, we could wire <i>everything.</i> And <i>everyone.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea colors, and her eyes gleam. Put it the way you've just put it, and she might not even kick that much at being your subordinate. "What did you have in mind, Cindy," she asks in a cool, sweet tone.<br/>
<br/>
"What do <i>you</i> have in mind, Chelsea," you counter. "Kelsey and her friends? You've been sucking up to them lately."<br/>
<br/>
"I haven't been--" she starts to retort. "They're so stuck up."<br/>
<br/>
"I know. Kelsey and Amanda especially. They think they're such hot shit. We could take them down a peg. Or just use them. Not just Megan and her party. We could have <i>them</i> in our pocket. Them with all their money and their connections." You draw on an old resentment. "Did I tell you that Kelsey once invited me out to that country club, and then she <i>cancelled</i> on me at the last minute? I think it was intentional."<br/>
<br/>
"That sounds just like her," Chelsea says with quiet venom. <br/>
<br/>
"And there's other people," you continue. "Haven't you ever felt like slumming? Like Yumi's always slumming with Jenny and her friends?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're one to talk," Chelsea retorts. "You hang out with-- Well--" She catches herself before she can say something really regrettable. <br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, and it's fun. You could slum around <i>as</i> them." If you're going to put Gloria in for Yumi you really shouldn't talk this way, but you've already blurted it out. "You could turn yourself into one of them, see and hear everything that they say about you, and about me. You could talk about yourself the way they talk about you, and then find a way to totally humiliate them." <i>Or see yourself for what a bitch you really are.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Oh, you're <i>wicked</i>, Cindy," Chelsea says, and her eyes glitter with cupidity. "I can't believe we've never really been friends." She gives you a quick and impulsive hug. You can't help flinching, and can also feel the insincerity of her embrace. To anyone watching, you're sure, you and Chelsea would look like two cobras doing a mating dance.<br/>
<br/>
"Then it's set. We'll be partners, you and me. You have to do what I say, though," you add in a warning tone. "I'm the only one who knows how all this works."<br/>
<br/>
"Of course," Chelsea says with a brittle smile. "I'll be a good little soldier as long as you let me have some fun."<br/>
<br/>
You hear footsteps on the stairs. "Let's not tell Sophia. Her and Gracie--" You roll your eyes. "God, it was such a mistake getting mixed up with them. It's going to be <i>much</i> better with <i>you.</i>" Chelsea snickers.<br/>
<br/>
The door opens, and Gloria and Sophia appear. The former looks very cool and aloof; the latter looks frightened. "Chelsea and I just finished up," you tell them archly. "We're friends again, and we're going to stop with all this stuff. I'll be with you guys in a minute." You feel Gloria's eyes on your back as you put your arm in Chelsea's and accompany her down the stairs.<br/>
<br/>
"You and Gordon should talk about this," you say when you're at the foot of the steps. "He might have some ideas." The side door opens, and Steve Patterson comes in; basketball practice will be starting soon. "Don't talk to anyone else, though. Off with you both."<br/>
<br/>
You go back up the stairs. Tonight you'll be able to call golem-Gordon and hear <i>exactly</i> how Chelsea intends to double-cross you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Well, girls, shall we get the two of you back to normal," you say brightly when you're back with Gloria and Sophia.<br/>
<br/>
"What did Chelsea have to say?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's not any of your business, Sophia. That's why we're putting you back to normal, so you don't have to worry about Chelsea or Gloria or <i>me</i> any more. We did have fun, though, didn't we?" She says nothing. "Well, I guess it didn't work out the way either of us really wanted it to. But I'm glad I got to know you. If you ever want to just hang out, call me." You try to sound sincere, but you can't pretend any great interest in Sophia when she is regarding you (from behind Gloria's cold expression) with frank distaste. "Alright, you'll both want to get undressed."<br/>
<br/>
Both girls move very slowly, and you suspect that, her protests notwithstanding, Sophia is regretting giving up Gloria's toned and sexy body. You watch with open interest as she peels off the t-shirt and unclasps the bra and pulls off the shorts and panties and socks and sneakers, leaving her exposed in all her muscled, toned, curvy glory. She shakes back her hair when she's done, and when she catches your expression her lip curls a little. "Wanna get a picture while I'm still like this?"<br/>
<br/>
"I can look at Gloria in the altogether any time I want, Sophia. Remember, I've got a copy of her in here--" You point to your own face. You do feel yourself blushing a little as you do so, for it is still exciting to see her naked. "Okay, lay down."<br/>
<br/>
Her face goes tight as you reach for her brow, and she closes her eyes and holds her breath. You chant and pull at the mask, and it comes away in your hand. Sophia herself appears, and she is pallid and dumpy and has thin, bodiless hair. You turn away with distaste, but there's another one just like her standing forlornly on the other side of the loft. You make her lay down too, but you don't remove the mask there just yet.<br/>
<br/>
It's nearly ten minutes before Sophia wakes again, and you end up hurrying her along with a nudge. She winces as she sits up. "Oh, God." She sighs. "Well, at least I don't have <i>practice</i> with you anymore." She rubs her eyes. "I just have to--" And then she looks up sharply. "Shit! I don't know where I'm supposed to be. I've been-- The last few days--!"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't worry about it, we'll get you filled in." You kneel next to the golem-Sophia and pull the mask off. "Put this on." She rears back. "It won't do anything to you, Sophia," you sigh. "It'll just give you all the memories the fake you picked up over the past few days. After you put it on, you'll remember <i>everything</i> it did. It's like you won't even have been gone."<br/>
<br/>
She takes it uncertainly. "Really?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes. But don't do it here. Get dressed and get out of here. Hurry. I need to deal with Gloria, and it'll be easier if you're not here. And you'll want to keep your own mask, right? To be safe?"<br/>
<br/>
"What are you going to-- Are you going to tell <i>her</i> about <i>me?</i>" Her voice comes out as a squeak as she nods at Gloria.<br/>
<br/>
"Not if I can help it." From downstairs come the faint thump of a basketball bouncing on the hardwood floors. "Better get going. Practice is about to start."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
After she's gone, you squat next to the still-unconscious Gloria and put her own mask onto her. It has no golem shell inside it, so after disappearing inside her briefly, it reappears. Now, when she awakes, she will have all the memories that <i>it</i> had accumulated. That will make it much easier to talk to her.<br/>
<br/>
So you just sit and watch her. She breathes heavily in and out. It's a beautiful sight. As you wait, fantasies play out in your mind. After she has switched with someone, you'll have to golemize her mask. You can put it under your control. You can make her golem feel affectionate toward you. You can--<br/>
<br/>
She stirs, and her eyes flutter open. She stares at the ceiling. Puzzlement creases her brow. She sits up, and her eyes fall on you.<br/>
<br/>
For five solid minutes neither of you speak. You just watch as she watches you, and watches her own new memories. You can almost read her thoughts: shock, anger, fear, astonishment. You wait until something like resignation settles on her features before you speak.<br/>
<br/>
"You don't like Chelsea," you tell her quietly. "I didn't know that, or else I wouldn't have done it to you. I would have made you my partner." She says nothing. "And your life sucks. I know that too. Would you like a new one?"<br/>
<br/>
She sucks in a sharp breath. "What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"You know exactly what I mean. I like you, Gloria. I mean, <i>now</i> I like you. Or maybe I just understand you better. I want to help you. Do you want me to help you?"<br/>
<br/>
She looks away, her eyes wide and her face tight.<br/>
<br/>
"There are a lot of girls who have it better than you. You can be one of them. You can get away from Chelsea. Get away from Kendra. Get away from your mom and your grandma--"<br/>
<br/>
"Stop it, Cindy," she gasps. She swallows. "What do you want from me? Really?"<br/>
<br/>
"I want to help you. You wouldn't owe me anything. You wouldn't even have to talk to me. I did something horrible to you. It's my way of making it up to you."<br/>
<br/>
"By doing something horrible to someone else," she gasps.<br/>
<br/>
"It doesn't have to be forever," you point out. "You were gone for only a week. You could take a week here and a week there, each one in a different girl. They'd barely notice a missing week from their lives. You could just jump from one to another--"<br/>
<br/>
She covers her face with her hands. You let her think about it. Long minutes pass.<br/>
<br/>
She sniffs and draws her hands down her cheeks, leaving them streaked with tears. "Oh God, you're a <i>witch,</i> Cindy, a total <i>witch.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Let me be a good witch, Gloria. Let me--"</span></div></div>


path: 112221121211122121111111211
author_id: seuzz
title: So Many Hands to Hold
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Let me be a good witch, Gloria," you say. "Let me turn you into Yumi Saito."<br/>
<br/>
Gloria rears back as though you've slapped her. "What did you say?"<br/>
<br/>
"I said, Let me turn you into Yumi Saito. It doesn't have to be permanent," you continue in a quiet and reassuring tone. "Just for a day. For a few days? Maybe for the weekend?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why would-- Why Yumi?" She turns up her nose in disgust, but you can see the interest in her eyes. <br/>
<br/>
"She's a friend of mine," you say. "So this isn't about her. It's about me wanting to make things up to you."<br/>
<br/>
"If you want to make things up to me," she says, "just let me go." She starts to get up, but then shrinks back after looking you--for just a moment--in the face. "I promise, I won't tell anyone. I won't make trouble for you."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not worried about that," you say. "Why won't you believe me? I want to help you out, Gloria."<br/>
<br/>
"Then just-- I should go, Cindy," she says, and now she does get to her feet, though she wobbles on them once she's up. She won't look at you. "This is all too weird."<br/>
<br/>
"Do you really want to go back to Chelsea and Kendra," you ask. "Chelsea knows about all this. Kendra too."<br/>
<br/>
"Kendra? But she's-- She's really someone else!"<br/>
<br/>
"Right now she is. But she might be herself again, soon. And there's still Chelsea."<br/>
<br/>
You don't like playing on her fears this way; you don't like intimating that Chelsea will want to plot against you, and will force Gloria into working with her. You'd rather that Gloria reached out willingly to take what you're offering. But you're sure she'll be unhappy in her old life, now that it's already been upended; and it's only fair that she reflect on <i>all</i> the facts.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, God, Cindy," she groans, and covers her face with her hands. "I'll do whatever you want me to do."<br/>
<br/>
"I want to do what <i>you</i> want me to do for you."<br/>
<br/>
"Then switch me with someone," she says in a miserable voice. "I don't care who."<br/>
<br/>
You can't stop yourself from making a face, though you quickly wipe it clean again. "I tell you what, Gloria," you say. "I'll make a copy of Yumi, and you can try out her life. We won't replace her, though. We'll just go off someplace private, the two of us, and spend a weekend together. You can see what it's like. Just a little vacation for you. How's that?"<br/>
<br/>
Gloria nods; it's more like a spasm. You stand to one side, and like a dog fearful of being whipped, she darts past you for the door.<br/>
<br/>
You have to shake your head after she's gone. You should have figured she'd be a hard girl to recruit; notwithstanding her disadvantages, it's got to be hard for her to admit that she might be happier being someone other than herself.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Cheerleading practice, naturally, turns out to be extremely awkward. Gloria shows up for it, but she can't concentrate on anything, and jumps anytime anyone speaks to her, and at one point, when she catches your eye from the sideline, Chelsea cocks an eyebrow over her non-performance, and smirks a little. You try turning it to your advantage by treating Gloria gently, and suggest she can just spend the session outside jogging around the track--which she accepts with something that looks a little like gratitude. When not running things, you otherwise keep watch on Chelsea and Kendra, and note that there is a frigid space between them; and Kendra keeps shooting you plaintive looks. Obviously, Sophia has spoken to her about her own resignation. But you won't have anything to tell Gracie until you've dealt with Chelsea somehow.<br/>
<br/>
The odd dynamics are picked up by the other cheerleaders, you're sure, for you catch them exchanging glances. Yumi doesn't ask what's up when, as she's changing out afterward, you sidle up and whisper that you'd like to talk to her, and ask if she can skip second period. <br/>
<br/>
She's pacing up and down the sides of the gym, ignoring the freshman class that has already started to gather for P.E., when you emerge from the locker room, steaming slightly from a quick shower. "I got someplace to show you," you murmur to her, and tug her toward the stairs leading up to the loft. She hangs back for just a moment, her mouth limply dangling open, before springing up the stairs after you.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God, Cindy," she gasps. "When did you get--"<br/>
<br/>
"While giving Steve a ride." You grimace. "I got the key off him. I figure that being squad captain really does entitle me to one. I mean, Chelsea had it when <i>she</i> was--"<br/>
<br/>
"I thought it was Gordon who had the key," Yumi says. She steps back as you unlock the door and push it open. "And I wouldn't give Steve a quickie just for a key to this place."<br/>
<br/>
"He's really good at it, Yumi," you coo. "There's a reason girls keep going back to him." You sigh elaborately. "After he gets bored with Kelsey I might try hooking up with him again. Come in and look around?" You giggle. "You can tell Jenny and them about it."<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes light up, and she steps past you, just over the threshold. It's enough. You'd stopped by Blackwell's before coming over and picked up another mask from him, and you have it positioned on a crate just inside the door. Smoothly, you reach over and take her from behind.<br/>
<br/>
After you've recovered the mask you chafe her wrists until she wakes, and put her fainting fit down to the overpowering stench of the place. She beats a hasty retreat.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"This is the voice of your mistress. Do you have anything you need to tell me?"<br/>
<br/>
There's silence on the other end of the line, and then Gordon groans. "I don't want to talk to you."<br/>
<br/>
"Why, is Chelsea there?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. I just-- This is so weird. I don't know who-- What--"<br/>
<br/>
"You have to do what <i>I</i> tell you, Gordon," you say firmly. You're at Blackwell's, playing with Yumi's mask and the blank that the golemized magician has just provided you. "Just keep playing the good boyfriend. Agree to everything that Chelsea says, and tell me all about it. So. What did you two talk about tonight?"<br/>
<br/>
"We talked about <i>you,</i> obviously." He sounds churlish. "She talked about Kelsey Blankenship and Amanda Ferguson and Kim Walsh--" <i>The latter takes you by surprise; you wouldn't have thought Chelsea would give two thinks to the student council president.</i> "And a bunch of other losers." His breathing turns labored. "She asked if <i>I</i> wanted to switch places with anyone."<br/>
<br/>
That makes you sit up straight. "What did you say to that?"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't say anything." More heavy breathing. "She got kind of pissed. Said I was only interested in her <i>body.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, next time tell her--" You drum your fingers on the table. You don't know how you'd be able to pull off a switch that involves a golem of Gordon Black. "Tell her you'll be her boyfriend no matter who she looks like."<br/>
<br/>
"I already did. I'm not <i>stupid,</i> Cindy."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Yes you are,</i> you can't help thinking. "Well, that's a point for you. Probably. Depends on how you said it."<br/>
<br/>
"I get this enough from Chelsea," he says hotly. "I don't need <i>you--</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Did she say anything about double-crossing me? She still hates me, doesn't she?"<br/>
<br/>
"Of course she does. But she just talked about keeping our heads down and our eyes open."<br/>
<br/>
"Do that. It's the smart thing anyway. Oh, and tell Steve he should totally get together with me again." Since talking with Yumi, Patterson has been getting back into your head; you're feeling horny, and he really knew how to make you feel good, much to an ill-suppressed distress on your part.<br/>
<br/>
"Happy to oblige, Cindy," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Really?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. You make me miserable, and you know what they say about misery and company." He hangs up before you can give him a properly waspish retort.<br/>
<br/>
Your phone tells you about two missed calls; you return Kendra's first. She's nearly out of her mind wanting to know what the hell is going on, and you spend an inordinately long time reassuring Gracie that she can stay on as Kendra if she wants. "But what about our <i>coven?</i>" she whines. "I can't get together with <i>Sophia</i> anymore!"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure you can," you say. "You can stop being such a bitch. You don't have to suck up to Chelsea anymore. You're my friend now, and I'm telling you that you should start being nicer to people like Sophia."<br/>
<br/>
"A leopard can't change her stripes," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Of course not, not when she has <i>spots,</i>" you say crossly. "Look, just keep on as before. Things will settle down in a few days, and then we'll talk again."<br/>
<br/>
"And Jason is still bugging me."<br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes. "I can take care of Lynch. Just remind me, okay?" A word to Gordon will be sufficient to settle Jason's hash. "I gotta go. Gloria's been calling me--"<br/>
<br/>
"And what am I supposed to do about <i>her?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Just. Hang. Loose," you reply through gritted teeth, and hang up before she can find <i>another</i> problem to share.<br/>
<br/>
"I want to be Yumi," Gloria says almost before you can say "Hello" to her. "Or, I don't care. Someone else. Anyone else." There's a hollow, haunted tone to her voice.<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong, Gloria?" You still have enough humanity that you feel genuine concern.<br/>
<br/>
"I need to get out of here. Can we do it tonight?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>That soon?</i> Whatever  happened, it must be awful. "Um, that's pretty short notice, Gloria. Can't it wait until-- Hang on, someone's trying to call in." Normally you'd be vexed by the crush of demands on your attention, but you can use the respite. You switch lines.<br/>
<br/>
It's Chelsea. "I decided who I want to be," she says the grand tone of someone who is bestowing a favor. "And I figure the sooner we get it done the better." <i>Just great.</i> "Jenny Ashton."<br/>
<br/>
The phone nearly slips from your grasp. Gloria-for-Yumi and Chelsea-for-Jenny? You were aiming to keep them apart.</span></div></div>


path: 1122211212111221211111112111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Two New Girls
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Jenny?" you ask, playing for time. "I know we talked about them, but I figured you'd be more interested in Yumi." You do have <i>her</i> mask ready, and Gloria said she'd go for <i>anyone.</i><br/>
<br/>
"It's Jenny who's the troublemaker," Chelsea says firmly. "She could make trouble for you too, Cindy."<br/>
<br/>
<i>I bet she could, with </i>you<i> operating her,</i> you think. "What does Gordon think about it? I mean, you <i>have</i> talked to him about it, haven't you?" you quickly add to cover up what to your ears sounds like a slip up.<br/>
<br/>
"He'll be fine with whatever I decide," Chelsea says. "In fact, I think he should switch with someone too. I mean, he's totally devoted to me, but--"<br/>
<br/>
<i>But you can't stand the thought of him going around with someone who isn't you, even if it's someone who </i>looks<i> just like you.</i><br/>
<br/>
Part of you thinks that Chelsea is being way to bossy, and that maybe you should impose your own authority here. But putting Chelsea into Jenny would be safer than almost any other place. You like Jenny, but there's no denying she's not a person of influence. She's a cute little tomboy, smart and sarcastic, and you know lots of guys of your kind and social level who have a crush on her. She and her friends take advanced classes, but they're not hyper-ambitious AP strivers like Kelsey and Amanda and Geoff Mansfield and Martin Gardinhire. They're not taking the classes for college credit, but because they're smart enough to take them, and like the material in and of itself. (<i>That</i> is an attitude you cannot fathom.) And since they're smart and insolent they are often a thorn in the side of their social betters: Chelsea Cooper and Kelsey Blankenship both.<br/>
<br/>
If Chelsea got a look at what the world looked like from <i>their</i> perspective, it might actually do her some good.<br/>
<br/>
So it's with a little more cheer in your voice that you accede to her request. "We'll do it tomorrow," you say. "Otherwise we'll have to wait till Monday." You look at Yumi's mask. "I know how to get her for you. You and Gordon spend lunch up in the loft tomorrow. Tell everyone else who might to up there to stay clear."<br/>
<br/>
"They wouldn't dare come up if they know me and Gordon are there," Chelsea laughs. <i>No they wouldn't.</i><br/>
<br/>
You call Gloria back and tell her to meet you at your house. Then you call Yumi.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You say nothing to Gloria--the new, fake Gloria--as she quietly dresses; you've nothing to say to her, and the haggard expression on her face suggests she doesn't want to talk either. You sit on the bed and gently stroke Yumi's hand.<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes flutter open and she looks at the ceiling, then looks over at you. Her cheek twitches, and she jerks her hand out of yours. "Feeling better, Gloria," you ask.<br/>
<br/>
She groans and rubs her eyes. "I'm always fainting when I get together with you, Cindy." She takes a deep breath, and her hands go to her breasts. She frowns and cranes her neck to look down at them. "Well, everything can't be perfect," she sighs. You'd disagree: Yumi's breasts may not be as ample as Gloria's, but they are big enough, and round and succulent. "My clothes?"<br/>
<br/>
"Right here. I folded them up for you." You move to the chair by your desk and watch openly as she sits up and pulls them on. She catches you watching her, and shifts to hide herself a little, even though she's not showing anything that you haven't seen in the changing room before and after cheerleader practice. "Don't expect everything to be <i>all</i> sunshine and lollipops for you," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"Why?" She looks over in some alarm. "What am I supposed to do?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing," you quickly assure her. "I told you, this is all about me trying to make things up to you. It's just everyone has problems, and I'm sure Yumi's no exception."<br/>
<br/>
"She's still got it better than--" She catches sight of the other Gloria, and turns pale. "Oh God, that is so creepy." She swallows. "That's ... That's me."<br/>
<br/>
"That's Gloria Rea," you gently correct her. "You're Yumi Saito now."<br/>
<br/>
"And that's Yumi?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes. But she doesn't know it. She's asleep under that mask. That person over there? She'll talk and act just like Gloria. The only difference is that she has to do what <i>you</i> tell her to do."<br/>
<br/>
Yumi licks her lips. "Go home," she hoarsely tells the golem. "No, wait," she says as it moves toward the door. "Just leave. I don't care where you go. You probably don't want to go home." The golem shrugs, and looks down at the floor as it leaves.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe it would show compassion if you asked Gloria about whatever crisis pushed her into your arms finally, but you decide that tact is better. "You should probably be nice to her. She's going to be friends with us. You and me and Lin and Eva and Jessica, I mean. Chelsea doesn't trust her any more."<br/>
<br/>
Yumi pauses as she pulls her shirt down over her head and gives you a sidelong look. "What <i>is</i> going on with Chelsea?"<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have to worry about Chelsea. That's another reason I wanted to do this for you. So you could get away from her. Chelsea--" You stumble over how to refer to the person who will be looking like Chelsea. "I'm the squad captain now, and she can't do anything about it. So just hang out with me." You get up and take her arm in yours. "I want us to be friends."<br/>
<br/>
She stiffens, and she's still stiff when she returns your embrace. "I guess I should thank you for this, Cindy," she says. "So ... Thank you."<br/>
<br/>
"You're welcome. So." You hop onto the bed. "You wanna hang out a little? Talk? Paint each other's toenails."<br/>
<br/>
"I think I just wanna go home. I should get used to things."<br/>
<br/>
"It won't be hard. Just relax into the part." You grin. "I expect to see the bright and bubbly Yumi we all love when I see you at practice tomorrow."<br/>
<br/>
Yumi smiles tightly, then picks up her purse and goes.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Just ignore them," you say. Jenny looks between you and gym floor, where a class is lined up and shooting baskets.<br/>
<br/>
"But if any of them says anything--"<br/>
<br/>
"Like Gordon and them would pay any attention to a bunch of sophomores." You push her, and she puts a foot on the bottom step. Then, with another brief backward glance, she hurries up. You follow.<br/>
<br/>
It wasn't hard to talk her into making a lunchtime trip up to snoop in the fuck room: Yumi had already told her about the brief tour you'd tried giving her. But your heart is still beating as you put the key in the lock. It will all be over with fast, but something tells you Chelsea might find a way to cock it up.<br/>
<br/>
"God, if you could get me a key to this place--"<br/>
<br/>
"Why? You wanna try it out yourself," you smirk as you push the door open. "You and James could--"<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up. Him and Carson are always-- I think maybe <i>they</i> have a key to up here." She pauses in the doorway. "They're always acting like they know what goes on up here."<br/>
<br/>
"<i>Everyone</i> knows what goes on here, Jenny." You pull her inside and close the door. "It all happens right there." You nod at the gym mats piled up in the center of the loft.<br/>
<br/>
"Ew, gross." She steps toward them, disgust and fascination fighting for control of her face. "So that's where Chelsea and Gordon--"<br/>
<br/>
"That's where we what?" a voice cuts in. You and Jenny both wheel; Chelsea has stepped out from behind a corner, a gloating expression on her face.<br/>
<br/>
"Chelsea!" you gasp in pretend surprise. "What are you--?"<br/>
<br/>
"Cut the crap, Cindy. Gordon!" Gordon rises from behind a crate, and steps forward to grab Jenny from behind. "You like it up here, Jenny? You're going to be spending a lot of time here."<br/>
<br/>
"What are you--? Let <i>go,</i> you ape!" Jenny snarls at Gordon.<br/>
<br/>
"That's no way to talk to your boyfriend, Jenny," Chelsea says. She steps forward, a mask in her hands. "What do you think, Gordon? She's kind of skinny." She crinkles her nose.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, don't you fucking dare!" Jenny's voice rises to a shriek.<br/>
<br/>
"Just get it over with, Chelsea," you snap. A shiver goes down your spine. This is worse than "cocking it up."<br/>
<br/>
"In a minute, Cindy," Chelsea says. "I've got something I want to say to her." She puts a hand on her hip. "It's nothing personal, Jenny. Well, maybe it is. Real personal. You and your friends are so smart, always talking about us. Well, it stops now. Because <i>I'm</i> going to be doing the talking for you. <i>As</i> you." She presses the mask onto Jenny's face.<br/>
<br/>
"Was all that really necessary?" you demand.<br/>
<br/>
"Like you weren't going to do that to <i>me.</i>" She does a little double-take when she sees your face, and turns just a trifle pale. She rallies, though, and grasps you by your elbows. "But that's all in the past, isn't it, Cindy? We're on the same team. And you're the boss." She swallows a little on that last bit. "We're going to have so much fun. You and me. You and Jenny." She giggles.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, unless you're planning on being Jenny for the rest of your life, just remember that it's only temporary. And she'll remember everything you just said and did when she's back to being herself."<br/>
<br/>
"Can't you give her amnesia or something? Oh, what does it matter? It won't matter, will it, Cindy? No one would believe her anyway."<br/>
<br/>
"It could be awkward. It was awkward with Gloria."<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea's eyes gleam. "Right. But you smoothed everything over with her. I saw it at practice today. She's <i>your</i> friend now, isn't she?"<br/>
<br/>
You say nothing; it sounds like there's a second meaning to her words.<br/>
<br/>
"Now, what about you, Gordon? We should put you in one of Jenny's friends. Which one?"<br/>
<br/>
The golem's eyes briefly meet yours. "I'll do whatever you want me to do, Chelsea," he says tonelessly.<br/>
<br/>
If you're going to forestall an awkward switch involving Gordon, now's the time to do it.</span></div></div>


