# chapters

path: 114144422
author_id: seuzz
title: Some Ginger and Mary Jane
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You don't know Justin that well, and have never hung out with him. He has a mixed reputation. He is shabby and unkempt, dressing in sloppy t-shirts and torn jeans. His shaggy brown hair hangs down over his eyebrows and ears, and he has a stoner's stare and his baritone is scuffed with a smoker's rasp. He hangs out at the portables with a tough crowd, and you've heard rumors that his drug intake is considerably wider than just weed. But he's a good-looking kid, and you've heard girls moaning about how hot he is.<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head. "I'm late getting home," you tell him. "I got detention <i>and</i> I'm grounded."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fucking live a little, why don'cha?" he sneers, and extends you the joint. But the jeer only hardens your determination to shake him off. And when Dane comes shuffling up just then with a joyful "Justin, man, whatcha got there for me?" he distracts Roth long enough for you to make your escape.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You haven't just lost your internet privileges but your cell phone privileges, so that it's not until the next morning that you're able to talk to your friends again. At least Caleb is hanging out next to the gym as you come in from the student parking lot. "Hey, you waiting for me or something?" you call out.<br/>
<br/>
He looks startled at your appearance. "What? Oh. Hey. No, I'm waiting for—"<br/>
<br/>
He bites his lip and glances around. "Yeah, sure, I'm waiting for you," he says, and detaches himself from the wall. "So, how was your night?" he asks as you trudge down the breezeway toward the main building.<br/>
<br/>
"Pisser. I got my homework done by eight, then laid on my bed staring at the ceiling."<br/>
<br/>
"You should've called someone, gone somewhere."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm <i>grounded,</i> asshole. Remember?"<br/>
<br/>
He shoots you a dark look.<br/>
<br/>
"So the whole time I was laying there," you continue, "all I could think of was my dad saying, How about you try reading a book for once? Fuck. If I wanted to read a book—"<br/>
<br/>
You break off as the doors ahead swing open and a quartet of cheerleaders comes striding out. Chelsea Cooper, the imperious head cheerleader, is in the lead, with her flunkies Gloria Rea, Kendra Saunders, and Maria Vasquez trailing behind. Caleb slows up and stops, and you stop with him, to give the girls a fast, admiring look as they charge past, and to stare at their asses after they're gone.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb punches you in the side. "Put your eyes back in your head," he says, as though he wasn't doing the same thing.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You don't know what his problem is—it's not like <i>he's</i> the one that got grounded and had his electronics taken away—but Caleb is cool to you all morning long. He grunts at you in first and fourth periods, and when it's time for lunch he says he's got some stuff to think about and will be eating alone. So you and Keith wind up eating out front again with Carson and his friends.<br/>
<br/>
They still want to talk about your time capsule disaster. "Don't you at least get your choice of topic to write on?" James asks. He's not even paying attention to you as he talks, but lazily eats his sandwich while staring off across the quad toward the main office. "I mean, technically you submitted two items—"<br/>
<br/>
"Prescott only submitted one," Carson interrupts. "The hair dryer. That's how come he's screwed."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I do gotta write <i>two</i> papers," you mumble. You don't know why you tell them this—it's not like they'll feel any pity for you, and will likely only cackle over your misfortune—but you're feeling lower than goose shit. "One on each. And Walberg will only pass me with an automatic D on them."<br/>
<br/>
But no one laughs. Instead, Carson sucks some peanut butter off a tooth and gives James a querying glance. "So you're saying," he says when he turns back to you, "that you can write a brilliant paper—two brilliant papers—and the best you can do is get a D on them?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's right," you sigh.<br/>
<br/>
"What if you write a jerk-off paper? Will he lower it to a D-minus, or flunk you outright?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," you sigh.<br/>
<br/>
"I'd go for the jerk-off paper, then," Carson says. "Walberg's totally screwed up your incentives, so there ain't no reason to—"<br/>
<br/>
"But my <i>dad</i> wants to see the papers I write," you explain. "And he says he wants to see some 'A-plus material' from me."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck," James sighs. It almost shocks you to see that you're getting sympathy from him and Carson.<br/>
<br/>
"Marijuana paper shouldn't be too hard to write," Carson observes, half to himself. "It was a good choice. Walberg told you that, didn't he?" You shake your head. "Well, he should have. It's an excellent choice. Sending the future a sample of a popular but controlled substance."<br/>
<br/>
"You think they won't have mary jane in the future?" Keith jeers.<br/>
<br/>
"Depends on how long they wait to dig it up. Anyway, it's a highly emblematic token of our times."<br/>
<br/>
"Highly emblematic <i>toke</i>, you mean," Keith sniggers.<br/>
<br/>
Carson gives him a cold look. "Do you use, Tilley?"<br/>
<br/>
"Use what?"<br/>
<br/>
"<i>Use what?</i>" Carson mimics in a jeer. "The fuck do you think I mean? You'd shit yourself before—" He turns to you. "Where'd you get the stuff for the time capsule? You didn't fuckin' buy it off'a Chen, I know that."<br/>
<br/>
"I got it from Spencer Osbourne. I thought I told you."<br/>
<br/>
Carson grunts. "And where is it now?"<br/>
<br/>
Keith interrupts. "Me and my peeps celebrated its liberation by, you know—" He mimes smoking a joint.<br/>
<br/>
Carson turns back to him. "I will give you a twenty dollar bill to buy a single doobie off Gary Chen," he tells Keith. "You can keep the change after bringing it to me."<br/>
<br/>
"How much do they cost?" Keith asks.<br/>
<br/>
"See?" Carson informs the group. "Tilley doesn't even know the market price—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I'll do it, cocksucker!" Keith snarls, and puts out his palm. Carson raises a hip to extract his wallet. "Come find me after school, and I'll have your—"<br/>
<br/>
"No, you come find me," Carson retorts. "And I'll give you till Friday, even. But if you don't bring me blunt by then, I want <i>forty</i> back from you."<br/>
<br/>
"End of business today," Keith promises. "End of business today!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>Seventh period.</i> Caleb is still in the library for his study hall when you enter for yours, and you stop short in the doorway when you see the tableau. He's sharing a table with Kendra Saunders.<br/>
<br/>
Kendra is one of the cheerleaders, and one of the snootiest as well as one of the most beautiful. Her figure, in truth, is nothing to write home about, for she a little too scrawny for your taste, with small boobs and a track runner's build. Maybe she got it from her ancestors, who probably hunted on the Serengeti, for she is of Kenyan descent (a point she is proud to emphasize when her African-ness is discussed), with a milk-chocolate complexion and high cheekbones. Her hair is dyed an auburn shade and hangs in tightly bound dreadlocks down to her shoulders. With her strong bones and regal bearing, it isn't hard to imagine her in a Pharaoh's headdress, playing the part of Cleopatra.<br/>
<br/>
And, like Caleb, she is just rising from the table they are sharing, and packing her books.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb sees you out of the corner of his eye, and visibly flinches. Kendra also pauses when her eye falls on you, then resumes packing her things. You assume she is going to flee in embarrassment at being seen with your friend. But instead, to your amazement, she puts her hand on Caleb's arm, smiles brightly, and murmurs something at him. He reddens and remains stiffly on his feet as she breezes past.<br/>
<br/>
She hardly looks at you, though, as she exits.<br/>
<br/>
"Dude," you mutter when you join Caleb at his table. "Were you studying with Kendra?"<br/>
<br/>
He runs a fast tongue over his lower lip and dodges your eye. "She's, uh, looking for a tutor," he mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"No!" you exclaim.<br/>
<br/>
"Just a little tutoring. She, uh, has to brush up for her SATs, and wants some help on the math."<br/>
<br/>
"And she asked <i>you?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"I was in here when she came in, so she just asked me. It's only for, like, a session or two."<br/>
<br/>
You chortle. "That's the way it starts! And then it's— Oh!"<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
You lean in on him and grin. "You're gonna let me hang out with you two, right?"<br/>
<br/>
He pales. "No!"<br/>
<br/>
"Why not? If it's just a tutoring session—"<br/>
<br/>
"Just shut up." He flushes. "Shut up," he repeats, and hurries away.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're at your locker changing out books for your last class of the day when Keith sidles up. "Hey, you wanna make ten bucks?" he asks you in a low voice.<br/>
<br/>
"I wouldn't blow you for ten thousand."<br/>
<br/>
He makes a face. "No," he says, "it's my bet with Ioeger. Picking him up that spliff. I need you to handle it for me."<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck? Man, you <i>are</i> a chicken-shit!"<br/>
<br/>
"I am not! Problem is, Chen won't sell to me."<br/>
<br/>
<i>"What?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"I went and found him after lunch, told him what I wanted, and he told me no!"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't believe it."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you try! You can have ten of what he gives you back in change for the blunt."<br/>
<br/>
He holds up a twenty dollar bill, and arches his eyebrows pleadingly.</span></div></div>


path: 1141444221
author_id: seuzz
title: Buying More Than Bargained For
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You snatch the bill from Keith.<br/>
<br/>
"Fine," you growl at him. "But I'm keeping <i>all</i> the change!" When Keith glowers, you add, "If you want any of it, you have to come with me."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, keep it all," he whines. "Fucking highway robbery is what it is."<br/>
<br/>
You give him a look and turn back to your locker. "Where's Chen now?" you ask as you finish changing out your books. "Keith?" You look around when you get no answer, and find that he's gone. "Chickenshit," you mutter.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You don't know where to find Gary Chen—drug-dealer and gangbanger—so as soon as the final bell has rung you race out to the student parking lot on the chance that you can catch him there. Anxiously you scan the crowd that comes pouring from the school, and are almost in despair after it has thinned to a trickled without your spotting him. You are checking the time, and gauging how much leeway you have for getting to detention late without getting in trouble, when you do a double-take at the sight of Spencer Osbourne coming out with some of his friends.<br/>
<br/>
You make a line straight at him, and he blinks as you thunder up. "Hey man, you seen Chen around?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Gary Chen. You know."<br/>
<br/>
Spencer stares, but Adrian Semple answers for him. "Hey yeah, I saw him about five minutes ago, hanging out back at the Music Annex." He smiles impudently at you, as though reading your mind and sharing a private joke.<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks." You sprint off. You think you hear your name shouted behind you, but you ignore it as you streak away.<br/>
<br/>
The Music Annex is clear on the other side of the school, and you're wheezing and nursing a stitch in your side when you round the last corner to come in sight of it. There's a few kids out front, but none of them are Chen, and with a worried frown you circle around to check out the rear of the building.<br/>
<br/>
That's where you find him.<br/>
<br/>
Gary Chen is not a big guy. He's probably a little shorter than you, but what he lacks in height he makes up in compactness. How muscled he is you don't know, for he wraps himself in heavy jackets and shirts, but he has a soccer-player's legs and a junkyard dog's talent in a scrap. He's one of the more psychotic bullies at school, but he's rarely hassled you, and then only because you accidentally bumped into him. But you've seen him in action, and you know that he has a short, seething temper and hard fists. He's squatting on the balls of his feet at the corner of the Music Annex now, with a cigarette and a scowl. A dark ski cap is pulled down to his eyebrows.<br/>
<br/>
So you approach him cautiously. "Hey man," you call out in a voice that is free of any quaver only because you still haven't caught your breath. "Uh, you have anything I can buy?"<br/>
<br/>
He turns his head only a fraction, and his mica-like eyes have the dead chill of a cobra's. "Like what?" he demands.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, like—" You mime taking a hit off a joint.<br/>
<br/>
"You speak English, you fucking shit?"<br/>
<br/>
"A joint," you sigh. You are still too blown from the run to be properly terrified. "A toke, a doobie, a—"<br/>
<br/>
You take a step back as Chen rears onto his feet. His lips peel back from hard, white, even teeth. "Who for?" he demands.<br/>
<br/>
"Whuh? Well, uh, me!"<br/>
<br/>
He stalks up to you in three quick strides. You stumble back a step, and a patch of itchy sweat breaks out between your shoulder blades.<br/>
<br/>
Chen studies you hard, takes a quick, hard drag on his cigarette, sucks in three fast, huffing breaths, and exhales a thin stream of smoke out of the side of his mouth.<br/>
<br/>
"Bullshit," he says. "Who you buyin' for?"<br/>
<br/>
"What? No one, I—"<br/>
<br/>
Quick like a viper, his snatches at the side of your head. "Ow!" you cry as he slams you against the side of the building.<br/>
<br/>
<i>"Ow!"</i> he mimics as he crowds you. "I asked who you're fucking buying for, you little shit!"<br/>
<br/>
"A friend!" you gasp. "He asked me—! He couldn't find—! So—!" Now you are scared.<br/>
<br/>
"He give you the money? How much?" He knees you in the hip, just missing your jewels.<br/>
<br/>
"He gave me a twenty! What's the deal?"<br/>
<br/>
"You keepin' any for yourself?"<br/>
<br/>
"He could told me I could keep the change!"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck!"<br/>
<br/>
Chen releases you and steps back. You peep up at him with a wince. He's glowering at you.<br/>
<br/>
"This friend o' yours got a monobrow and a face as ugly as dog shit?"<br/>
<br/>
You blink. That's not the most perfect description of Keith, but it's close enough, so you nod once. Then you say, "Except it's not for—"<br/>
<br/>
"Shut your fucking yawp. Meet me out in the parking lot."<br/>
<br/>
"The student parking lot?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, the fucking parking lot of the fucking Mobley building." He swings at your head, and though he misses by a good eighteen inches, you flinch with another small cry. "Out front by the street, shit for brains. I'll meet you there in my ride."<br/>
<br/>
He stalks off toward the school. You wait until he's gone, then race back around the front of the building to be in position to meet him.<br/>
<br/>
It's ten minutes before he shows up, driving a Jeep with a canvas body. He doesn't even shut off the motor, but idles it while handing you a lumpy brown cylinder in a baggie. He snatches the twenty from you.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm doing you a solid, motherfucker," he tells you. "You don't sub-deal at my school, 'less'n we got a arrangement. We got a fucking arrangement? No?" He shows you the twenty, then crumples it up in his fist and tosses it over his shoulder into the passenger seat. "If you and monobrow wanna subdeal, you make a deal with me. So I'll be wanting 'nother twenty from you tomorrow. You can find me where you found me just now, fourth lunch. I don't get that other twenty, I come lookin' for you. If I don't get that twenty, then you get a ass-kicking. Understand?" You gulp and nod. "And maybe we'll also have a nice conversation about how you and and monobrow'll be buyin' from me starting tomorrow, and what your cut of the subdeals'll be. You'll like that," he informs you, then jumps into the street with a blast of exhaust fumes.<br/>
<br/>
The hair is standing on end as you stagger back toward the school.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"You'll take it and you'll smoke it in good health," you snarl at Carson as you tuck the baggie into his front shirt pocket. He stiffens and grimaces at you. "And by good health," you add, "I hope you get cancer and die in an alleyway."<br/>
<br/>
It's Wednesday morning, and you arrived at school early so you could intercept him and James. You would have gone over to his house after school yesterday and stuffed the baggie down his throat, but you were grounded.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus," Carson mutters. "What did you say to him?"<br/>
<br/>
"And wasn't it Tilley," James asks, "who was supposed to—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Keith asked me to handle it 'cos Chen wouldn't sell to him. He sold to me, though, and I think he thinks I'm supposed to start sub-dealing for him or something."<br/>
<br/>
"Shit," Carson says. "You can't sub-deal, you don't know the first thing—"<br/>
<br/>
<i>"Of course I can't sub-deal, you goatfucker!"</i><br/>
<br/>
"So just tell him no," James suggests. His expression remains flinty even after you turn an incredulous stare onto him.<br/>
<br/>
"You can help me by going and fucking yourself," you advise him. "It'd be better than saying stupid shit like—"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't burst your hymen, Prescott," Carson snaps. "Chen can't <i>make</i> you sub-deal for him. You just have to stand your ground."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I'll do that," you retort. "I'll tell him I'm not interested but <i>you two</i> cocksuckers are. You're the ones who wanted the thing." You pat Carson's pocket meaningfully. "So he'd believe me if I told him—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, hold on there," James says, "just because you're up shit creek doesn't mean you have to try dragging us—"<br/>
<br/>
<i>"Just try telling him no!"</i> you scream at Lamont, who staggers back a step. "Oh, now I'm for sure going to wind him up and aim him at you two fucking ass-clowns!" You wheel and stomp off to class.<br/>
<br/>
It's still early, so you're slouching in your desk in Mr. Walberg's mostly empty classroom when Caleb comes in. He says nothing to you but busies himself with setting up for class, daintily arranging his notebooks and pencils and pens and erasers on his desk. You stare at him awhile before he catches the expression on your face. "What?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing."<br/>
<br/>
"Then don't look at me like that."<br/>
<br/>
You glower at him. Then you ask, "What are you doing for lunch?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. Probably eat with Carson and Jenny and them. Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"Pssh, you can do it without me. I'm never talking to them again. Or to Tilley either, if I can help it."<br/>
<br/>
"Why?" he asks. "What happened?"<br/>
<br/>
You do a little double-take at him, for there's an eager note in his voice.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, let's just go off and eat, just you and me, man," you say. "I don't got anyone else I want to eat lunch with."<br/>
<br/>
"What happened?" he insists.<br/>
<br/>
You glance around. The room is mostly empty but just beginning to fill up. So you scoot your desk over close to him and tell him in a low voice of your misadventure with Chen.<br/>
<br/>
"So I'm gonna be late to English, too," you conclude, "'cos that's when I gotta go find Chen."<br/>
<br/>
"But you don't want to talk to him, Will!" Caleb insists. "That's just crazy!"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't wanna go find him," you retort, "but he'll come find me if I don't."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe he's forgotten. You know what," he says with sudden energy, and takes out his phone. He hesitates over it for a moment, then puts it away. "You should go talk to Kim about it. You know, Kim Walsh."<br/>
<br/>
"How come?" you demand.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, she's the student council president. She should probably know about this!"</span></div></div>


path: 11414442211
author_id: seuzz
title: Narc Narc, Who's There?
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You seriously doubt the student council president can do anything about the school's drug dealer. But when Caleb mentions that Kim has a study hall third period, you decide maybe it is worth saying something to her. It's the hour before you're supposed to go looking for Chen. Better still, it's the period when you have Career Planning, one of your least favorite classes, and it gives you an excuse to skip.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Kim takes her study hall inside the main office, which is a little scary, but you square your shoulders and march in while it's still the break period between second and third, so it's not like you're tardy. You glance around, then slip up to the front counter to ask one of the administrative assistants if she's seen Kim Walsh around. The assistant—one of three, each of them shaped like a melted marshmallow that's been sewn up inside a too-small pantsuit—dimples at you and points down the hallway to the principal's office. You swallow and nod your thanks. "The conference room on the left," she calls after you.<br/>
<br/>
That would be the first doorway you come to, and you peep in. The room is very beige under soft fluorescent lights, and is just big enough to hold a medium-sized conference table and ten chairs. Kim Walsh is hunched inside one of these with her school books spread out in front of her.<br/>
<br/>
Kim is a small girl with strawberry-colored hair and a very pale skin. She has a pert nose, a pert mouth, and large eyes. You don't know her that well—she hangs out with a crowd several tiers above your own in the school hierarchy—but you've always had the impression that she is very gentle and kind-hearted. Full of responsibility, too. She would have to be, to want to become student council president.<br/>
<br/>
Her head is lowered and she is staring at something in her lap when you tap at the door. When she doesn't react, you knock harder, and she shoots her head up with a stricken expression. "Hey, Kim," you say. "You got a minute?"<br/>
<br/>
She stares at you, her eyes hard and her mouth haggard. Then she composes herself and tightens her jaw into a grim line. "Yeah, sure, whatever," she says, and takes her phone from her lap to set it on the table by her books. "What's up?" She seems to flinch as you enter the room.<br/>
<br/>
"I've got kind of a problem," you tell her. "Not a big one and not, uh, one you can probably do anything about." Kim's expression turns hooded as you settle into a chair, and you get the impression she's silently cussing you out. "But it's something that, uh, you probably need to know about. Or the administration needs to know about. Should know about."<br/>
<br/>
"Can you come to the—?" She interrupts herself with a swallow. "Point? I've got homework I need to get done."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, sure. You know about Gary Chen, right?" you say. "I mean, you know who he is," you stammer as Kim's eyes suddenly sharpen. "And you know how he, um ... deals?"<br/>
<br/>
Kim stares at you like she's only now seen you for the first time. "Yeah, I know all about that," she says when the silence has become awkward.<br/>
<br/>
"Does the administration know?"<br/>
<br/>
A pink spot shows in the middle of her snow-white forehead. "I don't know, uh, Will," she says in a very cold tone. "Why don't you ask them?"<br/>
<br/>
You squirm. "Well, I thought I'd ask you first. 'Cos he, uh, threatened me yesterday. Chen, I mean."<br/>
<br/>
"Threatened you?" Kim repeats.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I was—"<br/>
<br/>
"What were you even talking to him for?" she demands.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, confession time, I was buying from him. Not for myself, but for someone else."<br/>
<br/>
"Who?"<br/>
<br/>
You sigh. "It's a long story."<br/>
<br/>
"Who?" she repeats in a harder tone.<br/>
<br/>
"I was buying for Keith Tilley, who was buying for Carson Ioeger. It was a stupid bet. Carson bet Keith that he didn't have the stick to buy something off Chen. That's all. And Keith gave the job to me."<br/>
<br/>
Kim's eyes narrow. "So do you come squealing to me?" She leans forward with a glittering eye. "What did Chen say to you?"<br/>
<br/>
You squirm some more. "He wants to see me next period. He's shaking me down for some extra money, and he's talking, like, he wants me to sub-deal for him. That's what he said," you hastily add, "though I wasn't! He accused me of trying to sub-deal at the school, and he said he'd set me up if—"<br/>
<br/>
You falter as a nasty smile spreads across Kim's face.<br/>
<br/>
"If you start dealing marijuana at the school, Will," she says in a very cold, very prim voice, "I will have to talk to Mr. Sagansky about it."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I don't want to! That's why I—! So why don't we go talk to Mr. Sagansky about it now?" You half-rise from your seat.<br/>
<br/>
But Kim doesn't move, and only measures you with a very long look. "When are you supposed to meet Chen to talk about it?" she asks. <br/>
<br/>
"Next period."<br/>
<br/>
"Well," she says, and she turns away to straighten out her books and rearrange her writing implements, "how about you go keep that appointment with him, then come tell me what he said. Do you have my cell number?" She gives it to you when you shake your head. "Text me what he said, and then I'll text you back, and we'll proceed from there." She folds her hands on the table and gives you a kind of gloating smile.<br/>
<br/>
You can't help shuddering all over—her grin gives you a feeling like cold seaweed sliding down your bare back. "Yeah, okay," you mumble. "I mean, I don't mean to be a narc here—"<br/>
<br/>
"It's okay, Will," she says. "I'm actually really glad you came to see me about this." Her smile flips over into a small frown, and her eyebrows peak over eyes that have suddenly turned liquid with concern. "I do worry about you. You don't have a lot of friends, do you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, no, I do have—"<br/>
<br/>
"That's probably why Gary singled you out. He's <i>very good,</i> I've noticed, at picking out people who are vulnerable and can be manipulated." She leans forward. "I was so sorry to hear about you and Lisa," she says.<br/>
<br/>
A hard blush creeps up your scalp, putting your hair on end.<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks for talking, Kim," you mumble. "I'll, uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"You'll need to get a tardy slip before returning to class," she adds. "From the front desk. You are going back to class, aren't you? I'd hate to hear that you're <i>skipping.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll do that," you tell her through gritted teeth, and she smiles and gives you a curt nod of dismissal.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You've a burning lump in your stomach when you exit your third period class and turn toward the music annex. For now, in addition to having Chen to worry about, you've got Kim on your mind.<br/>
<br/>
You didn't really expect any help from her—only some wet, drippy words of concern and sympathy—but you weren't expecting her to <i>send you to talk to Chen</i>, with <i>orders to report back what he says.</i> It leaves you feeling like an FBI informant.<br/>
<br/>
Contra to what he promised you yesterday, Chen isn't by the music annex when you go looking, and he doesn't show up by the time the bell for fourth period rings. You should return to class and take your tardy, but you make the mistake of asking some kids who are hunched out front of the portables if they've seen Chen. "He's back there," one of them says, jerking his chin at the cluster of portables. "And he's in a bad mood," he adds with a sharkish grin. "You better be lookin' to buy a fuckload of ganja, or I wouldn' go lookin' to talk to him if I was you." The rest of the kids laugh in an unfeeling way.<br/>
<br/>
You nod, swallow, and trudge off in the indicated direction. You dread it, but if he's in a bad mood, it seems best to meet him, as you had promised.<br/>
<br/>
You find him at the very back, sitting cross-legged on the grass and gazing out across the open fields west of the school. He starts a little when he catches you out of the corner his eye, but he doesn't snarl. Then looks surprised by the cigarette he's balancing between his fingers and takes a tentative sip off it before grinding it into the grass. "Hey," he greets you in a quiet voice. "What's up?"<br/>
<br/>
"I, uh, came looking for you," you stammer. "You weren't out at the music building, like, uh, you said you'd be yesterday." Chen gives you a blank look. "You, uh, did want to talk to me today. Didn't you?"<br/>
<br/>
Chen stares at you, then shakes himself. "Oh, yeah," he says, and feels at a pocket. He takes out a pack of cigarettes, looks at it, then puts it back. "Well, forget about it."<br/>
<br/>
You blink. You'd love to "forget about it," but your instincts tell you not to take him up on the offer immediately. "You want that extra twenty? That you wanted me to bring you?"<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a dirty look, then sighs. "No."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay." You edge back a step. "Um, sorry I bothered you."<br/>
<br/>
"No bother," he replies, and goes back to staring out across the fields.<br/>
<br/>
Then he turns to look up at you. "You never bought from me before," he says. "Keith neither. Why'd you try buying yesterday?" His glance is very keen.<br/>
<br/>
"It was a bet," you stammer. "Uh, we have a friend who bet Keith he wouldn't, uh, try to buy off you. You wouldn't sell to Keith, but he didn't want to lose the bet, so he asked me to come see you."<br/>
<br/>
"Who's your friend? The one who—"<br/>
<br/>
"Carson Ioeger."<br/>
<br/>
Chen's brow darkens, and he takes his cigarettes out again. "Ioeger, huh?" he says as he lights one. "Well, tell Ioeger I'm not selling to him, okay? Not to him, not to you, not to anyone." He turns away. "I'm closing up shop."</span></div></div>


path: 114144422111
author_id: seuzz
title: Motel Hell
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It sounds like you've got off real easy—miraculously easy—and you're tempted to just let everything quietly drop. <br/>
<br/>
But Chen can't be serious about "closing up shop." You're pretty certain he'll come looking for you again.<br/>
<br/>
So you spend the balance of fourth period squatting out by the Agricultural Annex composing a text to Kim reporting on your conversation with Chen.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Caleb wants to know all about how things went with Kim, and as it's just you and him eating lunch out by the tennis courts, you fill him in.<br/>
<br/>
He is shocked—<i>shocked!</i>—by what you have to tell him: about the bet Keith made with Carson, about your own attempt to buy weed from Chen, how Chen threatened you, and by Chen's supposed decision to stop dealing.<br/>
<br/>
"He can't mean it," Caleb says. "He's been dealing since he was a freshman. God! When I think about how much money he's probably made by now— And what's the football team supposed to do when their supply dries up? Play sober? Chen's just screwing with you," he says, and gives you a knowing look. "You got off real light."<br/>
<br/>
You agree.<br/>
<br/>
"But you say Kim knows all about Chen, and his dealing?" Caleb continues. "Well, she'd have to. Everyone at school does." He snickers. "But she didn't tell the administration? <i>That's</i> interesting."<br/>
<br/>
"Why is that interesting?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb gives you a puckish look, then leans in close. "Do you know what her family does for a living? How they make their money?"<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head.<br/>
<br/>
"They own a motel south of town." Again, he looks very knowing. "The kind of motel where you <i>pay by the hour.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
You blink. "Why would you pay by the hour and not by the night?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb looks disgusted by your naivete.<br/>
<br/>
"Because you're not <i>spending the night!</i> Only a couple of hours, usually in the afternoon. It's a place to do things, Will," he explains with grinding patience, "that you don't want to do in your own house, because, you know, you don't want people to know what you're doing and who you're doing it with. Like your wife or husband or"—he bites down on a smile—"parents."<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself blushing all over. "Are you serious?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hand to God," Caleb says, and raises a very prim palm. "It's the Donna Motor Courts, down on the south end of town. Her family owns it, and she helps run it." He snickers again.<br/>
<br/>
"How do you know this?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, come on, Will! I thought everyone knew! It's not a secret that her family owns the Donna."<br/>
<br/>
"So how long have you known?"<br/>
<br/>
"Long enough." He tears a dainty bite from his sandwich. "Okay, truth, it was Kendra that told me."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, yeah," you say. "Kendra."<br/>
<br/>
He stops in mid-chew to frown. "What does that mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, <i>Kendra.</i> She would know, wouldn't she?" Now you lean in on him. "And I guess your tutoring sessions are going real good. Sounds like you're learning more from her than she's—"<br/>
<br/>
"They're going okay," Caleb says. "And sure, we talk."<br/>
<br/>
"How many have you had? Didn't you just set them up yesterday?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb's eyes dart about. "We've been texting to set them up."<br/>
<br/>
"And talking too already, I guess. Do you think she likes you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Likes me?" Caleb asks, and slowly starts to blush.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, come on, man. Don't tell me you wouldn't love it if she liked you."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'm not going to try starting anything with her, Will! You know, she's up here with, like, Chelsea and the cheerleaders." He gestures with his free hand, like he's setting a figurine on a shelf high up. "And we're down here." He brushes the air near the ground. "Although," he adds, and his gaze goes distant.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, you're thinking about it, aren't you?" You chortle.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm just thinking— I don't know what I'm thinking!" He sits up very straight.<br/>
<br/>
Then he starts gathering his stuff up. "Where are you going?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Off to think," he says. "I've got classes, you know. Real classes I can't skip. Not like the bullshit classes <i>you</i> take."<br/>
<br/>
He stalks off, leaving you with your jaw hanging open. Caleb has given you shit before about your class schedule, but this is the first time like he's talked as though he's <i>offended</i> by it.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Kim texts you back and asks to meet you after school, and after your talk with Caleb it gives you a queer turn when she suggests that you come out to the Donna, where (she explains) she hangs out after school. You text back that you have detention with Mr. Walberg, and then have to go straight home because you're grounded.<br/>
<br/>
She doesn't reply, and that seems to be the end of it. <br/>
<br/>
But the next day—Thursday—just after you've settled into your desk for day four of detention, you do a hard double-take when Kim enters the classroom. She gives you a quick look as she strides over to present a note to Mr. Walberg. He adjusts his glasses, reads it, then in a rumbling voice informs you that you will be spending the balance of today's detention period with "Miss Walsh."<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks for getting me out of there," you pant as you hurry along after her into the hallway.<br/>
<br/>
"Cram it," she tells you. "What time do you have to be home? And where do you live? Okay, then you've got time to do an errand for me," she adds after you stutter out an answer. "You know where the Donna Motor Court is? Go straight out there after you stop at your locker. Fast as you can. Look for me in the main office."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't need to stop at my locker, I've got my—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes you do," she says. "There's something in there, and you need to pick it up and bring it with you. Don't argue with me, Will. You won't like it if I decide I have to <i>convince</i> you."<br/>
<br/>
Your heart skips several beats, and in those moments Kim swerves and takes off down another hallway. You stare after her, then dodge into the wing where your locker is, and with trembling fingers twist open the combination lock on your locker. It's full of a canvas bag you've never seen before. After blinking at it for a few seconds, you take it out and sling it over your shoulder, and shut your locker.<br/>
<br/>
But it's not until you're inside your truck that you lift the flap and look inside, confirming what you half feared.<br/>
<br/>
It's full of weed. Heaps of plastic baggies full of weed.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Kim is all dimpled smiles when you meet her a little later at her family's motel, and she squeals with delight as she introduces you to a tall, well-built man whose red hair is turning sandy and gray. "Nice to meet you, Will," Mr. Walsh says, and shakes your hand. "So are you here for a study session with Kim?"<br/>
<br/>
The Donna is a tired and shabby motor court south of town, where three wings crook to form a U around the broken pavement of a courtyard. You're in the office, and Kim, like her father, is standing behind a counter. Her smile widens as you hesitate, and she answers for you.<br/>
<br/>
"It's a small study party," she tells her father. "We can use Cabin Seven, can't we? Lucky Seven," she adds, and winks at you. "It'll be quieter than using the back parlor."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we're not exactly filled up," her father says, though he looks doubtful.<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks," Kim says. She takes a key card from beneath the counter and, beaming, leads you outside.<br/>
<br/>
"Study party?" you murmur at her.<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up till we get to the room," she retorts, and you scamper after as she strides along the walk to the corner where two wings meet. "Your 'study date' will be here any minute now, and I'll send her along," she adds as she opens the door and ushers you into a musty but otherwise clean-smelling room. The walls are of whitewashed cinderblock, and there's a single bed, a small table with a chair, and a modest flatscreen TV. You're startled to see that there's an electronic scale on the table.<br/>
<br/>
Kim pulls the canvas satchel off your shoulder and dumps the contents all over the bed. "Here," she says, and takes a slip of paper from her pocket. "These are the proportions you and your partner need to divide the stuff into. Divide it, bag it, and make sure you've weighed it properly. When you're done, come find me and—"<br/>
<br/>
"Wait, what?" you stammer. "Who said I'm going to—?"<br/>
<br/>
"<i>I</i> said you're going to, Prescott," Kim snaps. She jabs you in the midriff with a sharp fingernail. "Where did you find this shit? Where did you find this shit that you brought out to my family's motel? Tell me where you <i>found this shit, fuck-for-brains!"</i><br/>
<br/>
"My locker," you gasp. "You know!"<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes flame. "Exactly. Now picture exactly what kind of a shit-storm you'll be in if there's a locker search, and they find that kind of stuff and that much of it in your locker? Because I can arrange it," she says. "I'm the student council president."<br/>
<br/>
Then her tone turns sweet and syrupy. "Now then, Will," she continues as you gape, "this is a huge favor you're doing for me, and don't think I don't appreciate it. That's how come I arranged for you to have a study mate. Just do what comes natural—and what I tell you to do," she adds in a steelier undertone, "and you'll start having more fun than you've ever had in your sad, shitty little life."<br/>
<br/>
With a hard, bright grin, she exits and pulls the door shut behind her.<br/>
<br/>
You're still standing by the bed, in shock, some minutes later when there's a knock at the door. Numbly, you open it. There's a girl there, about your age.<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes pop when she sees you. "Oh wow," she gurgles appreciatively, and puts her arms around you. "Kim was right. You'll do just fine!"</span></div></div>


path: 1141444221111
author_id: seuzz
title: Room Services
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You stumble backward into the motel room, and the girl stumbles in with you. She giggles, but once she's in the room she lets go of you and looks around.<br/>
<br/>
She starts by going over to the bed and studying the baggies of weed spread over it.<br/>
<br/>
"So is this your stuff?" she asks. She hefts a baggie and puts it to her nose. "Oh my God." She gives you a wondering look, but otherwise doesn't seem shocked. She wanders into the back part of the room, flicking on a light and looking briefly into the bathroom. Then she comes back over to regard you with a much calmer gaze.<br/>
<br/>
She's a small red-head with milky skin, like Kim, but the resemblance ends there. Where Kim has a pert alertness, like a chipmunk or a squirrel, this girl moves with the slinky grace of a cat or a mongoose. She's dressed in a thin, tight t-shirt that looks glued to her boobs, and her shorts are very short indeed. She wears flip-flops, and her hair, which she wears long, drizzles over her shoulders and down her back. Her green eyes are hooded, with a glint of leering mischief in them.<br/>
<br/>
Your tongue and throat have been frozen all this time, so it's up to her to begin a proper a conversation. "Do we know each other?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh ... I don't think so."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you're acting like we do." She lets her eyes rake the room again. "Like, you haven't told me your name."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, my name's Will," you squeak. "Will Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm Melanie Saxon." She gives you a slow look up and down. "Kim said she thought we'd hit it off."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh?"<br/>
<br/>
Melanie says nothing, but drops onto the foot of the bed with a little bounce. Her shoulders sag as she gives you another look up and down. "You're not much of a talker, are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I— Kim just didn't tell me about you!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh." She glances over the bags of weed in a rather bored way. "Well, she told me you needed some help. So I said I'd help. Kim's always looking for little ways of helping people out, I guess she thought—" She bites her lip. "Well, I guess I don't really know what she thought. This is kind of a surprise, to be honest." She peers up at you. "Is this your stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
"No!" You shift anxiously from foot to foot. "Um, I guess I'm helping her out too."<br/>
<br/>
"Really. Well, then, I guess we could get started. Get to know each other while we work." She looks up at you from under expectantly cocked eyebrows.<br/>
<br/>
Your feet feel glued to the floor, and your head reels when you do take a step forward. You fall onto the bed next to her, and stiffen as your shoulder bumps into hers. Melanie leans lightly against you. Your neck creaks as you glance over at her from the corner of your eye. Neither of you says anything for a very long moment.<br/>
<br/>
Then, with a very tired sigh, Melanie reaches over to pluck up the sheet of instructions that Kim left behind. "What's this?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"It's, um, how we're— I'm— we're supposed to divide the, uh, the stuff up."<br/>
<br/>
"So do you want to get to work on that?" She's beginning to sound irritated, so you shrug and nod. "Okay then. Jesus, you're a live one," she mutters. She twists around and picks up a handful of baggies.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You can hardly believe what you're doing, but you've nothing else to do, so you do it: You sort out, weigh, separate, and rebag a couple of pounds of weed. At first you and Melanie work mechanically, with her reading off numbers to you and you reading them back off the scales. But the work seems to warm the air between you. Or, maybe more accurately, the work thaws your frozen shock at being thrust into this room, with this merchandise, with this girl. Eventually, you loosen up enough to carry on a conversation.<br/>
<br/>
Her name, as she told you, is Melanie Saxon, and she also goes to Westside. Have you ever seen her before? Maybe, in passing. Has she ever seen you before? She doesn't think she has. And none of the friends she mentions are names that you really know. She lives in a trailer park with her mom, and she plays the glockenspiel in the marching band, and she's mostly taking Personal Growth classes, like Parenting and Food Preparation and Personal Financial Literacy class. She asks about you, so you tell her about your classes and friends and living situation.<br/>
<br/>
And then she asks you about your girlfriends. You stammer that you had one. Over the summer. More of a "hanging out" kind of thing, you shamefacedly admit.<br/>
<br/>
"I hung out with a guy over the summer too," she says. "He turned out to be a real shit, but it was fun. We hung out in the hammock next to my trailer."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh?"<br/>
<br/>
"He was really cute and it was fun. You look a lot like him. That's probably why Kim thought we'd hit it off. Like, maybe she thinks you're Eric's good twin?"<br/>
<br/>
You gulp. "Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
"You ever do it in a hammock?"<br/>
<br/>
"Do what in a hammock?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"It," she says matter-factly. "Screw," she adds when you stare blankly back at her. "Did you and the girl you hung out with ever screw in a hammock?"<br/>
<br/>
Your jaw drops, and you can only shake your head.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that's what me and Eric did all summer. We screwed in the hammock in the yard next to my trailer. He worried about getting a sunburn on his ass cheeks." She cocks her head again to give you a long look. "You <i>look</i> a lot like Eric, but you sure don't act like him. He can't talk two minutes to a girl without trying to get into her panties." She seals up the baggie she's been filling, and with a felt-tip marker she writes the weight on it.<br/>
<br/>
You swallow. "Well, I, um—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I can tell. You don't have to say anything, Will," she says. "I can tell. I'll tell Kim after we go that it's not going to work out between us."<br/>
<br/>
You almost fall over in a faint.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's not long after that Kim interrupts the awkward silence with a knock at the door. She puts her head into the room without waiting for a reply. "Are you decent?" she asks with a dimpled smile. "Oh, look at my two busy little elves," she says after letting herself in and closing the door behind her. "You're almost done. Good. It's time for you to get home, Will. <br/>
<br/>
"Now then," she continues as you gape at her, "you're going to come out with me again tomorrow after school. I'll be waiting at your teacher's classroom with another note. You need to make some deliveries for me up at the college. Also, some of this stuff has to be rolled up. You ever roll a joint before?" You shake your head. "Then I guess I'll have to get the morons to do it for you. And I guess you don't want to keep this stuff at your place, right?" Again your shake your head. "Then you sure as fuck better have a place you can stash it overnight. Do you?"<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head again, but when Kim's frown deepens you remember the old elementary school close to your house, and correct yourself with a croaked affirmative.<br/>
<br/>
"Good," she says. "Stow the stuff for tonight, pick it up in the morning, and take it to school. Go find David Kirkham—you know him, right?—and tell him you've got the shit. He'll tell you where to meet to parcel it out. Oh, fuck. Right." She picks up the three biggest baggies—gallon-sized bags packed with weed—and sets them aside. "Don't take these to school tomorrow, we'll have to go out to your place and pick them up afterward. And don't—!" She shoves a sharp fingernail in your face and gives you a fierce frown. "Don't you fucking mention to <i>anyone</i> that you've got these too." She indicates the baggies she separated out. "As far as Kirkham and everyone else is concerned, the shit you're taking to school is all the shit you've got. Okay?"<br/>
<br/>
You nod, and Kim turns sweetness and light again. "Oh, thanks so much for helping me out, Will!" she simpers. "I know this seems like a really funky fundraiser for the school council, but we've got this, like, giant deficit you wouldn't believe that we have to cover! You don't want to know." She titters.<br/>
<br/>
Then her tone turns very dark and cold. "And you better fucking not <i>want</i> to know, cocksucker. Remember that."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're in a state of shock when you get home, and are actually glad that your dad confiscated your cell phone and turned off the wifi, otherwise you might talk about the day's events with someone, and you're pretty sure that you shouldn't. You don't know why you're scared of Kim Walsh—she's a small thing who probably wouldn't be able to punch out a house cat, let alone you, and you're pretty sure she would be in a shitload of trouble if you told the school administration (or her father) what she had you doing. But it's just so goddam <i>weird</i> that you have a feeling no one would believe you.<br/>
<br/>
You also worry that you'd tell it to the wrong person. Like, if Kim Walsh is doing stuff with weed, what kind of shit are the other seemingly clean-cut kids getting up to?<br/>
<br/>
So it's not exactly a welcome development when your dad knocks at your door and hands you your phone. "It's Caleb," he tells you gruffly. "He wants to get together to work on math with you." He raises an eyebrow. "You do it here, in the dining room, and you let me check your work when you're done, and I'll let you."<br/>
<br/>
You put your phone to your ear. "Hey man," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," Caleb honks. "So, your dad says it's okay if we come over for a study session."<br/>
<br/>
"We?"<br/>
<br/>
"Me and Kendra. We were talking and, uh, yeah, we think we'd like to make it a study trio."</span></div></div>


path: 1141444222
author_id: seuzz
title: Favors Denied
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You snort in Keith's face. "You just lost your bet with Carson," you tell him.<br/>
<br/>
His eyes pop. "Dude! Don't be like this!"<br/>
<br/>
"Like what? Don't be a fucking cheater who helps another fucking cheater to fucking cheat?"<br/>
<br/>
"This isn't cheating!"<br/>
<br/>
"You bet Carson you could buy some weed off Chen, and now you're—"<br/>
<br/>
"The bet was about if I had the balls to try! And I tried!" Keith has gone very red in the face. "It's not my fucking fault that Chen wouldn't sell!"<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, he—"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you telling me—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Keep your voice down, Will!"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you telling me that Chen wouldn't sell to you? Fuck you," you snort when Keith nods. "Why the fuck won't Chen sell to you? That's the business he's in!"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know! Ask him when you find him!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck you, man!" Now you feel yourself starting to get red in the face.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, come with me, at least. That way you can swear to Ioeger that—"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You don't know why you give in, but you do. Oh, you don't tell Keith that you'll go buy the doobie for him. But you tell him you'll come along and hold his hand, and will swear to Carson that Chen wouldn't sell even when Keith tried to buy.<br/>
<br/>
But first you have to find Chen.<br/>
<br/>
And you have to find him before you have to get to detention.<br/>
<br/>
So you and Keith split up, with him making a fast circuit of the school while you go out to the student parking lot to maybe intercept Chen as he leaves.<br/>
<br/>
For five, then ten minutes you anxiously scan the crowd that comes pouring out of the school, wondering if you've already missed him, and checking the time to gauge how much leeway you have for getting to Mr. Walberg's room. You still haven't spotted Chen when Keith comes puffing up. "Any luck?" you ask him. He shakes his head, and you tell him you haven't had any either.<br/>
<br/>
It is right about then that a knot of guys comes sauntering out of the breezeway: Spencer Osbourne, Adrian Semple, and Andy Tackett. "Hey," you call out to them. "Any of you guys seen Chen around?"<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Gary Chen."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, hey yeah," Semple shouts back. "I saw him hanging out back at the Music Annex." He smiles impudently at you, as though reading your mind and sharing a private joke.<br/>
<br/>
Keith grabs your arm. "Come on."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I gotta get to detention." But you plant your feet. "If you want help, get someone else. Get those guys." You jerk your chin and Semple and his friends.<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck?" Keith exclaims. "You said you'd—!"<br/>
<br/>
"If I'm late to Walberg's, he'll have my ass in a satchel."<br/>
<br/>
"Dude!" Keith wails as you take off for the school. But you ignore him.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The only good thing about detention—and it's hardly any good at all, to your mind—is that it gives you a head start on your homework. Mr. Walberg makes you and Dane sit on opposite sides of the room, and when he catches Dane trying to catch your eye, he makes you move to the back so you can't be distracted.<br/>
<br/>
Or that's his idea. You're still distracted a couple of times by the sight of a head bobbing up and down outside the classroom, trying to peer in through the narrow window set in the door. It's probably Keith, so you put your face down and power through your math.<br/>
<br/>
In fact, you manage to get so absorbed in your work that the teacher practically has to throw you out. "Your time is up, Mr. Prescott," he gruffly informs you as you are trying to power your way through the last problem. "It's five o'clock." Dane has already skedaddled, leaving you alone with the teacher.<br/>
<br/>
"Just give me a second," you plead.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't enjoy our time together any more than you do," Mr. Walberg says as he hefts his work satchel off the desk.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm almost done here!"<br/>
<br/>
"If you want to stay longer, I can arrange to give you an extra day."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Asshole,</i> you think as you slam your book shut. <i>You just </i>look<i> for ways to make your students miserable, don't you, you fat-assed—</i><br/>
<br/>
"Don't be a slow-coach," Mr. Walberg growls. You give him a look when you stomp past him.<br/>
<br/>
You're almost to the double doors leading out of the school when a voice hisses at you from behind. "Hsst! Prescott!" You stop and turn.<br/>
<br/>
It's Justin Roth, peering out at you from the F-wing boys' restroom. "Hey man," he says in a soft voice. "Step into my office."<br/>
<br/>
Something about the scene is familiar—it gives you a strong sense of deja vu. But you've got other things to worry about.  "I'm on my way home," you inform him.<br/>
<br/>
"We're all on our way someplace else," he says. "That's how come you gotta stop and smell the flowers Or—" He glances back into the bathroom. "The urinal cakes, on our way."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck, I don't wanna sniff no urinal cake."<br/>
<br/>
"Two minutes of your time, that's all," Roth insists. "Just two minutes of your time."<br/>
<br/>
You're about to tell him to go fuck himself when the nearby double doors fly open and a couple of giggling girls come running in. They are looking hot and blown (but sexy!) in tank tops and shorts. You turn to ogle them as they run past—<br/>
<br/>
And out of the corner of your eye, on the breezeway outside, you catch a glimpse of a much uglier sight. A couple of beefy guys, also in tank tops and shorts, swaggering out of the gym.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Fuck!</i> It's time for after-school team practices to end. That includes the basketball team, which almost to a man is made up of the scummiest lot of bullies and assholes in the school. So—<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11414442222
author_id: seuzz
title: A Conjunction Outside of Pisces
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I gotta get home," you tell Roth. "You got something to say, tell me on the way out." You hike your bag onto your shoulders and resume your lope down the school corridor.<br/>
<br/>
Instead heading out the nearest exit, though, you cut down F wing, that way you can hit the parking lot from the back of the school, where you're less likely to get spotted and hassled by a basketball player.<br/>
<br/>
You're almost to the exit when you hear the squeak of sneakers on the polished floor behind you, and Justin runs up to join you.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey yeah," he pants as he drops a heavy arm over your shoulder. "So I was gonna tell you your friend Keith managed to score a spliff. You guys plannin' on splittin' it? Is that how come you're bustin' so hard to get out of here?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm on a schedule." You wriggle out from under his arm.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be so rigid, man," he says. "You gotta learn to go with the flow. Oh, and speaking of flow," he says as you pass another boys' restroom. "I gotta take a leak." He jerks his chin at the restroom door. "Keep me company? Let'cha hold my dick as I'm doin' it, if you want." He snickers.<br/>
<br/>
What is it with him trying to get you into restrooms?<br/>
<br/>
But you pause to glance through the glass doors leading out, at the scene beyond. You can't make out who all is out there by the tennis courts, but there's a lot of blobby figures between you and the parking lot.<br/>
<br/>
Probably it's safe. But maybe you could stand to kill a few minutes.<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 114144422222
author_id: seuzz
title: Firecrackers at the Tennis Court
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I told you, I'm on a schedule," you remind Roth. Without waiting for an argument, you slam the doors open and step into the bright sunlight of a late September day.<br/>
<br/>
You have to pass the tennis courts, but at least it's not the kind of gauntlet you'd have to run in front of the gym. There's maybe half a dozen kids milling about inside the tall, chain-link cages that surround the courts, and another half dozen kids loiter nearby. One of these catches your eye.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Yumi," you call, and the girl turns. A small smile creases her lips.<br/>
<br/>
Yumi Saito is a cheerleader. That all by itself makes her cool. But even better is that she's a cheerleader who actually knows your name, and sometimes talks to you.<br/>
<br/>
She's a pert little fireplug of a girl, hardly coming up to your shoulder, but with strong legs and a well-shaped bust stacked atop a wide pair of hips. Her black hair is trimmed short into a page-boy cut. And she is, as her name implies, of Japanese ancestry.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Will," she says as you come up. Her smile briefly widens before she goes back to staring through the fencing into the tennis courts beyond. "You have any firecrackers on you?"<br/>
<br/>
"What? No. What do you want firecrackers for?"<br/>
<br/>
She makes a face, but only says, "You're up here late."<br/>
<br/>
"I had—" <i>Don't say you had detention, don't say you had detention!</i> "Something to do. You waiting for someone?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes. Come <i>on,</i> Kelsey," she growls under her breath.<br/>
<br/>
You follow her gaze. Sure enough, Kelsey Blankenship, queen of the AP set, is loitering by the net, chatting with another girl. With her long brown hair, her immaculate white skirt and blouse, her poise, the tennis racket resting casually on her shoulder, and her obliviousness to anyone or anything outside her immediate social circle, she is the very picture of snobby, country-club entitlement.<br/>
<br/>
"What do you want to talk to Kelsey for?" you ask. <i>Like anyone would </i>want<i> to talk to that stuck-up bitch,</i> you silently add to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Yumi seems to agree with you: "I don't <i>want</i> to talk to her," she retorts. She glances over your shoulder, and you don't need to turn around to guess that Roth is loitering behind you. "Just some stuff I need to hash out with her." She goes back to glowering in Kelsey's direction. Then she says, "Oh hey, how'd your time capsule thing go?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Ouch.</i> "It was a disaster."<br/>
<br/>
"What happened?"<br/>
<br/>
"It was just a disaster."<br/>
<br/>
Because, hey, if she doesn't want to talk to you about Kelsey, you don't have to talk to her about the time capsule.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Yumi exclaims when another girl comes up and taps Kelsey on the shoulder. Kelsey turns, makes a bright exclamation, and gives the girl a hug. The two fall instantly into a rapturous conversation. With a snort, Yumi stalks over to the gate, tears it open, and marches onto the court. She doesn't even wish you a "Goodbye." So you resume your walk to the parking lot.<br/>
<br/>
"She's a sassy little thing, ain't she?" Justin chortles.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"So, you don't got time for me, but you do got time to talk to cheerleaders, huh?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm talking to you now, man."<br/>
<br/>
"But not a heart to heart like you were having with— She a friend of yours?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Friend</i> would be going too far. But the idea of calling a cheerleader like Yumi a "friend" flatters your self-conceit. So: "Yeah, I guess so. We hang out at lunch."<br/>
<br/>
Well ... Yumi <i>sometimes</i> hangs out with Jenny Ashton at lunch, and sometimes you do to, and when the stars align that means you and her "hang out" at the same place with the same people.<br/>
<br/>
"You're quite the mover and shaker, aren'cha?" Justin says.<br/>
<br/>
You squint at him. There is unmistakably a sarcastic edge to the comment. But his gaze is guileless.<br/>
<br/>
"Listen," he continues, "the reason I'm pestering you is I need a ride home."<br/>
<br/>
"I gotta head straight home myself."<br/>
<br/>
"It's on the way."<br/>
<br/>
"You know where I live?"<br/>
<br/>
"Look." Justin grasps you by the arm. "I just need to get away from school. There's some guys looking for me." Now there's a pleading expression in his eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"Who?"<br/>
<br/>
He hesitates. Then: "Who'd your pal Tilley buy his ganja off of?"<br/>
<br/>
You blanch. "Chen?"<br/>
<br/>
"Near enough. Come on, man, gimme a lift someplace."<br/>
<br/>
"I have to go straight home."<br/>
<br/>
"That's cool. Just as long as you get me away from here."<br/>
<br/>
You don't reply, but you don't try to chase him away either. Not until you get to your truck.<br/>
<br/>
"I got detention, and I'm grounded," you tell him. "My folks even took my cell phone away. Even if I gave you a ride, I'd have to drop you off somewhere before I got home—"<br/>
<br/>
"What'cha grounded for?"<br/>
<br/>
"For getting detention. I have to drive straight to and from school. No place in between."<br/>
<br/>
Justin gives you a shrewd look. "So you gotta go straight home or else your folks'll know you're goofing off."<br/>
<br/>
"That's right."<br/>
<br/>
"What if you went to school early?"<br/>
<br/>
The question startles you. "Why would I want to do that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, you know." He shrugs. "You head out early to get some coffee or some donuts on the way. Or maybe you gotta head out because you gotta pick someone up, someone who needs a ride? Hey, at least it's something 'ud get you out of the house," he adds when you look skeptical.<br/>
<br/>
Well, he's right, it is <i>something,</i> you have to admit. You are not a morning person, but heading out early so you can at least hang out with someone outside of class? That has some appeal.<br/>
<br/>
"I could do it for you as a favor," Justin says.<br/>
<br/>
"Do what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Ask you to pick me up, so you got an excuse. Then we could— Oh, I dunno." He smiles impudently. "Go do something that'll make us late to class tomorrow morning."<br/>
<br/>
You can't do <i>that.</i> But even if you don't give him a ride now, you maybe could pick him up in the morning and do <i>something</i> before class.<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1141444222221
author_id: seuzz
title: Of Two Minds on One Matter, Part 1
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You're about to give Justin one last firm refusal when far off, at the edge of the gym, you see Seth Javits loping along toward a truck not too dissimilar to your own.<br/>
<br/>
Javits is one of the school's worst bullies, and he likes to take his frustrations out on you when your friend Keith—for whom he cultivates a special, gleeful savagery—isn't around. It looks like you just barely missed running into him on your way out.<br/>
<br/>
And didn't Justin say just now that he needs help dodging some creeps who are looking for him?<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, come on, get in," you tell him. "I can drop you off someplace in town on my way home. But you'll have to call someone else to get a ride from there."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, that's awesome, this is so cool of you, man," he says. "This is a really huge favor."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Well, it's not that big,</i> you think as you climb into your truck. <i>I just hope someone else does me the same turn some time.</i><br/>
<br/>
Preoccupied with these thoughts, and with belting yourself in, you are not paying attention to anything else, and are only barely aware that Justin, in the passenger seat, has been digging around inside his backpack. And you see it only out of the corner of your eye when he pulls something bluish from it.<br/>
<br/>
But when he touches your shoulder, you turn. He is grinning brightly—madly—as he lifts the thing and delivers it, like a pie to the puss, with a resounding smack to your face.<br/>
<br/>
For only an instant you are aware that a suffocating darkness has overwhelmed you. Then it's like a trap door has opened beneath you, and you plunge into a deeper blackness that fills your brain and blots out your consciousness.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Your head hurts, like a seam of lava has opened in the skull between your ear and your eyebrows, and you grimace hard. You are stiff all over, and your neck muscles squeal and protest when you lift your face. You clench your eyes shut as you roll your head and shoulders about, loosening the muscles. The headache doesn't vanish, but it recedes to a smoldering burn. You open your eyes and peer about.<br/>
<br/>
You're in your truck, in the parking lot at school, behind the wheel. You look around with a frown. Something is wrong, but you can't put your finger on it. Something is missing—time, maybe, for you feel as though you've woken from a short, deep, but exhausting sleep. But something else has gone as wall.<br/>
<br/>
At once, simultaneously, two this hit you. <br/>
<br/>
The first is that Justin has gone.<br/>
<br/>
And the second is that he's taken your clothes with him.<br/>
<br/>
With a gasp you look down at yourself, and at your nakedness. For one horrifying second you can only stare. Then with a squeal you cover your breasts with your arms and hunker down in the seat. <i>Oh my God!</i><br/>
<br/>
But there's something else wrong. This time, the realization takes longer to come, for you keep pushing it away. <br/>
<br/>
<i>I— I— I'm naked!</i> you stammer to yourself. <i>And I've got ... <br/>
<br/>
I've got ...<br/>
<br/>
Boobs!</i><br/>
<br/>
Indeed you do. Your eyes are rolling so hard with astonishment that they threaten to fall out of the sockets as you peer down at your arms, which are covering your ... boobs. You can feel them, though. They are very large. And when you push your arms down a little, you can make out the deep cleavage that separates them. You squeal softly to yourself. <br/>
<br/>
And your arms— There's something wrong with your arms! They are very smooth and hairless. And when you raise your hands, your fingers are sinuous, with polish on their nails. Past your hands you gaze at your hairless knees and thighs, and when you lift a foot the little niblet-like toes are also polished at their ends.<br/>
<br/>
<i>What has happened to my body?</i> you wonder in a panic.<br/>
<br/>
Then, like a fog boiling up from the base of your skull, rising and engulfing and choking you, comes a presence. It's another mind, another personality. With a small sob you try pushing it away, but it envelops and invades and seeps into your consciousness, forcing itself on you until ...<br/>
<br/>
Then it's like being on both sides of a mirror, staring at your own reflection in the mirror even as you stare back at yourself from the depths of the mirror. Only it's two different faces.<br/>
<br/>
<i>My name is Will Prescott.</i> But also: <i>My name is Yumi Saito.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
How long you remain frozen in horror and astonishment you are not sure. Probably only a minute. Maybe even less. But it feels like an eternity as you try to make sense of the insane certainty you feel that you are two different people inhabiting the same skull. And it's not just a feeling that you've got. Your mind goes reeling back to not half an hour ago when you ... talked to yourself ... by the tennis courts.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Hey, Yumi!</i> you called to Yumi as you sauntered up.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Hey, Will!</i> you called back as Will sauntered up with Justin Roth dangling off his shirt-tail. Then you went back to glaring at Kelsey, who it sure as fuck looked like she was <i>deliberately</i> ignoring you, even though you had set it up to meet her after practice. <i>You have any firecrackers on you?</i> you asked Will. If you threw some firecrackers at Kelsey's feet, maybe <i>that</i> would get her attention.<br/>
<br/>
The question baffled you. <i>What? No. What do you want firecrackers for?</i><br/>
<br/>
For a dumb joke, you thought, and changed the subject. <i>You're up at school late.</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>I had—</i> Don't say you had detention, you reminded yourself. <i>Something to do,</i> you said. <i>You waiting for someone?</i><br/>
<br/>
Dur. <i>Yes. Come </i>on,<i> Kelsey,</i> you growled.<br/>
<br/>
<i>What do you want to talk to Kelsey for?</i> you asked, wondering why anyone wound want to talk to her.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I don't </i>want<i> to talk to her,</i> you snapped back. <i>But I want to talk about helping us lobby the administration to set up a mentoring program for wannabe-cheerleaders in the junior and sophomore classes. There's no juniors or sophomores on the squad now, and we need something to prepare for next year. And though it wouldn't be much of a consolation for Cindy, who really wants to knock Chelsea off as the squad captain, it would be <i>something</i> for her if she took charge of it. And it would even look </i>good<i> for her, maybe, if she was seen as mentoring other kids.</i><br/>
<br/>
But all that was too complicated to explain to Will, who sure as the dickens wouldn't even be interested, so you just said that you had some stuff to hash out with Kelsey.<br/>
<br/>
And because one thought will follow on another—Kelsey, who is ignoring you, was prattling the other day about the spurs she was going to contribute to the school's time capsule, which Will is also involved with—you asked him how the time capsule thing went. Just to kill time and fill the silence.<br/>
<br/>
You winced at the question. <i>It was a disaster.</i><br/>
<br/>
That caught your ear. <i>What happened?</i> But he just repeated that it was a disaster because he ... you ... didn't want to talk about the detention he wound up getting over it.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Well, let him play it close to the chest,</i> you thought. <i>I wasn't that interested anyway.</i><br/>
<br/>
And then Laura Minor came traipsing over to Kelsey, and Kelsey (who'd been chatting a mile a minute with Sophie Van den Berg, even though as far as you know she and Kelsey don't even like each other) dropped everything to turn and hug Laura and started all over again with her. That's when you lost it and marched onto the courts to tell Kelsey that you had places you had to be and that you wanted to talk <i>now.</i><br/>
<br/>
And so you did, for all the good it did you. Kelsey fobbed you off with a <i>I have to talk to some other people first</i> excuse, then gave you a cold and quizzical stare when you persisted, and then you lost your temper and stormed off.<br/>
<br/>
You were almost to your car when you saw Justin—<br/>
<br/>
—who you'd agreed to give a ride from school—<br/>
<br/>
—called your name and came loping over. He asked if he could get a ride from you into town—<br/>
<br/>
—though you'd already agreed to, which is why he'd gotten into your truck—<br/>
<br/>
—and you said you would as long is it wasn't too far out of your way. Then he got into your car with you—<br/>
<br/>
—and he fiddled with his backpack—<br/>
<br/>
—and he took something blue out of it—<br/>
<br/>
—and he touched you on the shoulder—<br/>
<br/>
—then with a grin he mashed it into your face.<br/>
<br/>
Both of them.<br/>
<br/>
You dig the heels of your hands into your eyes.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
When you drop them again you feel much calmer. Which is strange. <br/>
<br/>
Because it is strange to so calmly recognize your boobs and arms and hands and legs, and it is strange to have Yumi sharing your brain even as you're sharing her body, and all this is strange because you <i>know</i> beyond any possible doubt that you are Will Prescott. Just as you know beyond any possible doubt that you are sitting in your truck.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I know I'm Will Prescott,</i> you tell yourself, and you feel the impossibility of knowing any different, <i>but I'm inside Yumi's body and ... I remember what she remembers?</i><br/>
<br/>
But when you look over at the passenger seat again, you see her clothes piled up there.<br/>
<br/>
You glance out of the cab, looking for Yumi's car.<br/>
<br/>
You spot it. The lot is mostly empty, and her car—<br/>
<br/>
Which you also feel like is <i>your</i> car.<br/>
<br/>
—is not far away.<br/>
<br/>
And peering out the driver's side window, with an expression of horror, is someone with Will Prescott's face.<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11414442222211
author_id: seuzz
title: Of Two Minds on One Matter, Part 2
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Will Prescott is staring back at you with a look of horror on his face.<br/>
<br/>
You've probably got the same kind of expression on yours. <i>My mouth is hanging open,</i> you realize with a jump. You shut it with a snap.<br/>
<br/>
Then you come alive, and bustle yourself into your clothes.<br/>
<br/>
You've got the bra halfway on before you realize that you thought of them as <i>my clothes.</i><br/>
<br/>
At least it doesn't take long to dress after you've got the bra on: shorts, a t-shirt, socks and sneakers. You dressed down today.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Yumi dressed down today,</i> you remind yourself through gritted teeth. The thought that you are Yumi Saito is not terribly convincing, but it is still very natural to think of what she did as "what I did," just as it's easy to think of her clothes as "my clothes."<br/>
<br/>
And it feels so natural to double-check your appearance in the passenger-side visor mirror, as Yumi frequently does, that not until you're looking at your face—button nose; dark, alert eyes; pie-pan cheeks; sleek black hair—do you realize you're doing it. You flip the visor back up, and with a deep breath hop out the passenger-side door.<br/>
<br/>
The walk over to ... Yumi's ... car seems to take forever. Will (or whoever it is) is hunkered down inside. You can't make him out clearly, but it looks like he's also getting dressed.<br/>
<br/>
As for who it is in ... Yumi's car ... and in your body ... Well, this is so weird that you don't want to speculate, even though there's only one hypothesis worth hazarding.<br/>
<br/>
You hang back and wait until ... Will ... finishes dressing and turns around to squint out at you. His eyes pop when he sees you looming so close, and he looks ill. <i>Do I wave at him?</i> you wonder. <i>Gesture him to roll down the window? Or just yank the door open and barge on in?</i><br/>
<br/>
You have a feeling that the last is what Yumi would do. So instead you take a step back, and wait for him to get out.<br/>
<br/>
He stares at you. Then, with obvious reluctance, he pushes the car door open, and lumbers out.<br/>
<br/>
<i>God, he's tall,</i> you think as he unfurls himself to his full height. But then, next to Yumi Saito, almost everyone one is tall.<br/>
<br/>
He's lanky, too, and dressed in sloppy khaki cargo shorts and a burgundy t-shirt that's at least two sizes too large for him. With his skinny arms and skinny calves (hairy, too) and with the shock of stiff, straw-like bale of hair that sticks out every which way atop his head, he looks like a teenage scarecrow. Oh, it's not that he's <i>bad</i> looking, you muse. His features are regular (though he's got some monstrously large choppers) and there's something adorable about the way he peers shyly out from under his bangs with a pained and crooked smile—<br/>
<br/>
You shake the thought from your head. <i>This isn't the time to scope myself out,</i> you chide yourself.<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't say anything, he just sways there, looking at you with a little green showing around his terrified grin. You don't say anything either. But eventually the moment becomes too awkward, and you ask, "Okay, ar you as weirded out by this as I am?"<br/>
<br/>
His eyes widen. In a fearful voice he croaks, "Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
Then you say, "Yumi?"<br/>
<br/>
He swallows an enormous lump and again says, "Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean—" You swallow in turn. "You are ... Yumi Saito. Right?" The question sounds beyond ridiculous. "Even though you look like—? And I look like—? But really, you're ... Yumi?"<br/>
<br/>
A hard tremble passes through his shoulders, but his eyes harden. "I was when I woke up this morning."<br/>
<br/>
You glance around, for suddenly you can't look him in he face. "Yeah, well," you mutter, "when I woke up this morning I thought I was—" You wave a finger in his general direction.<br/>
<br/>
<i>At least that's out the way,</i> you think.<br/>
<br/>
But before you can come up with a follow-up, Will sways, chokes, spins about to grab the side of the car, and hunches over.<br/>
<br/>
Then he vomits all over rear left tire.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Charles Hartlein," Will suggests as you're still tapping out a text to Tim Gerard. "Adrian hangs out with Justin, and I hear Charles and Adrian hang out a lot. I mean, a <i>lot.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Eww. I don't want to owe Charles anything. Andrew Harding?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't have his number."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you?" You have a vague memory—one of Yumi's vague memories, surely—of exchanging texts with him.<br/>
<br/>
"How come I'm not the one sending these texts? It's my phone!"<br/>
<br/>
"It doesn't go with your outfit."<br/>
<br/>
Not much time has passed since Yumi finished tossing your liquified lunch all over the asphalt. It only <i>feels</i> like a lifetime. But it's been long enough to turbo-charge your anger.<br/>
<br/>
Will—given who he looks like, it seems easiest to think of him as "Will"—quickly came alive with fury. Almost as soon as his stomach settled, he whipped around and accused <i>you</i> of perpetrating this "body heist." You told him that was pretty fucking unlikely, and when he persisted you calmly gave him a kick in the crotch to think about. While he was snorting and panting, you told him you thought that Justin Roth—the last person each of you saw before weird things started happening—must have something to do with it. Will got a very black look on his face, but agreed that that made sense.<br/>
<br/>
So now you're trying to track Roth down. Because neither of you really knows him, you're shooting out texts in a lot of different directions, trying to find him through chains of acquaintances.<br/>
<br/>
And all the time you're searching, you're also thinking, <i>How the fuck am I going to explain this to my mom and dad?</i> Also: <i>I have to get home. I'm grounded.</i><br/>
<br/>
It's Andy Tackett who finally comes through. More than comes through, he tells you that he's with Justin now, up at the college. You ask him to wait there while you come out.<br/>
<br/>
"So whose car are we taking?" Will asks as you put the phone away.<br/>
<br/>
You turn toward your truck. "Mine."<br/>
<br/>
"Then I'll drive."<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Who's it registered to?" he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Me."<br/>
<br/>
"And who's looking like you now?"<br/>
<br/>
"Alright, fine, then we'll take your car. <i>I'll</i> drive."<br/>
<br/>
"Rock paper scissors!" Will puts out his fist. "Rock paper scissors," he repeats, "to see who drives. And whose car we take."<br/>
<br/>
You make a face, but put out your own fist.<br/>
<br/>
Your scissors beats his paper, so you wind up taking Yumi's Nissan Sentra, yourself driving. Will looks vexed as he buckles himself in. "You sure are being pushy," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not being pushy," you retort as you put the car in motion. "I just want to get things put back to normal. Don't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"You think I don't?" He squirms in his seat. "And you <i>are</i> being pushy," he grumbles.<br/>
<br/>
You don't answer, because he's right, and you can feel it. It's like you have this <i>need</i> to be in control, which is a feeling you don't often have. You want to elbow Will ... Yumi ... aside and get the thing done.<br/>
<br/>
"What are we going to do when we find him?" Will asks.<br/>
<br/>
You chew on the question before answering. "You're going to hold him down, and I'm going to kick him in the balls until he agrees to put things back. Or do you think," you can't help adding, "that'd be too <i>pushy?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
You can feel the dirty look he shoots you. But aloud, he only says, "No, that's pretty much the idea I had."<br/>
<br/>
Still, you find it very awkward to talk. And maybe she does too, for the ride passes mostly in silence.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * *</div><br/>
Andy and Justin are up at the college, lounging on the concrete steps of a plaza that fronts a four-story brick building. The shadows of evening are just starting to lengthen, but they and Karl Hennepin and a girl you recognize but can't put a name to are lazing away like it's the middle of a summer day. They have foot-long sandwiches, and bags of chips are scattered about them. <br/>
<br/>
"Hey Yumi!" Tackett shouts as you approach. "Will!" he adds. "Go pick yourself up something at the Union, then pull up a step!"<br/>
<br/>
You ignore him to concentrate on Roth. He returns you a hooded look after briefly raking you up and down with his eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"We're here looking for Justin," you reply through gritted teeth. "Will and me. We want to talk to you alone," you tell him, and point to the corner of the building.<br/>
<br/>
"If it turns into a three-way, I want video," the girl giggles as Justin, after a couple of hard blinks, slowly levers himself to his feet. You ignore her, and clench your hands into fists.<br/>
<br/>
Justin trudges off ahead of you, saying nothing until you've forced him around the corner of the building and pushed him into a little nook where you won't be seen. That's when he mutters, in a growly baritone, "Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
"Put us back."<br/>
<br/>
His brow creases. "Put what back?"<br/>
<br/>
"You know what I mean. Me and Yumi." You jerk your thumb at Will, who is standing guard behind you. "Put us back the way we were."<br/>
<br/>
Justin just looks puzzled, and asks you again what you mean.<br/>
<br/>
"Yumi?" you ask your companion in misfortune. "Remember what we said we were going to do to Justin if he didn't play along?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"Grab him."<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 114144422222111
author_id: seuzz
title: A Real Kick to the Balls
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Will gives you a look of surprise. You nod. But even after Will has thrown his arms around him, Justin only raises a skeptical eyebrow.<br/>
<br/>
Justin isn't much taller than Will, but he's got a lot more mass, most of it muscle. He hardly sways on his feet after he's planted them, even with Will trying to twist him into a headlock.<br/>
<br/>
Things probably wouldn't have gone well for Will, if you hadn't kicked Justin in the nutsack.<br/>
<br/>
Roth gasps and goes so limp that he slips out of Will's arms and flops to the ground. "The fuck?" he breathlessly demands.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, what's going?" a hard voice calls. You turn to find Tackett, his face lit up with alarm, frowning at you and Will. Hennepin and the girl are standing behind him.<br/>
<br/>
"This isn't any of your business!"<br/>
<br/>
"Like hell it isn't!" Tackett runs up to kneel next to Roth.<br/>
<br/>
"Just keep back," Will warns. "This is private stuff we gotta talk to him about!"<br/>
<br/>
"So <i>talk</i> to him! Jesus!"<br/>
<br/>
"We know what you did, Justin!" you yell at the prone Roth. "You need to fix it!"<br/>
<br/>
"What did he do?" Hennepin yelps.<br/>
<br/>
"This isn't—!"<br/>
<br/>
"What's the fucking matter with you?" the girl yells.<br/>
<br/>
"Back off!" you order. "All of you! He's not gonna talk about it in front of you! <i>We're</i> not gonna talk about it in front of you!"<br/>
<br/>
"Talk about what?" Justin groans.<br/>
<br/>
"You know what! So tell your friends—!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It all falls into a shambles of yelling and cross-talk. But Will finally gets it across that you and he and Justin had some kind of "business" after school that went screwy. But that only causes more confusion—which makes you even more furious—when Tackett and the others insist that Justin <i>couldn't</i> have been with you, because he was with them from the moment they all left school. "He helped us and Keith find Gary," Tackett tells Will, "then we all drove out to Karl's, and then Emily came by and we came out here!"<br/>
<br/>
"Then you're all in on it!" you scream. "You're all covering for him!"<br/>
<br/>
"Covering for what?" Tackett turns very red. "What the fuck are you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"You know what! And you fix it or—!"<br/>
<br/>
There's a lot more screaming and yelling—except from Justin, who hunches on the ground with watering eyes—before Will takes you by the arm and hauls you back to the car.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't know you had it in you, Will," he says after you've driven away. (But this time he's behind the wheel, as he says you're "too pissed off" to drive straight.)<br/>
<br/>
"Had what in me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Had it in you to be so ... um ..."<br/>
<br/>
"Pushy?"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, you were really going to kick their asses."<br/>
<br/>
"You bet I was!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that's what I mean. You just don't seem like— Well—"<br/>
<br/>
<i>"What?"</i><br/>
<br/>
"Nothing! Never mind!" He raises a placating hand. "This is just, um, a side of you I didn't know you had."<br/>
<br/>
You sink into your seat and are quiet the rest of the way back to Westside.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
There seems nothing else to do, once you're back up at the school, except to return to each other's homes. Will is unwilling, and asks if the two of you can go off someplace. Or, at least, if he can accompany you back to the Saitos.<br/>
<br/>
"You're grounded," you bluntly remind him.<br/>
<br/>
His eyes pop. "What are you talking about?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're grounded. <i>I'm</i> grounded. 'Will Prescott'"—you make air quotes around the name—"is grounded."<br/>
<br/>
"What for?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you remember?"<br/>
<br/>
"How could I remember something that happened to you?"<br/>
<br/>
You return him a long stare. "Don't you—? Don't you remember the stuff that happened to me?"<br/>
<br/>
"No! What stuff? When?"<br/>
<br/>
"Today. Yesterday. Whenever."<br/>
<br/>
Now <i>he</i> stares at you.<br/>
<br/>
And that's how you learn that even though <i>you</i> can remember everything that Yumi knows—all the way back to when she was a little girl, even—she can't remember a goddamned thing that you did if she wasn't there to see it with her own (original) eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Jesus!" he exclaims when you confess to knowing her inside and out. He claws at his face. "You— Pervert!"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey! It wasn't my fault! I didn't—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you sure about?" He turns very red. "You—! So you get inside my head, and inside my—! And you steal <i>everything</i> from me! Everything!" he screams. 'And you—!"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't steal anything!"<br/>
<br/>
<i>"Everything!"</i><br/>
<br/>
"I'm a victim here too, you know! I didn't want—! Yumi!"<br/>
<br/>
He falls to the ground with his face buried in his knees, and you crouch beside him. "I wanna kill myself," he moans.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Jesus!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, why not?" he howls.<br/>
<br/>
"It's okay. It'll be okay," you repeat, and gingerly try to massage his bony shoulders as he quietly weeps. "We'll find Justin again, tomorrow, and—"<br/>
<br/>
"You already kicked him in the balls!"<br/>
<br/>
"We'll figure out something. For now, um—"<br/>
<br/>
You don't know how to finish that sentence.<br/>
<br/>
It turns out you don't have to, though. While you're still grabbing at possible formulas, Will raises a tear-stained face, then abruptly heaves himself to his feet. Though his cheeks are still wet, his jaw is set. "Come on, you better tell me how to get to your house," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you sure? Are you okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"No." He wipes his eyes. "But I will be. God damn it. Let's get it over with."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You give Yumi a quick run down of what to expect at your house: Who will be there, what to expect from them, and tips for skating through the evening and night with a minimum of fuss. As for what excuse to give for being so extravagantly late getting home— Well, there you're at a loss, and tell her to improvise something about staying late to help a friend with classwork and then getting "kidnapped" when they went to went to run a "short" errand. <br/>
<br/>
"You'll probably get grounded for another day or week," you warn her, which earns you a black look and the sarcastic retort, "Are you sure you didn't set this thing up, to get out of being grounded?" which you reply to with a sour look of your own.<br/>
<br/>
Then, after he's driven away ... Well, it's getting on toward dinner time, and you suppose you ought to put in an appearance at Yumi's place.<br/>
<br/>
She lives west of the river, not far from the country club, in one of the newer and nicer developments, so you've nothing to dread there. Her parents are sober and respectable, much like your own, so you've nothing to dread there, either. In fact, there's nothing to dread at all, except—<br/>
<br/>
"Better wipe the cum off your mouth before you go inside," your big brother jeers as you're getting out of the car. Mokichi is just wheeling the trash bin down to the curb for morning pick up. "Mom can tell the difference between that and chapstick, you know."<br/>
<br/>
"Just get in the dumpster with the rest of the garbage," you retort as you stalk past. He snickers.<br/>
<br/>
Inside, you wave to your mom as she's setting the table, and apologize for almost being late, before heading down the hallway to dump your book bag in your bedroom. You glance around, even though it's all familiar to you. It's a small room, done up in peaches and whites, and very tidy. There's a twin-size bed, a short dresser with a mirror rising from the back, and a corner desk with a built-in bookshelf. The laptop is asleep.<br/>
<br/>
Out in the hallway, you are almost run over by Yumi's little sister, Chiho, as she dashes from her bedroom to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.<br/>
<br/>
All of it is, simultaneously, very strange and also very familiar.<br/>
<br/>
Supper, which is some kind of Cajun dish of chicken, vegetables, rice, and hot spices—the Saitos' diet is not stereotypically "Japanese"—is filled with inane chatter, mostly between Mokichi and his parents as he gossips about the college track team he's on—who they're dating and how it's screwing up their heads just before a big and important meet. Normally Yumi would make some cutting remarks, but you keep quiet. As for Chiho, well, she never talks at the table.<br/>
<br/>
After dinner, as you three kids are cleaning up, Mokichi asks what you did after school.<br/>
<br/>
"I was sucking off a bunch of boys, didn't you hear?" you retort.<br/>
<br/>
Mokichi gives you a sidelong look. Too late you remember that Chiho is standing on the other side of him, packing away food for the refrigerator while he rinses and you load the dishwasher. But he only says, "Was it anyone I know?"<br/>
<br/>
"No!"<br/>
<br/>
He goes through a few more plates and glasses before off-handedly adding, "I just thought it might've been some guys up on campus, is all."<br/>
<br/>
You give him a dark look. Is he trying to say he spotted you at the college when you were up there earlier?<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know what business it is of yours," you reply, and he doesn't say anything else about it.<br/>
<br/>
But he has poked at embers that are still burning. You didn't get a chance to have a real one-on-one, um, "talk" with Justin because his friends got in the way. Maybe you should try again to find him tonight.<br/>
<br/>
And this time have that talk <i>alone.</i><span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1141444222221112
author_id: seuzz
title: Shocks to the System
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>If you're going to confront Justin again, you should probably have Yumi along, that way if you can get a straight story from him, you can make him reverse whatever he did to you.<br/>
<br/>
Besides, Yumi's mom always makes sure her daughter has her homework done before letting her go out on a school night.<br/>
<br/>
So you're at home doing math when a text comes in from your old phone number: <i>You have a five oclock curfew now and when detention is over you have to take bus to and from school for a week.</i> It could be worse, you reflect, and when she asks how, you reply, <i>It could be me whose grounded.</i> That earns you a sour <i>Ha ha.</i><br/>
<br/>
The next morning, though, brings a much more frantic-sounding text: <i>Meet me at Salvation Donuts asap pls!</i> Since you were in the shower when it arrived, you have to tell the sender to hang tight while you finish getting dressed. You don't waste time either, and wind up dressing <i>very</i> down in flannel shorts, a tank-top, and flip-flops in order to get out the door quickly.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Will Prescott makes a face like he wants to vomit. "It was really gross waking up this morning," he tells you, and he twists in his seat like he wants to squirm out of his skin.<br/>
<br/>
He's dressed about the same as he was yesterday: cargo shorts, way-too-large t-shirt (forest green this time), and shapeless white ball cap pulled down low over his stiff bangs. Yellow teeth show between lips that are twisted into a sneer of anger, and he hunches in his chair. He hasn't even touched the chocolate donut that he bought.<br/>
<br/>
His attitude makes you very tired. Yes, you can understand why Yumi wouldn't want to trade her body for yours, but to harp on it in front of you? That's just rude. And you tell her so.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll tell you what's rude," he retorts. "Waking up with your <i>thing</i> shooting snot out all over the place!"<br/>
<br/>
"What? Oh, Jesus! <i>Gross!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"I told you!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'm sorry! Maybe now you'll have a little sympathy for what my sex goes through." You catch sight of the fat woman behind the counter, and lower your face and your voice. "Seriously, though, I am sorry."<br/>
<br/>
"M'neh. At least I knew how to handle it." He casts a furtive glance around. "That's mainly why I wanted to see you. That wasn't the only thing I woke up with this morning. I, uh, seem to have woken up with your—" You twists a stiff forefinger into his temple.<br/>
<br/>
It takes you a moment to catch on. "You mean, you can ... remember ... um ...?"<br/>
<br/>
"All your shit? Yeah. And if I concentrate, I think I can even 'do' you."<br/>
<br/>
"Like what do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"Like, act like you." He squints. "Like I'm doing now."<br/>
<br/>
You can't help making a face. Is all this—this rude, gross talk and this ugly hunching and squirming—is that Yumi doing her best to act like ... you?<br/>
<br/>
"Well, don't overdo it," you tell her. "But what happened? How did you—?"<br/>
<br/>
She can't explain how it happened. All she can say is that she woke up in a panic over soiling herself, but got it all handled in the bathroom. And it was only after getting herself and her underthings cleaned and scrubbed off that she realized she was thinking and acting just like you would have—and that she knew everything about your family that she didn't know last night. <br/>
<br/>
"So I even got through breakfast okay," he tells you. "I even"—his mouth twists up into a half smile—"got some shots in at your brother. Told him he wasn't man enough to get detention."<br/>
<br/>
"You know my school schedule?" you interrupt. It's weird enough looking at yourself without hearing about what "yourself" got up to at home.<br/>
<br/>
He blinks, and his gaze goes momentarily distant. "Yeah. Sociology first period with Mr. Walberg. Then your film class, then— Jesus!" A look of amazement washes over his face. "You sure got an easy schedule!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, screw you, it's hard enough for me. Anyway, come look for me outside the cafeteria at lunch. We'll try to find Justin then." You check the time on your phone. "We better get going."<br/>
<br/>
"How'd things go at my house?"<br/>
<br/>
"They went fine. I hid in your room, mostly."<br/>
<br/>
"Was your night okay?" His expression turns hooded.<br/>
<br/>
You answer with a direct look. "I kept my hands to myself, if that's what you're asking. Now will you please eat that goddamned donut?" You mouth a silent <i>Sorry!</i> to the woman behind the counter for the profanity. "It's driving me crazy, and it's not like <i>you</i> have to watch your carbs."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
As if life  hasn't thrown you enough curveballs, you get the shock of Yumi's life when you go into first-period cheerleader practice.<br/>
<br/>
It's something you have been anticipating with a mix of dread, shame, and glee. <i>I'm going to get to see all the cheerleaders with their clothes off!</i> is your own excited feeling, and on the drive out to school you feel yourself blushing and flushing all over as you replay Yumi's memories. Slim, lithe, bouncy girls like Chelsea Cooper and Cindy Vredenburg; Gloria Rea and Lin Pol; the Garner sisters ... stripping off their school clothes down to their bras and underwear while changing into tight, sleeveless uniforms. And then, afterwards, the same girls, now hot and blown and shining with perspiration, stripping down to their skins and cooling their toned bodies under streams of cold water. Powdering themselves all over as they dress up again in school clothes. It gives you electrical twitches all over.<br/>
<br/>
But it gives you the winces, too. You can feel Yumi's instinctive disapproval. <i>Pervert! Bad enough you're wearing my skin and pretending to be me with my friends! Now you're going to peep and ogle them like a creepy perv!</i><br/>
<br/>
And then there's the dread of practice itself. Coach Tesla, who nominally teaches the class, is never to be found on the floor—it's common knowledge that she hides out in her office, slowly getting drunk—and leaves the team captain, Chelsea Cooper, to run things. And Chelsea is a vicious, perfectionist bitch who only criticizes, never praises, and probably spends an hour a night inventing new and clever ways of insulting the girls on the squad. More than once you—yes, you! Yumi Saito—has had to fight back tears when Chelsea got especially brutal, and you're not the only one.<br/>
<br/>
So when you do get to school, and breeze into the changing room, your emotions are in too much of a boil to really pay attention to the other girls. And it's not until afterward that you realize how quiet the room was.<br/>
<br/>
The first shock of the morning comes when you go out onto the floor, to find Coach Tesla waiting there. Is the coach an old woman? You're not sure of her age, but she looks like she's been ridden hard by life. She is fat, with watery, bulging eyes set a broad and baggy face. Her hair is graying. She's standing in the middle of the court while Chelsea, her arms folded across her chest, slouches beside her with a black frown on her face.<br/>
<br/>
Kendra and Gloria, her two chief flunkies, are already standing nearby, looking uneasy. You stand off to the side by yourself, and say nothing, neither to them nor to the other girls—Cindy and Lin and the Garners—when they join. In fact, no one speaks until the entire squad has been assembled.<br/>
<br/>
"Morning, girls," the coach mumbles. "I've got an announcement to make. We're going to be having a new set of cheerleader trials."<br/>
<br/>
A ripple runs through the group, and you and the Garners exchange glances of surprise. <i>Trials?</i> You had trials at the start of the semester! That's how you all got on the squad!<br/>
<br/>
"I've scheduled the trials for Monday, here, in class," the coach continues. She looks a little ill as she speaks. "Each of you needs to prepare a routine, you'll execute it for me on Monday. I'll be grading you." A gray shadow washes over her face. "Lowest score gets cut from the squad."<br/>
<br/>
Now there's an audible murmur from your circle as more furtive looks are exchanged. Lin puts up her hand.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't understand, Coach," she says. "There's supposed to be ten of us, and you're cutting us back to nine?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, there's going to be another, um, contestant," says the coach. "Applicant. I'll be judging her too. If she gets the lowest score, then no one here gets cut. If she scores high enough—" The coach licks her dry and craggy lips. "Then she'll replace one of you."<br/>
<br/>
There are gasps all around the circle, except from Chelsea and her friends, you notice. Jessica Garner, who is standing beside you, protests in a very small voice. "That's not fair!"<br/>
<br/>
Maybe the coach didn't hear her, or maybe she just didn't want to, because she ignores Jessica. "That's all I have to say. Good luck to you girls, and be prepared on Monday."<br/>
<br/>
She pushes through the little knot that's surrounded her, and hurries off the floor.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea steps into the middle of the floor to take her place.<br/>
<br/>
"You heard the coach," she says through gritted teeth. "You've got till Monday to whip yourselves into shape. I'm going to help you all, too." Her face flushes to a deep red. "Because there is <i>no freaking way</i> I'm letting her cut <i>any</i> of you!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Chelsea works you hard for half the class, then releases you into pairs to practice and to brainstorm for possible routines. The shock of it all causes time to fly, and before you know it you are showering and dressing again, and are on your way to your second period class.<br/>
<br/>
Adrian Semple, one of the schools many sloppy, class-skipping dope-smokers, is loitering in the doorway. You try to push past, but he catches you by the arm. "Hey," he says. "What are you doing this period?"<br/>
<br/>
"I got class. This one." You jerk your arm from him. "You got this class too, don't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Skip it," he says. "Come hang out with me."<br/>
<br/>
Then, before you can tell him to get bent, he adds, "I heard you tried kicking Justin's ass yesterday. I wanna talk about that."<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1143
author_id: seuzz
title: The Project Master
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You feel like you should talk to your dad before you reclaim the book, so you leave it on your his desk for the time being.<br/>
<br/>
And on the way to school you get a super idea for the time capsule—cheap, easy, and possibly brilliant.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But that's only one of two projects you've got going on, and during second period you get a visit from your partner on the second. You're talking to Keith when his eyes widen at the sight of something behind you, and he shrinks down in his seat.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Will," a voice sounds. You turn.<br/>
<br/>
It's Scott Frazier, one of the basketball players. He drops his backpack with a heavy thud on your desk and roots around in it. "Here's what I wrote for class," he says as he tugs out a sheet of paper. "Check it over and see if there's anything you wanna change, give it back to me in eighth."<br/>
<br/>
"Will do," you reply. "Why didn't you text it to me or something?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't have your number. Just check it over, okay? I wanna get the final draft done tonight." He hefts his pack onto a strong shoulder and trudges out of the classroom.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, is he gone?" Keith mumbles.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. What's your fucking problem?"<br/>
<br/>
"Dude's friends with Seth." That would be Seth Javits, one of Scott's squadmates, who has made Keith's life a special hell for the past few years.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Christ. Scott isn't—" You catch yourself as Keith's eyebrows go up. "I mean, he isn't, is he? One of the guys who's been, uh—?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, not yet. What did he want with you?"<br/>
<br/>
"We got partnered in Astronomy on a report. He seems like kind of a good guy."<br/>
<br/>
"Why, 'cos he didn't steal all your clothes and glue you to your desk and make you do all the work?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, 'cos we hardly worked together. I just did the research and he wrote it up." You shrug. "I'd work with him again."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, give me notice if you do, so I can catch the plague and skip school."<br/>
<br/>
You catch Andy Tackett's eye as you turn back around in your seat, and exchange a private smile with him as he shakes his head at Keith's melodrama.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"A Twinkie?" James Lamont exclaims at lunch. "A <i>Twinkie?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"And some Ding-Dongs," you add. "And a bag of potato chips."<br/>
<br/>
"What kind?" asks Carson Ioeger.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. Regular."<br/>
<br/>
Carson glances over at Caleb. "You never told me Will was a genius," he says. Caleb rolls his eyes.<br/>
<br/>
You are all—along with Jenny Ashton and Paul Davis—spread out on the quad in front of the school building. Normally you'd be taking lunch just with Caleb and Keith, but Keith is still hiding from Javits and the other basketball players, so you and Caleb are squatting with Carson and his friends. You are all of a type, you suppose. Lanky, a little nerdy and unkempt, definitely more into school work than sports, but mostly trying to just get through the year and on to graduation.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I thought it was pretty brilliant," you admit of your contributions to the time capsule. "Walberg liked it too."<br/>
<br/>
"He told you that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he smiled when I plopped the stuff on his desk."<br/>
<br/>
James snorts. "Maybe he just thought you were bringing him breakfast."<br/>
<br/>
You flash James a parody of a smile, then nudge Caleb in the hip. "Don't sulk, dude. You're idea's pretty genius too."<br/>
<br/>
"What did you put in the capsule?" Paul asks him.<br/>
<br/>
"Porn," you answer when Caleb doesn't. "A thumb drive full of porn." There's much laughter at that, except from Caleb, who looks uncomfortable and doesn't speak much at all during lunch.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno," he sighs as you're walking back toward the building for sixth period. "I just can't shake the feeling that something's going to go wrong."<br/>
<br/>
"What makes you think that?"<br/>
<br/>
He looks at you. "You actually had a good idea for the time capsule. Carson was seriously impressed." That was pretty high praise indeed, for Ioeger and Lamont are science snobs, and they instantly seized on the ingenuity of sending junk food that might still be edible when the capsule is dug up.<br/>
<br/>
But Caleb still shakes his head. "It's karma, man, yin and yang. The universe is setting you up for a hard punch in the face."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So impressed are you with yourself this day—<br/>
<br/>
—and not only with your idea for the time capsule but with the way you caught a couple of errors in Frazier's report; he actually thanked you for catching them when you pointed them out at the start of Astronomy class—<br/>
<br/>
—that when you get home you snag that crazy book from your dad's study and take it up into your room for a thorough examination.<br/>
<br/>
You have to re-familiarize yourself with it a little. Red leather cover with gold thread running through it. End papers covered with intricate designs and a thumbprint-shaped sigil. A title page (you suppose; the title, if that's what it is, is about 75 words long) with a row of shifting faces along the bottom. A blank page after that, and then the preface. A quick session with an online translator reacquaints you with the goofball book's antics: It's almost impossible to copy down too many of the words—Latin or English—onto paper or into the translator without ink or pencil lead going dry or the browser going wonky. But you get the gist of it. It's a book about making masks and disguises, and in order to open it further you have to "sign the book" with your own blood, using the sigil on the end papers.<br/>
<br/>
You examine the book itself a little further, looking for any hook or button or switch like your dad hypothesized would open a secret compartment. After all, you think, a box that's disguised as a book might as well be disguised as a book that's about making disguises. Maybe the compartment will contain blueprints for making just this kind of box.<br/>
<br/>
But you can't find any such hook or button, so you return to staring at that preface.<br/>
<br/>
After a few minutes, you shrug <i>what the hell?</i> to yourself and dig your old pen knife out of your dresser.<br/>
<br/>
The knife is dull and it hurts like hell as you drag it over your thumb until a few drops of blood ooze out. These you press to the sigil. "Okay, you stupid book, what now?" you mutter. You shake it and pull at the edges, but the thing doesn't open. You flip through the loose pages, looking for any changes—<br/>
<br/>
And you almost drop it when you find one. Another sheet has turned loose—the pages with the preface—and you find yourself staring at a completely new page. Three short paragraphs (in Latin, naturally) take up the top, and a large sigil—a circle whose edge is bound by intricate designs—takes up the bottom.<br/>
<br/>
<i>No way,</i> you think to yourself. You examine the new page closely, but can find no residue of glue that would have bound it to the previous sheet. But you can't peel the new page back, not even with the pen knife. <br/>
<br/>
You chew on your thumbnail and think about taking it downstairs to show your dad. But you decide to do a little more private research first.<br/>
<br/>
You start by trying to translate the new page. You get the same problems here as earlier: Words and phrases don't like to be copied down. As before you're reduced to making piecemeal translations that you put together in your head.<br/>
<br/>
It's not hard to understand, though. It's basically a recipe. The first paragraph lists a bunch of ingredients, and the second and third tell you how to put them together. There's a bowl involved, and a convex mirror, and something gets set on fire. Oh, and the bowl with the fire in it has to be set on top of the sigil at the bottom of the page ...<br/>
<br/>
You loose a low whistle. Why didn't you see it before? It's a spell!<br/>
<br/>
There's no indication of what the spell itself does, though. You just ... do it? And then you figure out afterward what it does?<br/>
<br/>
"Will!" your mom calls from downstairs. "Supper!"<br/>
<br/>
You look at the time: 6:15. You must have really been into it, for the afternoon to fly past that way!<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>Tuesday, after school.</i> You're up at the university library, digging through the stacks for books on magic and Latin, when you hear someone softly calling your name. You look up and over to see Carson loping down the aisle toward you. "What are you doing up her, Prescott?" he asks. "You don't know how to read."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you, man, I do too."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, what?" He grabs at the books in your hand.<br/>
<br/>
You try jerking them away, but he's too quick. "<i>Elements of the Esoteric</i>?" he says, lifting the book and his eyebrows both. "What is this shit?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just stuff."<br/>
<br/>
"You putting together a role-playing campaign or something?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh ..."<br/>
<br/>
"Watch yourself. Those guys are hard core."<br/>
<br/>
"What guys?"<br/>
<br/>
"Knouse and them. Who did you think I was talking about?"<br/>
<br/>
"I 'unno. Don't you sometimes run campaigns?"<br/>
<br/>
His lip curls. "Have you heard I'm currently running a campaign that I don't know about? But watch yourself." <br/>
<br/>
His eyebrows arch skeptically over a frown. "And don't take this the wrong way, Prescott. But I have the impression you've a hard enough time mastering subjects that are actually true." He hands the book back. "This stuff'll just confuse you further."<br/>
<br/>
You blink at his retreating back, then look down at the books. They are an armful, and already you feel daunted by this "research project." Maybe you should get some help.</span></div></div>


path: 11432
author_id: nostrum777
title: Father Knows Best
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You're late getting home for supper, and your dad raises his eyebrows when you explain that you were up at the university library doing research. "On what?" <br/>
<br/>
"Um, kind of a chemistry thing." <br/>
<br/>
"You're not taking Chemistry." <br/>
<br/>
"But you did," you blurt out. <br/>
<br/>
Your dad looks amused. "Yes." Then his eyes narrow. "Why the sudden interest on your part?" <br/>
<br/>
You hesitate, then plunge in. "Remember that book I showed you, the one we couldn't get to open? Well..." <br/>
<br/>
-- <br/>
<br/>
Your father chastised you when you explained how you got the next page to turn ("You could have gotten an infection!"), but he's as curious as you were, and together in his office you study the block of Latin you've uncovered. "So," he says, "you have any idea what it says?" <br/>
<br/>
"Sorta." You point. "This is a list of ingredients. And the next paragraphs tell how to mix them up." <br/>
<br/>
"What kind of ingredients?" <br/>
<br/>
"Um...quicklime, some ice cubes..." <br/>
<br/>
Your dad snickers. "Sounds innocuous enough." <br/>
<br/>
"Except you have to set the stuff on fire. And there's something with a mirror too." <br/>
<br/>
Your dad grunts. "Sounds more like an arts &amp; crafts activity. Or—" He cocks his head. "Could be an old alchemical formula." <br/>
<br/>
"Alchemy?" Your heart beats with excitement. "Like magic?" <br/>
<br/>
Your dad gives you a look. "There's no such thing as magic. But this is interesting." His expression turns thoughtful. You find yourself holding your breath. <br/>
<br/>
"Tell you what," he says. "Make me up a shopping list of the stuff it needs, and you and I will try it out to see what happens. Tomorrow evening, after supper, in the garage.” <br/>
<br/>
<i>Wow</i>! You feel your face brightening. <br/>
<br/>
But then he tells you what he wants in return. <br/>
<br/>
-- <br/>
<br/>
"<i>WHAT</i>!?" Caleb explodes when you tell him at lunch the next day. "The fuck?" <br/>
<br/>
"I needed an advance on my allowance, and this was the only way he'd give it to me! It's not like I'm happy either! He's even making me get a haircut", you groan. That was like the final insult, for you've just now got your hair to the perfect length; sporty and messy and devil-may-care as it sprouts in stiff tufts from under your cap. <br/>
<br/>
Caleb shoves you. "Man. Opportunity of a lifetime, wasted on a cocksucker like you." <br/>
<br/>
"That doesn't mean I'll get the job." <br/>
<br/>
"It's at your dad's work! Of course you will!" <br/>
<br/>
"Chance of a lifetime...", Caleb mutters. "Like, do you even know what you're going to do when you graduate?" <br/>
<br/>
"I don't plan on working there, I'll tell you that much! But tell you what I can do", you exclaim with a sudden thought. "After I'm done working there, you know, after I've done enough to make my dad happy, I'll recommend you as my replacement. How's that? Deal?" <br/>
<br/>
Caleb glowers. But he takes your outstretched hand and shakes on it. <br/>
<br/>
But peace and friendship aren't entirely restored between you. Caleb has been your best friend since third grade, and you can always tell his moods. And you can tell he is still disappointed at your betrayal at taking from him the job he so badly wanted for himself, and which you had promised to help him get. <br/>
<br/>
-- <br/>
<br/>
Supper is pleasant for once, and there's almost a conspiratorial air between you and your dad as you eat. Neither of you mentions aloud the project that you're working on, but you don't have to. The twinkles that pass between you are talk enough. <br/>
<br/>
Even better, he blocks your little brother from following when he gestures you out to the garage with him. <br/>
<br/>
He insists on handling the ingredients as you, with smudged and partial notes on the process, supervise. They don't seem very dangerous, and there's a very skeptical expression on your dad's face as he mixes them in the metal bowl called for by the experiment. <br/>
<br/>
But as he sets the bowl onto the symbol inscribed on the page of the open book, it starts to pop and bubble. He pushes you back. "Stand clear," he says, and adjusts his safety glasses. <br/>
<br/>
Clearly he's worried it will explode. But neither of you are prepared for the awful, acrid stench that rolls out of the bowl and fills the garage. Fortunately, the door is up, and your dad turns a large fan onto the bowl, dissipating the odor into the night. "So, what next?" he asks. <br/>
<br/>
You study your notes, then flip forward to tear a sheet of paper from your notebook. There's an elaborate design drawn on it – intricate symbols inscribed along the rims of wheels, themselves inscribed with symbols and enclosing and enclosed by still more wheels. It's a copy of the one used by the spell, and you lay it flat on the work table. <br/>
<br/>
"It says we have to use this thing," you explain. "I traced it out of the book this afternoon, after school, so we wouldn't spill anything on the book." <br/>
<br/>
"Good thinking," your dad says. Then he adds, "You still have homework to do?" <br/>
<br/>
"Uh ... Yeah. But not a lot." <br/>
<br/>
"Mmm. Okay, so now what?" <br/>
<br/>
Under your direction, he sets the convex mirror atop the traced symbol and pours the liquid solution over it. The stuff hardens almost instantly. Your dad whistles. "Interesting reaction." He takes the lighter you extend him and puts the flame to the shell. A pale blue flame envelops the hemisphere. <br/>
<br/>
"Amazing", your dad muses as you watch the dancing flames. "But makes sense. Use fire to remove the volatile element faster." He continues in the vein, speculating to himself on how and why the elements are behaving as they are. You can't follow his thought, but you can tell that even he is mystified by it all. He does allow, with a twinkle in his eye, that the experiment is "fun." <br/>
<br/>
It's fifteen minutes before the fire burns out, and you leave it alone for five more minutes, in case the component is still hot. The mixture has turned into a solid white, almost bone-like, color; it feels like smooth stone, or maybe even like a pearl, when you finally touch it. It is also cool. Your dad stops you from picking it up though. That job he saves for himself. <br/>
<br/>
As he lifts the shell from the mirror, he jerks in surprise and almost drops it. You catch the mirror as it flies away. When you look up, your dad is studying the shell with an expression of astonishment. <br/>
<br/>
It is no longer a hollow hemisphere, but a concave oval. And the curve has acquired bumps, ridges, and depressions. As your father lifts it to examine it, he murmurs aloud the same thought you have: "It looks like a mask." <br/>
<br/>
That it does. The ridges and bumps form a brow line, cheekbones, a nose, and lips. The depressions form eyes. It resembles nothing so much a classic tragedian's mask, only this one has no expression at all. <br/>
<br/>
Your dad rubs it, and examines the fine coat of dust that comes off onto his fingertips. "Fascinating," he says. <br/>
<br/>
"So? What's the verdict?" <br/>
<br/>
He plays with it, tries bending and flexing it, turns it over and over. He stares hard at it, and glances back at the pile of ingredients that went into making it. "I don't know," he finally confesses. It might be the first time he's ever admitted to something like that in your presence. <br/>
<br/>
"Is it magic?" you ask. <br/>
<br/>
And this time he doesn't sneer or snort. "If it is," he says, "it's the most amazing parlor trick I've ever seen." <br/>
<br/>
He jerks again when the door into the laundry room opens and your mother looks out. "Harris," she calls, "can I get your help in here?" <br/>
<br/>
"Sure thing, hon." <br/>
<br/>
"What are you doing out here?" She comes out and looks around with a frown. "What's that smell!?" <br/>
<br/>
"We're just cleaning up from a little science project. Be with you in a minute." <br/>
<br/>
"I need you like thirty seconds ago." <br/>
<br/>
"Alright, I'm coming." <br/>
<br/>
He pushes the mask into your hands and fetches a clear plastic bin and a permanent magic marker, using it to label the bin's side: <i>Will's weird arts &amp; crafts mix</i>. "Pack up and clean up, okay?" he tells you. "Oh, and Will," he says from the doorway, "thanks for showing that to me. It was fun. Wasn't it?" <br/>
<br/>
"Uh ... Yeah," you agree. He smiles and you smile back. <br/>
<br/>
It feels good, getting his approval that way. </span></div></div>


path: 114321
author_id: nostrum777
title: Metaphysical Consultation
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Hey," a voice mutters near your ear. "Got what you were lookin' for at the library?" <br/>
<br/>
You tear your eyes from the front of the room, where Mr. Kowalski is explaining the concept of limits. Carson Ioeger is leaning halfway out of his desk to mutter at you. <br/>
<br/>
It's sixth period, and you've spent the entire day distracted by yesterday's "experiment" with your father - the one that turned a bubbling mixture of random shit into a pearly mask. As an arts-and-crafts project, it was a success. But you've no idea what you've made. "Not exactly," you tell Carson. <br/>
<br/>
He keeps his eyes locked on Kowalski. "Told'ja it was outta your league." <br/>
<br/>
"... And I take it you gentlemen are discussing the sine wave equation?" Kowalski demands, and you whip around as Carson straightens up. <br/>
<br/>
"Yes sir!" Carson exclaims. "Just clearing something up for Will." He grins. <br/>
<br/>
You glare. Great. Now Kowalski's got you pegged as a moron. <br/>
<br/>
You sink back in your chair and let your mind drift. You worked at the project some more last night, after you finished your homework. You rubbed it and rubbed it with a cloth for a couple of hours, as the book instructed, until you had worn a bluish spot into the mask. Your dad had gone to bed by that point, so you hid the mask away for the time being (so Robert wouldn't find it if he came snooping) and went to sleep. <br/>
<br/>
"So, what was that all about, anyways?" Carson asks after Kowalski has turned his back to you. <br/>
<br/>
But you don't answer. <br/>
<br/>
-- <br/>
<br/>
Instead of hanging out with Caleb or Carson or any of your other friends, you return home. The mystery of the mask is consuming you. <br/>
<br/>
But there's not much you can do with it. The mask itself is apparently incomplete until you finish polishing it, and the book remains obdurately closed. As before, no matter how you pry and pull, you can't get the next page to turn. Even when you give it a little more blood, it remains shut. <br/>
<br/>
So you study the spell some more. <br/>
<br/>
The word "persona," you notice, is the book's preferred term for the thing that you made, and it is also the word that the book uses in its introduction. And yet, although "mask" seems to be the correct translation for the word, it doesn't fit well in every context in which it appears. Google throws up a lot of alternate translations of the word, and "person" would make more sense in some of the contexts, and "disguise" in others. <br/>
<br/>
As long as you on Google, you decide to make a search of anything related to your find: "masks" and "magic masks" and "magic mask persona" and other combinations. You've just typed in the long-ass title of the book - it's the length of a sentence - when there's a knock at the door. Your father puts his head in. "Hey champ. What are you doing?" <br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Nothing. Just ... distracted." <br/>
<br/>
Your father comes in and looks over your shoulder. "Doing research on the book?" <br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. I haven't found anything yet." <br/>
<br/>
Your father leans over to peer at the screen. You study it alongside him. He points to one of the links. "You got a hit here on someone out at Keyserling. You said you bought that book at Arnholm's? I wonder if they picked it up off this guy." He clicks the link. <br/>
<br/>
It leads to a PDF, an academic paper about the history and purposes of masks throughout history. You let your dad do the scrolling, and he doesn't appear to be much more interested in it that you are. Your attention is briefly caught – before your dad moves past it – by one paragraph that describes how some cultures used vividly decorated masks to represent characters, and subsumed their own personas (there's that word again; it's probably why the search engine caught it) to the persona of the mask. But you find nothing in the cursory scan to link up to the book. <br/>
<br/>
"Well, keep looking," your dad says as he straightens up. "You'll find something out." He turns to go. <br/>
<br/>
"Dad, wait." You grab up the mask and turn it to show him the blue spot. "The last step in the instructions is to polish it, so I started rubbing it last night, and ended up with this." <br/>
<br/>
Your father takes the mask and studies the spot. "Cobalt?" he mutters to himself. "How long did it take you to get this?" he asks you. <br/>
<br/>
"About two or three hours." <br/>
<br/>
"Lemme take it. I have an idea." <br/>
<br/>
He goes downstairs, and you turn to your homework when he doesn't immediately return. Not until suppertime do you see him again, and it's only after you've helped clean up that he gestures you to follow him back out to the garage. <br/>
<br/>
"Here," he says as he hands you the mask. "Got it done for you." <br/>
<br/>
"Wow!", you gasp as you turn it over and over in your hands. Except for the shape, it is entirely transformed, from a pearly white to a deep and glowing blue. It has a depth of color that is almost translucent, so that when you stare into it you almost have the impression that you are gazing into a piece of the nighttime sky. <br/>
<br/>
"How'd you get it done so fast?" you ask. <br/>
<br/>
"Used the car buffer," he says. "Made it easy." He grins. <br/>
<br/>
Something in his smile makes a catch in your throat. It's the kind of smile that you and Caleb sometimes share, when you're caught up in something that you're both enjoying, and that you're enjoying while sharing with each other. For a moment your dad doesn't feel so much like your dad as like your friend. <br/>
<br/>
"Thanks," you tell him with a shy smile of your own. <br/>
<br/>
"Thank you for showing me this. Keep looking into it, and if you find anything, tell me." He lowers his chin to give you a look from under his brows. "Your project. You're in charge." <br/>
<br/>
"Keep doing online research?" <br/>
<br/>
"Sure. Hit the library too. Or see if you can find someone at the college who knows about this stuff. The chemistry and physics of it is fascinating, but a historian – perhaps someone who knows about alchemy – would probably be a better bet." <br/>
<br/>
You raise your eyebrow. "You think it really is alchemy?" <br/>
<br/>
"The recipe would be alchemy, I guess. The facts will be scientific. I just mean –" He waves his hand. "If you want to know what the author of the book thought he was doing, talk to someone who knows about alchemy." <br/>
<br/>
"I'll do that. Er, maybe," you add. "After I do some of my own research." <br/>
<br/>
Your dad nods, and with his hand on your shoulder accompanies you inside. <br/>
<br/>
Upstairs, you try to finish your homework while feeling bedazzled by it all. Your dad still wants to say it isn't magic, but whatever it is, it's something that neither of you understand. Should you get help? Your dad probably has the right idea about consulting some kind of expert in alchemy. <br/>
<br/>
But maybe you should think farther outside the box. Braydon Delp, at school, has a reputation for being into magic and sorcery. And who knows, maybe those hardcore gamers that Carson alluded to up at the library would know something based on all their reading. <br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 1143214
author_id: nostrum777
title: Keeping (It) Up With the Prescotts
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>Safety first</i>. Your chemistry teacher said this, your dad practiced it when making the experiment, and stories about revealing magic to people often end in disaster. You figure it's best to keep it under wraps, maybe after you're more certain about it.<br/>
<br/>
You try opening the next page with the polished mask. Nothing. You start to feel this is an exercise in frustration. You read the page again, after the ingredients, taking your time to translate. Apparently, once polished, the mask can take on the "imago" of someone. That's the term it used; it's basically "image", but it can also mean appearance. It comes to mind: you first bought the book ("claim me"), then placed your bloody thumb on it ("possess me"). Maybe unlocking it requires following the steps?<br/>
<br/>
You go downstairs for supper. You mindlessly dig on your mother's meat loaf and mashed potatoes as your family speaks to each other; Robert's day at school, your father's day at work... When it's your turn, you answer mindlessly. "The usual." <br/>
<br/>
"Will..." Your mother stops eating, looking at you with concern. "Is something wrong?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Lisa. Caleb. Carson. School.</i> About the only good thing so far is the book. "...No." You look at your dad. "Next Monday, then?"<br/>
<br/>
"What's on Monday?" Your mother looks at you, surprised, as you look at your father. "Something between you two, Harris?"<br/>
<br/>
"After school, I expect Will to present at Salopek. He agreed to take a part-time there."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, that's great!" Your mother beams with happiness. "You two are sharing a lot nowadays." <br/>
<br/>
Your father does mention that he may have "nudged" you. Sure, like he "nudges" you to do your chores: making you work for the best, but never expecting it. You feel miserable as they feel happy, but your father must have noticed, because he knocks on your room a short time after. "Can I come in?"<br/>
<br/>
You're still sore at him, but he's your father, and he seems like in the mood to talk. "...Sure." You follow him to your bed, and he sits besides you.<br/>
<br/>
"Listen..." Your father begins speaking in the all-too familiar tone of a parent explaining something to his child. Ever since "the talk", you've seen this tone more than ever. He struggled to speak; his heart was on it, but the words couldn't come out. "When I was a kid, I...I was a pretty curious one, but also a troublemaker. Did you know I almost burned your grandpa's house?"<br/>
<br/>
"...You did?" Somehow, this set a new light on your father. "You? Mister Safety?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I was more of a mad scientist when I was a kid, kiddo. I took you more easy-going, like your mother, but when you told me about that experiment..." He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I guess what I'm trying to say is-"<br/>
<br/>
"You don't want me to burn the house down." <br/>
<br/>
"Well, for a start!" At least he laughs when he says it. "I want you to have a good future, Will." <br/>
<br/>
You shrug in embarrassment. He sighs. <br/>
<br/>
"I don't mean to push you, Will," he says. "I guess I do. I want you to have the future you want, one that you're comfortable with. But I wish I at least knew what that was. I knew what I wanted to be when I was a kid. But I worried when I see you ... drifting?"   <br/>
<br/>
"Drifting?" you echo. Your dad's choice of word surprises you. <br/>
<br/>
"In a way. It's like you're caught in a river current, and you just let the current carry you on. I don't want you to go over a waterfall, if you know what I mean. At the same time I don't want to accidentally push you into a whirlpool or into the rocks or—" <br/>
<br/>
He breaks off, and grasps you tightly about the shoulders. "Will, you're smart," he says as he draws you close. <br/>
<br/>
"Not as smart as you."   <br/>
<br/>
"You're selling yourself short. I just want to know what drives you. I thought that if this project you found worked—"   <br/>
<br/>
"Well, it did." <br/>
<br/>
"That's true!" Your father snickers, and pats your back. "Just give it a little thought what you want to be in the future." <br/>
<br/>
"Thanks," you tell him. He smiles, pats your thigh, and gets up to leave. <br/>
<br/>
But you interrupt him before he's out the door. "You know, Caleb wants to work out at Salopek. He wanted that job." <br/>
<br/>
"He did, huh?"   <br/>
<br/>
"Yeah." <br/>
<br/>
"And you're worried how he'll take it when he hears you're taking the job instead?" <br/>
<br/>
"He already knows." You hang your head. "And that's after I promised him I'd put in a good word with you about him. Try to get the job for him instead."   <br/>
<br/>
"I see." He sits back on the bed with you. "How mad did he get?"   <br/>
<br/>
"Fake nice levels of bad." <br/>
<br/>
Your dad lets out a low whistle. "Ouch." He is silent for a moment, then he says, "Tell you what. We'll see how it goes, and if you feel it's not your thing, we'll see if I can put Caleb in for you."   <br/>
<br/>
"He'd take more advantage of the opportunity than I would."   <br/>
<br/>
"You can't know that until you try." Your father gave a bemused chuckle, giving you that "Dad knows best" look but without being too cocky. "You may end up liking it." <br/>
<br/>
He starts to get up, but does a double-take past your head. "Anything else in that book worth looking at?"   <br/>
<br/>
You hesitate. You'd like to tell him about how the mask can apparently copy one's appearance, but he wouldn't believe you unless you have proof, and he wouldn't let you use it on anyone just in case. "No," you tell him.   <br/>
<br/>
"Well, I want you to finish your homework before you open it up looking for another project. And I want you at Salopek as soon as you finish school on Monday. And get a good, professional haircut this weekend."   <br/>
<br/>
It's not like you have another option. His help was conditioned. And it's not like you can do anything else with the book, anyways. <br/>
<br/>
But you're still determined to check the mask out, to see if it can do what you suspect it can do. The question, though, is: Who?<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Friday, morning. Caleb avoids you before school and only grunts at you during the first-period ceremony when the time capsule (with your contributions) is buried. But when Mr. Walberg drops a massive bomb on the class—he wants a paper from each of you, explaining what you put into the capsule and why—Caleb pulls you aside after class. "I'm gonna need your help," he hisses. <br/>
<br/>
"With what?" <br/>
<br/>
"Don't tell me you don't know with what!" <br/>
<br/>
"Huh?" <br/>
<br/>
"That time capsule! I need your help digging it up so I can get my flash drive out!" <br/>
<br/>
Weirdly, it's your dad's request—<i>give it a little thought what you want to be in the future</i>—that comes to you. Helping Caleb would get you on his good graces again, but it could get you into trouble, at school, at home, everywhere. <br/>
<br/>
But what if it wasn't you who helped him? What if you made a disguise? Of course, you'd have to explain what was going on to Caleb, but that could further cement a relationship between you.</span></div></div>


path: 11432141
author_id: nostrum777
title: The Mature Choice
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>A crowded school hallway is no place to talk about the stuff you and Caleb need to talk about, so you tell him you'll see him in English. You feel his glower upon your back as you scoot away through the jostling herd.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Give a little thought to what you want to be in the future</i>, your dad had said. He meant it, of course, to goad you into being more responsible. And as the morning wears on, you feel the force of his advice more. When you catch up to Caleb in Ms. Gladstone's class, you've got your answer.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you!" he exclaims when you tell him you won't help dig the time capsule up again. "How often do I ask you for help, and this—" His eyes pop. "This is the second time you've screwed me over! At least!"<br/>
<br/>
"When did I ever—?"<br/>
<br/>
"With your dad and that job! Cocksucker!"<br/>
<br/>
"Caleb!" You and your friend both whirl at the loud growl from the teacher, who glares up at him from behind her desk. "If you can't keep it under control—"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb hunkers down in his desk, his face black with anger.<br/>
<br/>
You lean over. "Look, I'm sorry about all that," you tell him. "And about this. It's just that my dad— And I did talk to him, man! I did put in a good word for you, and he said—"<br/>
<br/>
"What fucking big favors you pass out," Caleb hisses back. "Oh, and by the way, I did talk to Eva and Jessica, about how come Lisa broke up with you."<br/>
<br/>
You blink. "You did?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. They said she broke up with you because you were a big, sloppy dork she was embarrassed to be seen with."<br/>
<br/>
You straighten up, and feel your own face darken with anger. "You know what, maybe we should just avoid each other until we're both feeling calmer."<br/>
<br/>
"Suits me," Caleb mutters. "See you at our fiftieth high school reunion."<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
So, naturally, you don't eat lunch with him, as you normally do. Instead you go out front to look for your back-up gang of friends.<br/>
<br/>
So far it's just Carson Ioeger out on the grassy quad in front of the school, lounging on his side and catching some rays. He jerks his chin as you shamble up, and the bandanna he affects to keep his frizzy hair under control falls off. "'S'up, man?" he asks. "Where's your boyfriend?"<br/>
<br/>
You grimace at him. "Where's yours?" Carson is rarely to be found without James Lamont, his partner in geeky mischief.<br/>
<br/>
"He's coming. Wants to make sure Jenny's not lost or something. Oh hey, there they come now." He gazes past you, and you turn to look. Sure enough, James Lamont—tall, skinny, wrapped in blue jeans and a fleece jacket—is approaching on long legs with the tomboyish Jenny Ashton at his side.<br/>
<br/>
You concentrate on unpacking your lunch. So much stupid, fumbling romantic drama with Carson and his gang, you think. James has a crush on Jenny. Paul Davis has a crush on Yumi Saito. Both girls know it but neither girl will do anything about it. So you concentrate on your sandwich and chips as the other settle in and gossip about stuff that bores you.<br/>
<br/>
Carson apparently notices your mood, though, because when there's a lull in the talk he clears his throat at you. "So what's up with you and Caleb?"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Nothing. What's makes you think—?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're eating with us, not with him. And when you do eat with us, he's always along." Carson grins at you. "You two have a domestic?"<br/>
<br/>
You're still mad enough at Caleb that you want sympathy, so— "Caleb's mad because I won't help him commit a felony."<br/>
<br/>
The others stop in mid-chew at that. Looks are exchanged, and sidelong glances thrown in your direction. You hold your tongue until Carson can't stand it any longer. "Okay, Prescott," he says, "I'll bite. What felony—?"<br/>
<br/>
"He wants me to help him dig up that time capsule our class buried," you explain. "I told him no."<br/>
<br/>
There's a pause. Then James says, "How is that a felony?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno," you admit. "But it's a crime!"<br/>
<br/>
"How is it a crime?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Jesus, Prescott," Carson groans. "When did you become such an old woman?"<br/>
<br/>
"Pussy," James corrects him.<br/>
<br/>
"Old woman!" Carson retorts. "Prescott's being worse than a pussy, he's being a—"<br/>
<br/>
Jenny interrupts. "Why does Caleb want to dig up the time capsule?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. On account of he wants to get his dingus out of it."<br/>
<br/>
Carson's eyebrows go up. "Johansson donated his cock and balls to the future? Of course," he adds, "it's not like he was getting any use out of them in the here and now." He raises a skinny hand, and James high-fives him.<br/>
<br/>
"A flash drive. He put a flash drive in the capsule, but he wants to get it back."<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck for?" James asks. "He can just get—"<br/>
<br/>
"Is this the one with the goat porn on it?" Carson asks. "You remember," he tells the group. "Johansson was gonna put goat porn, or something like that, onto a stick and put it in the capsule. So did he forget to keep a copy for himself?" he asks you. "Is that how come he's so desperate to get it back?" Again, he and James high-five each other.<br/>
<br/>
"Beats me," you confess. "All I know is, I had a talk with my dad about being more responsible, and I'm trying to do better. And I don't think helping Caleb to dig up a time capsule is the kind of thing he had in mind."<br/>
<br/>
No one says anything, and you feel yourself blushing under their stares. As soon as you said it, your little speech struck even you as a lot of prissy bullshit.<br/>
<br/>
Jenny leans over to pat you on the knee. "I think that's admirable of you, Will," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"You would," Carson snorts. He gives you the beady eye.<br/>
<br/>
"It's your senior year, Prescott," he says. "It's a little early to be acting 'responsible', don't you think? And with graduation coming full tilt at us, pretty soon it's not like you're going to have a choice about whether to be responsible or not."<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Carson's words reverberate through the rest of the day. Pretty soon you will have to start acting responsible, because you're not going to have any choice. His unspoken corollary: Better have your fun while you can.<br/>
<br/>
But what kind of fun?<br/>
<br/>
The answer, you know, you're carrying in your backpack. That mask you made, which you brought to school. You need to try it on someone, to see if it will work.<br/>
<br/>
You're at your locker, changing out your books, when your friend Keith Tilley bounds up. "Hey man," he says, "Just checkin' to tell you I can't hang out with you this afternoon."<br/>
<br/>
"How come?" you ask, even though you weren't planning on hanging out with Keith.<br/>
<br/>
"Doin' something with my film club peeps. Mike and Carlos are—"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, how come you're telling me?"<br/>
<br/>
"To keep you in the loop." Then he makes a face. "Fuck you too, man. All's I know is you and Johansson are having a lover's quarrel, so I figure one of you or the both are wanna gonna come cry on my shoulder, and I'm telling you—"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't need to cry on anyone's shoulder!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh." His lip curls. "So you got it out of your system when you cried all over Carson and them."<br/>
<br/>
"Is there a fucking point to this, man, or you just trying to be a douchebag?"<br/>
<br/>
You half-expect him to fly off the handle at you, but he just gives an elaborate shrug. "It's not like you got a lotta friends to hang out with, man, and I figure you might be looking for one, and I'm telling you I can't be available this afternoon for you. That's all."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, thanks. I'll go home and cry into my pillow then instead."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," he drawls. "You got a lot of practice at that with Lisa, din'cha?"<br/>
<br/>
Then he scampers off before you can hit him.<br/>
<br/>
You close up your stuff and stalk into the nearest restroom. Marc Garner is at the sink, fixing up his spiky haircut. His eyes glint as he glances over at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Will," he says. "You hanging out after school?"<br/>
<br/>
"I 'unno," you mumble as you unbutton yourself at the urinal. Marc is a jock (a soccer player), but he's one of the good ones, so you've no worries about making yourself vulnerable this way. "Maybe go do some homework in the library," you add. You sometimes do that when you don't feel like closing yourself up in your room to stew.<br/>
<br/>
"Cool," he says. "Maybe I'll join you."<br/>
<br/>
Whoa! Didn't Keith just say you don't have any friends? Yet here's Marc, who you hardly know, saying he might hang out with you. "Yeah, sure," you reply as you zip yourself up. "Come keep me company." Marc gives you a sidelong smile as you wash up in the sink next to him, but lingers after you leave.<br/>
<br/>
Carson (along with a lot of other people) is also in the library when you go in. But he's preoccupied with his own books, and doesn't see you.<br/>
<br/>
You hug your bag to your chest as you take a seat. Marc. Carson. Both these guys are candidates to try copying into the mask, if you try making a move today. Hell, Keith is a candidate--you just have to get with him this weekend.<br/>
<br/>
Of course, you can also experiment by putting the mask onto yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Or maybe you should follow your dad's advice, and just forget about the mask altogether.</span></div></div>


path: 114321414
author_id: nostrum777
title: To Con a Marc
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>If you're going to experiment on someone, you should probably do it on someone who's not close to you.<br/>
<br/>
So when Marc comes in, you give him a very warm and welcoming smile. "Thanks for keeping me company," you say as he drops into the chair beside yours.<br/>
<br/>
"No problem, bro," he says. "You were looking a little glum."<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. "Well, it was nothing big."<br/>
<br/>
"Was it about Lisa?" he asks as he pulls a gigantic math book out of his bag.<br/>
<br/>
The question leaves you thunderstruck. <i>Marc knows about you and Lisa?</i><br/>
<br/>
Almost as quickly, your surprise dissipates. Of course he does. He hangs out with Kelsey Blankenship's crowd, as does Lisa. And he's Eva and Jessica's brother (they're a set of triplets), so he probably would have heard about it all through them.<br/>
<br/>
Still, the fact that he knows and will ask you about it gives you a warm and fuzzy feeling of gratitude.<br/>
<br/>
But it also gives you an idea for how to get the mask onto him.<br/>
<br/>
So you lean over. "Can I talk to you about that?" you ask him in a low voice.<br/>
<br/>
Marc gives you the tiniest of double-takes, and for a moment you think you've miscalculated—that he's thinking you want to overshare. But then he gives you a quick and friendly smile. "Sure."<br/>
<br/>
"Not here," you say, glancing around the crowded library. "Can we go outside, around back somewhere, talk about it, um—"<br/>
<br/>
"Man to man?"<br/>
<br/>
You were going to say "privately," but "man to man" sounds better. You grin, and start to pack up your stuff. Marc follows suit.<br/>
<br/>
Outside, you take the lead, and after glancing around you head off toward the music wing. Around the corner, you figure, you can sit and talk and maybe bring out the mask and then kind of casually maneuver Marc into putting it to his face.<br/>
<br/>
But you're antsy to get started, so even as you set your bag down against the wall, you are unzipping it and fishing the mask out.<br/>
<br/>
And as you look up and around you find Marc hovering right over you shoulder, smiling with curiosity.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I'll pretend it's a joke</i>, you tell yourself as you balance the mask in your hand. <i>I'll just reach up and</i>—<br/>
<br/>
You push it into his face. The mask, glowing a faint blue, briefly covers the front of his head, then vanishes. Exactly as though you had pushed into him.<br/>
<br/>
You hardly have time to react before he's falling atop you. The back of your head hits the wall. You think you hear a distant shout, like a bark, and then the world first goes gray and then goes dark.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
"Well, no damage done that I can see," Nurse Schaeffer says as she lowers the pen flashlight she was using to examine your eyes. She asks you again to track her finger as she waves it back and forth. "Unless you put a dent in the wall."<br/>
<br/>
"I told you I feel fine," you insist. That isn't strictly true. The back of your head smarts, but after examining it the school nurse told you she didn't even see any blood. "I don't think it really knocked me out."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you tell your parents about it," she says. "And keep an eye on it. If you hit your head bad enough to see stars, well—" She breaks off and purses her lips. "Well, I'll let you go now, check up on our other patient." She waddles out the door into the front room of the school's nurse's office. You slide onto your feet from the examination table where you were sitting.<br/>
<br/>
If you were knocked it out, it was only for a few seconds. What was worse was the situation you woke up into: Marc Garner, fallen in a heap onto the ground with his mouth open and his eyes out of focus. And looming over the pair of you, three football players. Two of them, after examining Marc, picked him up and carried him into the nurse's office, while the third—Scott Bickelmeir—half-carried and half-hustled you along behind. No one spoke.<br/>
<br/>
You listen now to the voices in the other room. One of them sounds like Marc. In shame and fear, you hang back until Nurse Schaeffer returns and tells you to go home.<br/>
<br/>
Her office and the hallway outside are clear when you peek out. At least, they seem to be. Until, as you are hiking your pack back onto your shoulders, hands seize you from behind and rush you into the nearest restroom. You are spun about and flung back against the far wall.<br/>
<br/>
Scott Bickelmeir, his eyes blazing, leans in at you. "The fuck did you do to Garner?" he growls at you.<br/>
<br/>
Scott's a football player, but he's the lean kind, with lots of muscles and little fat. Which means he will tear you apart if he gets mad at you instead of squashing you like a marshmallow by sitting on you.<br/>
<br/>
So you don't waste time trying to answer him.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't do anything!" you squeal. "We were just—"<br/>
<br/>
"Bullshit!" Scott slaps the wall beside your ear with an open palm, and puts his face—teeth bared—into yours. "I'll give you one more chance, and then I'm gonna—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Isn't Marc all right?" you plead. "Didn't Nurse Schaeffer—?"<br/>
<br/>
Scott pounds the wall again. "I want to know what. <i>You</i>. Did to him!" he roars.<br/>
<br/>
"It was just a joke!" you plead as you cower. "I had this thing, like a mask, that's all—"<br/>
<br/>
"Mask?" Scott asks sharply.<br/>
<br/>
You nod. "And— And I was going to show it to him. So I took it out, and he was standing next to me, and I just, I just got this idea, like, you know, it's a mask, I'll put it on him, push it into his face. You know, like you're supposed to wear a mask." You twist beneath Scott's hot glare. "I didn't know it was going to— What did it do to him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Where did you get the mask?" Scott demands.<br/>
<br/>
"Get?" you echo.<br/>
<br/>
Scott catches you by the neck, under your chin, and lifts your head.<br/>
<br/>
"Listen, you fucking little pissant, you are going to tell me everything you know about this mask thing—"<br/>
<br/>
"I made it!" you shriek. "I found this arts and crafts book, it talks about how to make—!"<br/>
<br/>
"What kind of arts and crafts book?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know! Just a— Alchemy!", you blurt out, remembering the word your dad used. "It was all in Latin, and my dad told me it might be an old book of alchemy, like, you know, people tried to do magic with? Back in the Middle Ages?" Now you're just babbling, but Scott is demanding more words from you than you know how to give him. "And it showed how to make this mask, and I—"<br/>
<br/>
"Where'd you get the book?"<br/>
<br/>
"Arnholm's?"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you guessing or are you telling me?" His grip on your throat tightens.<br/>
<br/>
"Definitely Arnholm's!" You gargle the words out. "It was in the special collections section! I got it for two dollars!"<br/>
<br/>
Scott drops you, and frowns fiercely as you cough your lungs out. "Bring it to me," he says when you recover yourself.<br/>
<br/>
That sets off another spasm of coughing in you. "What?"<br/>
<br/>
"I said, bring it to me! Tomorrow!"<br/>
<br/>
"Tomorrow's Saturday!"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't care if it's Christmas! You bring it— No!" His eyes blaze anew. "You bring it to me tonight. This afternoon. Where do you live? I'm following you back to your place, and you're gonna bring it out to me. Gimme your address." He takes out his cell phone.<br/>
<br/>
"But it's mine!" you exclaim.<br/>
<br/>
"You wanna wind up in the hospital?" Scott again grabs you by the neck, and twists you around to face one of the sinks. "You want me to knock out all your teeth on the edge of that sink?" he roars. "You want me to break your fucking face with a urinal? You will bring me that book, and— You paid two dollars for it? I'll give you two dollars, you'll sell it to me, and we'll be square! But you are going to—!"<br/>
<br/>
He's frothing so hard now that he can't speak. And you, with your teeth chattering from terror, can only nod and promise that you'll bring it out to him if he follows you home.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
There was another burst of anger from Scott when you told him your name and confirmed that your dad is named Harris and that he works at Salopek ("You're Prescott's <i>whelp</i>!?"), but he didn't explain himself. He only marched you out to the student parking lot, shoved you at your truck, and followed you bumper to bumper out to your house. He got out and leaned against the side of his car, glowering, as you ran inside.<br/>
<br/>
Your dad's car, you noticed, was in the garage.<br/>
<br/>
Upstairs, you tear you room apart looking for the book, but can't find it. You run downstairs and barge into your dad's study without knocking. He looks up at you from his laptop, a glazed expression on his face. "Dad," you gasp, "that arts and crafts book we used to make that mask. I can't find it!"<br/>
<br/>
He stares back at you before seeming to recover himself. "Yes, I went up into your room and got it," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, there's a guy at school who wants to buy it from me, and I told him I—"<br/>
<br/>
"What?" he exclaims. "You told someone about the—?" He seems to catch himself. "That book?"<br/>
<br/>
You nod. "Can you give it to me so I can give it to him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Of course not," he snaps. "You're not selling or giving it away!"<br/>
<br/>
"But Dad!"<br/>
<br/>
"That's final. I found someone up at the university who knows all about it. In fact, we're going out to visit him first thing tomorrow."<br/>
<br/>
You gape.<br/>
<br/>
"Is there anything else, Will?" he says.</span></div></div>


path: 1143214142
author_id: nostrum777
title: The Little Stone Villa of Horrors
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>It’s your project</i>. You recall your father saying that. But now he's acting like it's his.<br/>
<br/>
"First thing in the morning we're going out to see this expert," he is saying as you stare back, dumbfounded. "Set your alarm like it's a school morning."<br/>
<br/>
Briefly his face goes blank. Then, as though a switch has been flipped, he smiles and says, "We'll get donuts afterward. At the place your friend works. Anything else, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>You could come talk to the psycho football player waiting outside to take the book from me</i>, you think. But you only say "No sir" and leave his office.<br/>
<br/>
Scott is waiting, arms crossed and feet planted, as you step out of the garage. "So?" he says.<br/>
<br/>
"No can do. My dad confiscated it."<br/>
<br/>
"Bullshit!" Scott's eyes flash.<br/>
<br/>
"You wanna go in and talk to him?" you exclaim. "There's the freaking door, man!"<br/>
<br/>
Scott takes a step, and for a moment you think he really is going to charge in to confront your dad. But he catches himself.<br/>
<br/>
"So what's the deal?" he says. "Why'd he confiscate it?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. I guess he's interested in it. I'm supposed to go with him tomorrow morning to talk to some expert about it."<br/>
<br/>
Scott glowers, but he keeps his temper. "And after that? Any way you can get it back?"<br/>
<br/>
You grimace. "I’ll call you if I can think of a way," you say. Silently, you add: <i>Yeah, don't count on it, asshole.</i><br/>
<br/>
Scott looks at you as though he's biting into a lemon.<br/>
<br/>
"Fine," he says. "Call me when you can. Oh, and Prescott—" He jabs a hard finger into your shoulder. "Don't try to cheat me."<br/>
<br/>
A door opens behind you, and you whirl at the sound. At first you think it must be your dad, but it's only your little brother, Robert. "Yo Will!" he jeers. "You finished making out with your boyfriend yet?"<br/>
<br/>
If anything could get you to forget about Scott and his threats, it's your shitty little middle-school brother and his mouth. "Come here you little—!" You hurl yourself at him, knocking him inside the house and catching him under the chin the way Scott caught you. "Whatever you do," you growl at him, "don't tell dad about that guy out there!"<br/>
<br/>
"Or you'll what?" Robert chokes out. His eyes flame defiantly.<br/>
<br/>
"Or I'll tell dad about the porn stash you got on your computer!"<br/>
<br/>
"So? I'll tell him about yours!"<br/>
<br/>
"I won't get in a tenth the trouble you will!"<br/>
<br/>
"Alright, alright! Ow! Quit it!" He twists in your grasp, and you released. "Jesus, chillax, bro!" he gasps. "What's your freaking problem?"<br/>
<br/>
"I just don't want dad knowing that guy was here."<br/>
<br/>
"How come? Because—?" In the brief pause after that word, you can anticipate what he says next. "Because he's your boyfriend?"<br/>
<br/>
He dashes away before you can catch him again.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
<i>Saturday morning</i>.<br/>
<br/>
It's a whitewashed box of stone—a Mediterranean-style villa with a portico and tall windows—that your dad parks in front of, but everything else about the place screams "Addams Family." The surrounding wall is pierced by a heavy iron gate that screams when you push it open; a terraced yard with dead dirt where the lawn and flower beds should be; a massive front door with a knocker in the shape of a howling wolf's head. You half-expect Lurch to be standing there when it opens.<br/>
<br/>
But the deep and tolling doorbell is answered only by a short, pudgy man with a greasy combover and a mustache-and-goatee combination that practically shouts "movie villain." He is dressed in a dark suit, and turns equally dark eyes upon you. His smile is oily as he greets your father. "Mr. Prescott, so happy to see you again."<br/>
<br/>
"Professor Blackwell." Your father shakes the man's hand and puts an arm on your back. "This is my son, Will."<br/>
<br/>
"Pleased to meet you, young man," says the professor. "I am Aubrey Blackwell, professor of archaeology at Keyserling." His sniffy, aristocratic manner would go better if it had a British plumminess, but his accent is as flat as yours. "Please, come in!" He opens the door wider. "And do stick close. I wouldn't want you getting lost inside."<br/>
<br/>
Neither would you care to get lost once you've stepped into the dark, chilly foyer, for the house is much worse on the inside than on the outside. The professor guides you and your father down a wide, dim hallway with a glinting, parquet floors, then turns at the foot of a massive staircase to lead you into a high-ceiling library. Bookshelves rise all the way to the roof on three sides; the only light comes through tall French doors on the far side. There are three desks but only one chair, and after clucking over his thoughtlessness in not preparing for your visit, the professor leads you deeper into the gloomy house to fetch two straight-backed chairs from Frankenstein's idea of a living room. Back in the library, your father draws the leather-bound book—which looks quite at home in this haunted house—from his book bag and presents it to the professor, who clasps it with both hands with a kind of reverent awe.<br/>
<br/>
"Ah, so here it is!" he exclaims. "The authentic deal." His gives you a gleaming glance. "And where did you find it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Arnholm’s." You bite the word off.<br/>
<br/>
"It must have cost you a fortune!"<br/>
<br/>
"Two bucks."<br/>
<br/>
His eyebrows rise as he lays the book on the desk before him and gently opens it. "Truly, you’re a shrewd negotiator," he says. "It's a very unique and valuable tome, young man. And you and father experimented with one of the recipes?" He doesn't wait for you to answer. "I am impressed. The Latin is mangled and amateurish, and yet you deciphered it. And made something together?"<br/>
<br/>
You glance at your father, and his expression is encouraging. "Yeah", you say. "Something. Like a mask."<br/>
<br/>
"Still more impressive", the professor says. But he doesn't sound surprised.<br/>
<br/>
Your dad steps in. "I told Will it might be a book of alchemy. Could you tell us a little bit about it?"<br/>
<br/>
The professor looks surprised. "About alchemy?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, the book." There's an edge in your dad's voice. The same edge it gets when he thinks you're being an insolent smart-ass.<br/>
<br/>
The professor pales. "C-certainly," he stammers, and looks deeply discomfited. "The <i>Libra Personae</i>, to call it by its usual title, is a most famous book—famous in certain discreet circles, that is, famous amongst certain discriminating, ah, connoisseurs of—" He licks his lips. "Occult knowledge." A slight shudder rolls through his shoulders. "The <i>Libra</i> purports to be an alchemical description of the human body, of the human person, in fact. It describes the body's 'alchemical physiognomy,' you might say."<br/>
<br/>
He pauses to give your father an anxious, watery glance, but your father returns it with a stony smirk.<br/>
<br/>
So the professor continues. "Just as a medical encyclopedia dissects and illustrates the, ah, physical tissues of the human frame," he says, and squirms a little, "the <i>Libra</i> dissects and illustrates the, erm, metaphysical tissues." He pats his forehead with his fingertips. "In particular—"<br/>
<br/>
"We thought it was just an arts and crafts project," your dad says. His smirk deepens.<br/>
<br/>
"Er, it comes with practical applications," the professor mutters as his eyes dart between you and your dad. "It's own set of scalpels, you might say."<br/>
<br/>
"It sounds like a dangerous book," your father says, with a sidelong glance in your direction, "which is why I don't want it in my house." He gestures at the library shelves. "You look like you could give it a good home."<br/>
<br/>
<i>He wants to give it away?</i> You can hardly believe what you're hearing. "Dad!" you exclaim. “What about this being my project? What about no giving or selling?”<br/>
<br/>
Your dad replies irritated. “I won’t agree to a project that can endanger you, our family, or the house!”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, but I still have to go work at Salopek, right?” You respond bitterly, figuring you got the short end of the deal. “You made a deal! You help me on the project, I go work at Salopek! No project, no deal!”<br/>
<br/>
Your father looks at you deeply into the eye, takes a deep breath, and calms down. “...Very well. I agreed to that, and I won’t back off.” His tone seemed worried, but cautious. “...I just don’t want to risk you being harmed by things you’re not prepared to handle.” He looks at the professor and smiles. “Tell you what. How about...I make a good offer for the book, and I don’t force you to work at Salopek? You could...use the money for another project! And...you could tell your friend Caleb that the position’s still open!” He smiles at you, patting you in the back. “Will...don’t see this as something bad for you. See it as a new opportunity."<br/>
<br/>
Put in that way, it makes sense. You’ll get money, you’ll fulfill your deal with Caleb...<br/>
<br/>
But, you won’t be able to figure out what that book says. And you’ll still have to deal with Scott. How you’ll explain to him that you sold the book to a collector?</span></div></div>


path: 11432141421
author_id: nostrum777
title: The End of a Very Short Project
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Sometimes, a deal is too sweet to be true. This seems to be one. You’re off the hook with that Salopek thing, you can work things out with Caleb, but you won’t have the book anymore, and you'll have to explain things to pissed-off Scott Bickelmeir. You just hope you get more than the two bucks you spent at Arnholm’s.<br/>
<br/>
"Fine," you tell your dad.<br/>
<br/>
"Excellent!" Your father seems to be more excited about the news than you do.<br/>
<br/>
"Then it is all settled." Blackwell drags the book closer to him. "Anything else you may want to speak with me about, Mr. Prescott?"<br/>
<br/>
Your father looks between you and him. "I'd like to negotiate the details of the sale."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, most certainly!" The professor beams.<br/>
<br/>
"In private."<br/>
<br/>
There's that edge in his voice again, like he's annoyed at having to say it aloud. With a pained smile, the professor rises, and the two of them disappear into the gloomy hallway beyond. It startles you a little to see them mounting the staircase instead of turning deeper into the house toward that living room.<br/>
<br/>
Without the adults to distract you, you are left at the mercy of the library. A discordant ticking sound has been giving you a twitch, and you track it down now to a pair of grandfather clocks, standing shoulder to shoulder but turned perpendicular to each other, in one corner of the room. Their pendulums swing out of phase with each other, and their pulses are irregular. <i>Ticktick. Tick. ... Tick. Tickticktick. ... Tick. Ticktick ... Ticktickclick …</i><br/>
<br/>
There's also the stuffed animals, some inside bell jars, that dot the alcoves. One of them, resembling a one-eyed orangutan with razor-like teeth, is particularly ugly, and though you quickly turn your back on it, you can't help glancing over your shoulder from time to time, with the impression that it is moving when you're not looking directly at it.<br/>
<br/>
So you try studying the book shelves. You keep your hands to yourself as you do, less from a sense of respect for the professor's property than because you have the odd impression that you might get stung if you touch them. Most of the books are bound in leather, like the Libra that the professor is so prattlingly pleased with, and only a few of them have titles on their spines. These don't exactly reassure you. The ones that you can make sense of—like <i>The Elements of Jacobean Witchcraft</i>—are in fact less disturbing than those titles—like <i>The Voice of Silence</i> and <i>The Book of the Thirty Words</i>—that baffle you.<br/>
<br/>
It's probably only fifteen minutes, but feels like fifty, before your dad and the professor return, and in that time your mood has darkened, and you are becoming unnerved by the atmosphere of the house. But both the adults look very cheerful. On your way home, your dad handles you an envelope. Inside it, twenty $20 bills. You whistle. Four hundred dollars for a book you paid two dollars for. You could buy a new console, or set a down payment for a tablet, or ... Well, you'll just have to give it a good, long think. There's almost too much to take in!<br/>
<br/>
But you also have sinking feeling that you got cheated.<br/>
<br/>
On the way back out to the car, though, you remember that bin of stuff that your dad set aside after making that mask—"Will's Arts and Crafts Project," labelled it. You wonder if you could still do something with that.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
As promised, after leaving the professor's, your dad takes you to Don’s Donuts, for a late second breakfast.<br/>
<br/>
It’s a tiny place, basically a storefront with some small tables and glass-fronted cases behind a plate-glass window. So there's no dodging things when you enter to find Caleb at the front counter, chatting with Keith, who works there. "Yo, Caleb!" you call.<br/>
<br/>
But he doesn't turn or answer. He only straightens up and says, "Keith, did you hear something?" He looks everywhere but at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Tilley," you retort, "tell this guy to cut the crap and stop acting like a baby."<br/>
<br/>
Keith gives your father an uneasy glance. "The voice you’re hearing—" he starts to say.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb whirls on you. "God damn it, Will, if you’re gonna—!" But his voice dies and his eyes pop when he sees your dad. "Oh. Hey, Mr. Prescott!" He gulps.<br/>
<br/>
"Hi, Caleb." Your dad's tone is chilly but courteous. "Will told me you were thinking of applying at Salopek."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh ... Yeah." Caleb's expression tightens.<br/>
<br/>
"The opening still hasn't been filled. If you put in an application by Monday, I can talk to someone."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb freezes, then seems to vibrate in place. He looks between you and your dad. You grin at him.<br/>
<br/>
"Really?" he squeaks. "But— But I thought you wanted Will to—"<br/>
<br/>
"Will's got himself another job," your dad says, which gives you a hard start. <i>What the fuck is he talking about?</i> "The one at Salopek sounds made for you," your dad continues. "Are you still interested?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb stares in disbelief. Then he says, "Uh ... Yeah!"<br/>
<br/>
"That's fine, Caleb," your dad says, and claps him on the shoulder. "I'm sure you'll be a shoo-in for it."<br/>
<br/>
"You mean I can still apply for it?" Caleb asks, sounding dumbfounded.<br/>
<br/>
"Of course. Just stop by Monday, and put in an application.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb's jaw slackens. Then he hops onto the balls of feet. "Thanks, Mr. Prescott! I— I'll do that first thing after getting out of class! Or before school! What time does the office open?"<br/>
<br/>
They talk a little more, and Caleb bounds for the door. But he's stopped by a word from your dad."You need to go now?" he asks. "Why don't you stay, hang out with us a bit?"<br/>
<br/>
"Um—" Again Caleb freezes, and his Adam's apple bobbles as he looks between you and your dad.<br/>
<br/>
So you blurt it out for him. "Caleb and me had a fight, and he's still mad at me."<br/>
<br/>
"A fight? What about?"<br/>
<br/>
You hold Caleb's eye as you answer. "You know that time capsule project we had for class? Caleb wants to dig it up so he can get his contribution back out. I told him I wouldn't help."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb flushes, first to a hot pink, then to a bright red. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Keith ducking behind the counter.<br/>
<br/>
"Really? What's the story?" your dad asks.<br/>
<br/>
You ignore Caleb's hot glare. "We have to write a paper on what we contributed, and why, and Caleb decided he had to change his contribution because he doesn't want to get in trouble. He put in a thumb drive full of porn."<br/>
<br/>
In the silence that follows, the rumble of traffic competes with the buzz of a very large fly trying to bore its way through the plate-glass window.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay," your dad says. "I can see why he wouldn't want to admit that in a school paper. But why does he have to dig up the capsule?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because," Caleb blurts out, "I don't want our teacher checking back and finding out what I really put in. I was going to put in something else, and write a paper on that."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, there's other ways of handling it," your dad says. "Other ways than breaking into school property. Are you mad at Will because he wouldn't help you?" Caleb kicks at the floor. "What if he figured out another way to help?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb mutters something. Probably something like <i>That's fucking unlikely.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Did you dig the capsule up yet? No? Then I'd say Will saved you from making a mistake. Now come on. This is no reason for the two of you to be mad at each other. Shake on it like gentlemen, be friends again. Together you'll figure out another way of getting out of this little jam."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb winces, but he puts out his hand. "Pax?" he mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"Pax, bro." You grasp his hand and pull him into a hug. He stiffens, but returns it.<br/>
<br/>
After that, the three of you sit at one of the tiny tables to eat donuts, drink coffee, and talk, with your dad explaining the job at Salopek. It sounds mostly like manual labor—moving things, taking inventory, assembling and reassembling machinery—but Caleb questions him closely and doesn't seem put off by the fact that he'd be using his hands more than his brain. He just figures it'll look good as an item on a resume, and your dad agrees.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh," your dad adds, "do you know Sean Mitchell? I think he goes to Westside."<br/>
<br/>
"I know Sean," Keith pipes up from the register, where he's been listening.<br/>
<br/>
"Dude, I've pointed him out to you before," he tells Caleb when the latter shakes his head. "Big blonde football player."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb shrugs. You get a cold feeling around your shoulders. You had a run-in with a big blonde football player yesterday ...<br/>
<br/>
Well, it turns out your dad was asking because Sean also works at Salopek, and Caleb would likely be working with him. Caleb assures your dad that he gets along with almost everybody. It might be your imagination, but it seems like he shoots you a little smirk when he says it.<br/>
<br/>
But peace seems to be restored between you and your friend, so the visit is a success. You thank your dad for his help as you drive home.<br/>
<br/>
"Anytime," he says. "And I mean anytime. You have any kind of trouble, you come talk to me. I’m always looking for you, son."<br/>
<br/>
You wonder why he emphasized that bit.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Later that afternoon, as you're killing time in your bedroom, your cell dings with a text. It's one you were afraid of getting.<br/>
<br/>
It's from Scott Bickelmeir, asking if you've got time to talk.</span></div></div>


path: 114321414211
author_id: nostrum777
title: A Date with Two-Face
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>So Scott Bickelmeir still wants to talk to you. After some negotiations, you agree to meet at the municipal soccer fields, where the Eastman and Westside girls' soccer teams are holding an exhibition match for charity. Scott smiles broadly as you approach him in the parking lot. He thanks you for coming, and opens with an apology for getting in your face yesterday.<br/>
<br/>
You stiffen even as you accept the apology: There's no way Bickelmeir wheedled you into this meeting just so he could tell you he was sorry. After an awkward pause, he asks you to take a walk with him around the perimeter of the field.<br/>
<br/>
It's a warm day, with a bright sun in a partly cloudy sky, and the tips of the grass are seared a light yellow from a recent heat wave. The shouts and cheers of the crowd rise up around you, punctuated by an occasional shrill whistle from the referee. Scott nods at the field.<br/>
<br/>
"Good thing it's the girls playing and not the boys," he says. "Garner wouldn't have been able to play."<br/>
<br/>
"Is something wrong with him?" you ask in alarm. <br/>
<br/>
"I heard Coach Gellman is playing it safe. It seems like he's okay after that trip to the nurse's office"—Scott shoots you a veiled, sidelong glance—"but the coach wants him to take it easy for a few days."<br/>
<br/>
"Do they know what happened?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
Scott doesn't reply right away. There's a growl in his voice when he does. "You know what happened to him, Prescott. We talked about that yesterday."<br/>
<br/>
"I mean," you stammer, "have you told anyone about it? That, um—"<br/>
<br/>
"No, you're in the clear as far as everyone's concerned. Bridges and Stanchik didn't see anything. Or if they did, they haven't said anything. I'm the only one who saw what you did."<br/>
<br/>
<i>What do you think I did?</i>, you wonder.<br/>
<br/>
"Did you go out to see that expert this morning?" Scott continues. "You told me your dad confiscated that book, wanted to take it out to show to someone." <br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. We took it to some college professor. He said it's a book of alchemy, really valuable. He bought it off us. I don't have it anymore," you add with a touch of smug relief. <i>Got a couple hundred dollars for it. So ... cha-ching</i>!<br/>
<br/>
"Does this professor have a name?" Scott asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Blackwood, Blackthorn, or something like that. Why?"<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't answer, but pauses to stare at the soccer match. Eastman has the ball, and they score a goal as you watch, to mixed cheers and groans from the crowd.<br/>
<br/>
"I might want to talk to him about it. About that book. About masks."<br/>
<br/>
A tickling, like a mass of spiders, runs up and down your back. "Why are you so interested in this stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
Scott turns to face you.<br/>
<br/>
"Answer me something, Prescott, and answer me true," he says. "What was that mask supposed to do to Garner? Why'd you try jamming it onto his face?"<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself flushing. "I told you, I just wanted to show it to him, I only meant it as a joke when I—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I remember what you said. But doesn't that book come with instructions? Or did it just say, ‘Here's how to make a mask’? Is there something you're supposed to do with it? You said it was alchemy, which is like magic, right? So what is this <i>magical mask</i> supposed to <i>magically</i> do?"<br/>
<br/>
You bite your lip instead of answering. Scott would never believe you anyway, but even if he didn't, do you dare tell him, in this mood of his, that it was supposed to be part of a spell for making disguises?<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, I wanna show you something," Bickelmeir says, and gestures you to follow him back to the parking lot.<br/>
<br/>
You're tempted to bolt for your truck, but you follow as he opens up his own truck—which is black, and burlier than yours—and pulls his back pack to him. He unzips it, and fishes something out. Your jaw slackens when you see it is a blue-tinted mask, just like the one you made and lost.<br/>
<br/>
Then you realize it is the mask you made.<br/>
<br/>
"I was sitting with Garner in the infirmary," Bickelmeir says. "We couldn't get him to wake up. The nurse went back to check on you, and while she was with you <i>this</i> thing just appeared on Garner's face. Just ... materialized." He leans close to put his head to yours. "Like magic."<br/>
<br/>
You swallow, and take a step back when Scott offers it to you. "Take it, look at it," he says. "Tell me what you see."<br/>
<br/>
You see a mask, of course. A concave/convex oval, smooth as glass and glowing with a blue light. There are ridges corresponding to a brow, nose, lips, cheekbones and chin, and depressions for the eyes. The sunlight gleams and runs off it.<br/>
<br/>
But hang on. Not all the lines of light melt and run as you turn the mask over in your hands. Some remain locked in place. And as you peer and frown at them, you see that they form an image inside the mask. With a shock, you realize that it's the image of a <i>face</i>. Why didn't you notice that before, after you polished it?<br/>
<br/>
Then you recognize the face. It's the face of Marc Garner.<br/>
<br/>
"You see it?" Scott asks. You nod. "You know who it is?"<br/>
<br/>
"I think so."<br/>
<br/>
"You know how it got there? Are you <i>surprised</i> to see it there?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. A little," you stammer.<br/>
<br/>
Bickelmeir lowers his brow to glare at you. "Really?"<br/>
<br/>
A tremble runs through you. "I didn't know for sure what would happen when I ... tried putting it on him," you reply in a near-whisper.<br/>
<br/>
"But if you put it on now, if you put it onto your face," Scott asks, "what do you think would happen?"<br/>
<br/>
You're shaking too hard to answer. This is all the confirmation you need that the magic promised by the book is real.<br/>
<br/>
"Then I'll guess for you," Scott says. "I'll guess that it would turn you into Marc's twin. Not like his sisters are his twin. It would turn you into his exact duplicate."<br/>
<br/>
You can't help snickering nervously. "You think?"<br/>
<br/>
"I <i>know</i>, Prescott," he says. "Because it happened to me."<br/>
<br/>
His face has gone very pale under his outdoor tan, and when you don't reply he leans in very close.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm wearing a mask, just like that one, Prescott. I'm not Scott Bickelmeir."<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
A month ago—hell, just a week ago—you'd have laughed and then run off as fast as you could. Now, though, you stand frozen in place, listening.<br/>
<br/>
"It happened last month, a couple of weeks before school was supposed to start. I was working out at Salopek—where your dad works—and this box came in. Then it came back to the distribution center—whoever it was for didn't want it—and me and some friends got into it. There were some masks inside it. Masks a lot like this one." He touches the mask that you're holding.<br/>
<br/>
"We took 'em out with us and got together. We goofed around with them. And when we were done, we had a mask that had <i>my</i> face in it"—again, he touches the mask—"and one that had Scott's in it. We put them on. Suddenly I was Scott. I looked like Scott, and the next morning when I woke up I even had Scott's memories. And Scott put the other mask on, and it turned him into me."<br/>
<br/>
You could ask a lot of questions here, but you keep silent.<br/>
<br/>
"But we couldn't figure out how to take them off. There's no catch, no button, no hinge. We had to keep wearing them. We had to go around pretending to be each other. Him pretending to be me, and me pretending to be him.<br/>
<br/>
Suddenly his face twists up, and you realize he's about to burst into tears.<br/>
<br/>
"Until there was a car wreck. Scott was driving my truck, and he was in an accident. It killed him. I don't know if it was the magic or something else. But it killed him and it took my life with it. The world thinks I'm dead, and it thinks Scott's alive."<br/>
<br/>
In the silence that follows, you ask the most pertinent question you can. "So who are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"My name is Taylor Mitchell," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"And what do you want from me?"<br/>
<br/>
He stares at you until his eyes go out of focus, and a slow flush creeps up his cheeks.<br/>
<br/>
"What the fuck do you think I want from you?" he growls. "I want your help taking this goddamn mask off! You've got the book that made it. Or you had it! Doesn't it have directions for taking them off?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," you stammer. "It didn't even tell me what the, the spell would do, exactly!"<br/>
<br/>
Scott's brow lowers. "You sold the book to that guy? Can you get it back?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Probably</i> not, you think. That house was creepy enough to return. You could just return the money, see if you can negotiate a deal.<br/>
<br/>
That would be the middle course. It is flanked by two very different courses of action.<br/>
<br/>
First, you could just take Scott out to meet the professor, and leave it up to him to work with Scott. On the other hand—<br/>
<br/>
Scott's story sounds very strange, too strange even allowing for the existence of magic. What if it's a lot of bullshit, and this is just a trick of some kind to get ahold of a very powerful book of magic?</span></div></div>


path: 1143214142112
author_id: nostrum777
title: No Refunds; All Sales Final
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You didn't want to return to the Professor's creepy house. Particularly not on a Sunday, after church, to bargain with a man who, in your imagination at least, was beginning to take on the aspect of a devil. You weren't even sure it was a good idea to follow up with him. Did you have a good reason to believe Scott's story that he was actually "Taylor Mitchell"? lt sounded like a scam to get the book away from you.<br/>
<br/>
But something in his voice sounded genuine, and he did give you back the mask that you put onto Marc.<br/>
<br/>
Also, that book was totally was your project. Your father shouldn't have made you sell it.<br/>
<br/>
So, in the middle of a Sunday afternoon, you are standing on the professor's porch again, rattling the wolf's-head door knocker, and holding an envelope with the professor's money. You've plenty of time to regret your decision to come out before the door is opened by the last person you'd expect: a lovely young woman with long, platinum-blonde hair, and large and luscious breasts. You gawk at her.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh...hello?" she says, warily.<br/>
<br/>
As soon as she speaks, you place her: It's Lucy Vredenburg, older sister of Cindy Vredenburg, one of the cheerleaders at Westside.<br/>
<br/>
"Hi!" you exclaim in a strangled squeak. "Wow! Funny meeting you here, Lucy!"<br/>
<br/>
She raises an eyebrow. "Do we know each other?"<br/>
<br/>
"What? Oh, uh, not really." You feel yourself blushing. "I go to Westside. I know your sister. I—" You just catch yourself from admitting you had a massive crush on her your sophomore year, when she was a senior.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you looking for the professor?" she coolly asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Yeah! Has to do with— My dad and me were out here yesterday, had some business—" You grimace with embarrassment. Without waiting for an invite—because it's just too awkward standing on the porch, talking to her—you shove your way past into the dark, cold foyer beyond. "Is he home?"<br/>
<br/>
Lucy looks astonished at your effrontery—you're a little astonished too—then gestures down the hallway. "He's in the library. I was just leaving anyway, so don't mind me." With a soft snort she walks out, pulling the door shut behind. You cringe inwardly, then pad down the hallway, deeper into the gloomy house.<br/>
<br/>
Professor Blackwell looks up at you over the top of a pile of books when you peer into the library at him. He blinks owlishly, and his lips purse inside his beard. "Mr. Prescott, isn't it?" he says. "This is unexpected."<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't gesture you in, and it's on fretful tiptoes that you enter the library. The books seem to glare down at you from their shelves, and you glance around, looking for the vampire cyclops-monkey, regretting it instantly when you spot it. "If you have a minute, professor," you stammer, "I want to talk to you about something."<br/>
<br/>
The professor only leans back in his chair, to regard you with a steady stare. You draw a deep breath and hold up the envelope. "I'd, uh, like to buy that book back from you."<br/>
<br/>
As Lucy had, he raises an eyebrow. "What you'd like, Mr. Prescott, and what I am willing to do for you," he says, "are two entirely different things."<br/>
<br/>
"You mean you won't sell it back to me? I mean, I'd give you your, uh, money back."<br/>
<br/>
"I would hardly be willing," he replies in a very dry tone, "to give up the book for less than I paid you for it. I take it you have been doing your research, and have discovered that the <i>Libra Personae</i> is worth considerably more than what I paid you for it?"<br/>
<br/>
"What?" The question completely wrong-foots you. "No! I haven't—! Is it worth more than—?" You rattle the envelope. Yesterday you were thrilled to get four hundred dollars from him; now it occurs to you that the professor might have paid you only a fraction of what the book is worth.<br/>
<br/>
"Considerably more, Mr. Prescott. Unless you are prepared to return me an envelope many times fatter, in bills of a denomination several times larger, we have nothing at all to discuss."<br/>
<br/>
"You cheated us!" you exclaim.<br/>
<br/>
"I paid you a price you were willing to accept. It is not my fault if you did not perform due diligence before accepting my offer. Moreover, the <i>Libra</i> is not for sale, by me, at any price. I am a collector, and that particular item is the capstone of my collection. No one who values it as highly as I do could afford to buy it off me, and no one who could afford to buy it off me would value it so highly. This conversation is a waste of time. Good day, Mr. Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
"But my dad—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Your father was also most adamant, as I recall, about taking the book from your hands. I believe he was afraid that you would lose several fingers by mishandling it." He lowers his great chin to give you a hard stare. "Does he know you are here?"<br/>
<br/>
"N-no."<br/>
<br/>
"Would he be pleased to learn that you have attempted to buy back that which he insisted you sell?"<br/>
<br/>
You flush hard. Obviously you are not going to get anywhere, and now he's all but threatening to call your father. With a muttered <i>Oh, fuck it,</i> you stalk out of the library. The professor doesn't call after you. Or, if he does, his shout is swallowed in the oppressive darkness of his house.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
<i>Monday afternoon.</i> You are parked on the other side of the road, staring at the front gate of the professor's villa. But it's Scott Bickelmeir's truck you're sitting in, for it was Scott who drove you out here after school. <br/>
<br/>
He wasn't happy when you told him yesterday evening that the professor wouldn't sell the book back. You're not happy about his plan now to break into the villa and steal it. But against your better judgment, here you are. You figure Scott could use your help; and you'd like to see him succeed, if for no other reason than to get back at the professor for cheating you. <br/>
<br/>
And now here comes Scott, jogging alongside the wall that encircles the villa, returning from reconnoitering the house and grounds. He gestures you to join him at the corner. "Now or never," he says as you trot up.<br/>
<br/>
"You don't see his car?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't see <i>any</i> car," he retorts. "Only tire tracks up and down here." He points. "If this is where he parks, there's no one here."<br/>
<br/>
"Except Lurch, maybe," you mutter to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Scott gives you a look, then bends over and makes a stirrup with his hands. You put your foot in his hands, and he lofts you to the top of the wall. You reach down and help him up and over. Together you drop into the barren side yard together, and hustle over the house. You make to peer in through a window, but Scott pulls you back. "Don't be an ass," he hisses. "You won't be able to see in, and anyone inside will be able to see you."<br/>
<br/>
"So what's your plan?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"We just go in. We'll try the front door first."<br/>
<br/>
"It'll be locked!"<br/>
<br/>
He gives you another look. "And if it is, we'll find another way inside. If it isn't locked, that means someone is home, and we'll beat a retreat." He turns away, and you make a face at back.<br/>
<br/>
The front door is, in fact, locked, so you make a circuit of the house. There are two other entrances, one into what through the windows looks like a kitchen, and the other through a pair of French doors into the library. Back where you started, Scott cranes his neck and stares up at the house a moment before tugging you into making a second circuit.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, we're going to have to break something when we go in," he says after you've made that second trip around the house. "How are you at climbing trees?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm okay at it. I mean," you add, "it's been, like, ten years since I climbed one, but I was pretty good when I used to."<br/>
<br/>
Scott snorts. "You were also, like six years old and you were a lot smaller. But that tree on the other side of the house—"<br/>
<br/>
It was the only piece of living vegetation in the yard, a single tree, standing near the house, beside a stone shed. Scott tells you of something you didn't notice: a single branch snarled out from the trunk, ending near a window in the upper story. "We could bust in through there," he says, "<i>if</i> you can still skinny up a tree."<br/>
<br/>
You shrug.<br/>
<br/>
"Or," Scott continues, "we go in through the basement."<br/>
<br/>
"What basement?"<br/>
<br/>
"Here." He leads you past the French doors and the patio they open onto, to point to a single window that peeps out at ground level. The panes are dark and grimy. "We can try busting in through there," Scott says.</span></div></div>


path: 11432141421122
author_id: nostrum777
title: Will and Scott, Rescue Burglars
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You quickly consider the options: Blackwell could back at any moment, and a window at ground level is safer and faster to break in than climbing a tree. <br/>
<br/>
So you point at the window. Scott shrugs and kneels beside it.<br/>
<br/>
He starts by trying to rub away the grime and peering inside, but he soon gives up with a grimace. "Be right back," he mutters, and jogs away.<br/>
<br/>
You stare after him a moment, then kneel on the grass to have a go at the window yourself. The dirt could be baked into the glass itself, so stoutly does it resist being rubbed away, and the room within is too dark to make anything out. So you dismiss it as your imagination, or a trick of the light, when you think you glimpse a shadow darting about within.<br/>
<br/>
Scott has a crowbar when he runs back up, and after pressing you to one side, he shatters first one window pane and then the others with a series of hard, smart blows. Shards tinkle and clatter as he clears out the edges; then he ruthlessly wrenches out the wooden crossbeam. Inside of a minute, he has completely cleared the window away.<br/>
<br/>
He drops to his stomach, but freezes before he can slide through and inside. You drop down beside him, and also freeze when you see what he sees.<br/>
<br/>
It's a basement alright, with an almost six-foot drop to a concrete floor below. The walls are painted cinderblock. Attached to one wall—the one adjoining the library—is a short, tightly curled spiral staircase. At the far end is a bed.<br/>
<br/>
And standing in the middle of the floor is a girl. She has hair that would probably be platinum-blonde if it were clean, and she is doing her best to cover her nudity with her arms and hands while gazing up at you and Scott with a look that mixes hope with terror.<br/>
<br/>
As yesterday, it takes you a stupidly long time before you recognize her. "Lucy?" you croak.<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes shift from Scott's face to yours. "Do I know you?" she asks in a voice that cracks.<br/>
<br/>
"Yesterday," you remind her. "Will Prescott? I was coming in to meet the professor, and you were just—"<br/>
<br/>
Your voice dies. It is obvious from her expression that she has no idea what you're talking about, and for a moment you doubt that it is Lucy. She is certainly a lot dirtier and more haggard than the cool, fresh, clean girl you bumped into yesterday.<br/>
<br/>
But in the silence that follows, she rallies. After a quick, fearful glance at the staircase, she runs up to the wall just below the window.<br/>
<br/>
"You've got to get me out of here!" she hisses and stretches up with both hands to clutch at you and Scott. "Before he comes back! Please!"<br/>
<br/>
Scott says, "What the—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Please!" Lucy repeats. "He kidnapped me, don't you understand? He's been keeping me prisoner down here! You have to get me out of here before he—!" She quails as though struck.<br/>
<br/>
Scott doesn't move, and in that moment of suspense you think, <i>Fuck it.</i> If Scott's not going to help her, you can!<br/>
<br/>
So you scoot forward and reach for her. She grabs your hands, almost pulling you down and inside, and lifts herself up, trying to scuttle up the wall on her bare feet. Scott curses and grabs you. "Here, let <i>me</i> do it!" he snarls.<br/>
<br/>
You shake Lucy loose and scramble out of the way. Scott lays on the grass and reaches in, and you grab hold to anchor him. A moment later, Lucy's head bobs over the sill of the window, and two moments later she is rolling out onto the grass with you.<br/>
<br/>
She would be a lovely sight—a slim figure with cup-able hips and breasts—if she weren't so dirty. The grime seems to have been ground into her; her hair is in tangles; and her skin sags. But when she gasps and sniffles and turns wet eyes on you and Scott, you still have the urge to pull her close and comfort her.<br/>
<br/>
But she's got other ideas. "Come on," she says with a wild look. "We have to get out of here before—"<br/>
<br/>
High above there is a sound like birds' wings, as though a flock of hundreds has scattered at once, and a heavy tile crashes to the ground just inches from your feet. So when Lucy leaps onto the nearby patio and scampers off toward the front gate, you are right behind her. Scott passes you both on the way out.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Introductions are made on the drive away, Scott kicking up clouds of dust as he sends the truck hurtling back toward town. It is Lucy Vredenburg, Cindy's sister, who is huddling between you and Scott. She tries to shrink up inside herself. But though she is plainly scared half out of her wits, you can tell it's not you or Scott that she's not scared of.<br/>
<br/>
Again, you remind her that you met her at the professor's yesterday when you came out to see him. But she shakes her head. "That wasn't me," she says in a low voice filled with horror.<br/>
<br/>
"She said she was you," you reply.<br/>
<br/>
"That wasn't me," she repeats, in a still firmer tone.<br/>
<br/>
You glance past her at Scott. He returns your look with a pale look of his own.<br/>
<br/>
"Lucy," you start to say. But when your voice dies, Scott completes your thought for you. "You can tell us what's going on," he says. "I'm pretty goddamn sure we'll believe you."<br/>
<br/>
But she shakes her head. "You won't," she moans.<br/>
<br/>
"This girl who wasn't you," you say, "that I met yesterday. Do you know who she is?"<br/>
<br/>
Lucy hesitates, then shakes her head. "But I've seen her," she says in a voice so small you can barely hear her.<br/>
<br/>
Scott takes over again, but instead of pressing her, he asks for her story from the beginning. It comes out haltingly, and Scott drives aimlessly through the countryside west of town as she tells it.<br/>
<br/>
Lucy attends the local college, Keyserling, and Blackwell was one of her professors. She visited him to talk about an essay she was having trouble with, and though she suspected the worst when he invited her out to his villa for a closer consultation, she wasn't prepared for something far worse than she thought possible. During their meeting she passed out, and when she woke she found herself in that basement. Even more terrible was the moment when a door at the top of the staircase opened, and at its head appeared a girl who resembled her exactly, and who spoke as if she knew everything that Lucy did. That was at the beginning of September, and she has been Professor Blackwell's prisoner ever since.<br/>
<br/>
A silence falls over your trio when she comes to a halting stop. Again, you and Scott exchange a long glance. You can tell what he's thinking, but you leave it to him say it.<br/>
<br/>
"Lucy," he says after pulling over onto the shoulder of a deserted country road, "when you went out to the professor's, did you see or did he show any masks? Blue and kind of blank, like those kind that you see on theater marquees sometimes?"<br/>
<br/>
Lucy frowns as she thinks. Then her expression clears up. "Oh, you mean like—? Yes," she says. "That was just about the last thing I remember, when we were talking, just before—" She breaks off with a shudder. "He showed me this mask. I remember it was blue, it glowed like a sapphire, and I remember thinking how beautiful it was. And he lifted it to my face and—" She breaks off again.<br/>
<br/>
Scott looks at you. "Have you hear anything about Cindy's sister going missing?" he asks. You shake your head, and his lips whiten. "Lucy," he says to her. "There's a girl going around town pretending to be you."<br/>
<br/>
Lucy looks like she's going to vomit. "I know," she says, and starts to shake all over.<br/>
<br/>
Then Scott does something you wish you had the balls to do. He puts his arm around her shoulder and pulls her tight. And, to your chagrin, she nestles there, pressing up close against him.<br/>
<br/>
Over her head, Scott gives you a hard, piercing look. "That book you sold him," he says. "It makes masks. But you bought it at Arnholm's? When?"<br/>
<br/>
"A week ago?" you reply. "I think? Maybe too?"<br/>
<br/>
"Before or after the start of the month?"<br/>
<br/>
"After." You think, trying to relate the book to your school schedule. "Around the tenth of the month," you reply. "Because I bought it for a school project that was due around that time."<br/>
<br/>
Scott's expression hardens. "And he had a mask at the start of the month. It sounds like the professor already knew how to make them."<br/>
<br/>
You feel your eyes widen. "You mean there's another book, another copy?"<br/>
<br/>
"Stands to reason. We need to get them — <i>both of them</i> — away from him. Before he does to anyone else what he did to Lucy."<br/>
<br/>
And as soon as he says that, it hits you like a blow. A blow so hard it staggers you. Almost, the thought hits you so hard, you see stars.<br/>
<br/>
Your dad talked to Blackwell before you went out to see him together. Your dad practically forced you to sell your copy of the book back to Blackwell. And your dad, all out of character, let you quit the job at Salopek before you began it.<br/>
<br/>
But is he your dad anymore? Lucy disappeared, and someone who looks like Lucy took her place.<br/>
<br/>
So is that really your dad back home? A feeling of nausea wells up inside you.<br/>
<br/>
So when Scott foolishly argues to return to Blackwell's villa and Lucy suggests the better option of hiding her, you have a priority of your own to argue for.</span></div></div>


path: 114321414211222
author_id: nostrum777
title: The Princess and the Substitute
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Lucy's story fills you with a sense of dread, but you try thrusting it away as paranoia. Instead, you focus on Lucy.<br/>
<br/>
"Can you take Lucy back to your place?" you ask Scott.<br/>
<br/>
"What?" he exclaims.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, she needs a place to go, man! I mean, like, if there's, a <i>doppelganger</i> back at her house— We have to take her <i>someplace,</i> and I can't take her back to <i>my</i> house!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I can't take her to mine! Besides, we have to get back to—"<br/>
<br/>
But he breaks off at a whimper from Lucy. She is pinned between him and you, and you blush with embarrassment and horrified empathy as she crushes her face into her fists and begins to weep.<br/>
<br/>
Scott gives you a pained look over her head, and pulls her closer to him. "Listen," he tells her in a soothing voice. "Is there anyplace you can go? Anyplace we can take you?" She shakes her head. He looks up at you. "Do <i>you</i> have any ideas?"<br/>
<br/>
You didn't. But in a sudden flash of inspiration, now you do.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
"It used to be an elementary school," you explain as Scott steers his truck into the small parking lot in back of the old, weather-stained building. It's built of stone and brick, with tall, dark, empty windows and steeply pitched, slate-gray roof. "They closed it a long time ago and turned it into a community center. But it's got a basement and, um—"<br/>
<br/>
You break off as Lucy visibly cringes. "I'm sorry," you tell her. "It's the best I can think of."<br/>
<br/>
"It"—that basement—was also a kind of clubhouse that you and your friends Caleb and Keith made last year. While goofing around at the community center you found an outside door at the bottom of a short staircase. In a fit of curiosity you busted the padlock off and went inside to explore. It led into a large basement, dimly lit by a row of small, grimy windows along one wall. It was dirty and greasy and piled high with ancient desks, conference tables, book shelves, filing cabinets, gym equipment, and even a giant mirror—a filthy junk heap that smelled of dust, old wood, and cold metal. The perfect place for teenage boys to explore and hang out it. <br/>
<br/>
So after shifting some of the junk around to make an impromptu "fort," you left and returned to put your own lock on the door, and then you and Caleb and Keith spent a couple of months hanging out there on weeknights and weekends, experimenting with whiskey and tobacco. You have not been back since last winter, though, and now that you have returned you doubt that your lock is still on the door. But you figure that you can always break in again.<br/>
<br/>
But Lucy refuses point blank to exit the truck, pointing out that she hasn't got any clothes. And as you can't exactly drive up to your house with a naked girl in the cab – and as you are not looking forward to seeing your dad ... or the thing that might have replaced your dad – you look online for the nearest thrift shop. Fortunately, it turns out there's one only a few blocks away, in Acheson's tiny commercial district, and Lucy ducks down inside the cab while you run inside with every bill that you and Scott are carrying between you.<br/>
<br/>
You come back out with a sleeping bag, a single sheet, a sweatshirt and some sweat pants. (You tried to ask Lucy for her measurements, but she wasn’t willing to share them). Back at the community center, while Lucy dresses in the truck cab, you and Scott investigate the basement. Maybe the padlock on the door is yours and maybe it's a new one, but it doesn't matter. Scott uses the crowbar to wrench it off.<br/>
<br/>
Lucy makes a face when she joins you inside, and you don't blame her. Even without the bad associations of her recent trauma, it would not make a pleasant hang out. But there's no place else to go, and with only a trace of sullenness—which might only be exhaustion, you tell yourself—Lucy says it will do as a temporary hiding place.<br/>
<br/>
Scott pulls you outside as Lucy starts arranging a living space for herself. "She can't just live here," he tells you. "This isn't, you know, a permanent solution."<br/>
<br/>
"I know that! But—"<br/>
<br/>
"We need to hit the professor's house again, get that book away from him. And the sooner we—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I get it." You rub the back of your head and glance back at the door to the basement. Scott start to say, "You can stay here—" but you interrupt him. "No, I'll go with you. We should pick up some food and water and stuff for her anyway."<br/>
<br/>
But when you go back inside to tell Lucy that you're going to go run some errands, she stops you with a look. "Not before you tell me what you were doing at the professor's," she says.<br/>
<br/>
You and Scott exchange a look. "We weren't trying to break in or anything," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"Bullshit. That's exactly what you were doing." Her expression hardens. "Look," she says, "I'm <i>really</i> grateful to you for getting me out of there, and for putting me up ... here." She glances around with an expression of distaste. "But I still don't know exactly who you are. Or <i>why</i> you're doing this."<br/>
<br/>
Again, you and Scott exchange a look. "We're doing it to help you," you assure her. "It's not like you can go home or go to the police, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why not?" she says, setting her jaw.<br/>
<br/>
Your own jaw slackens. "But ... You said there was someone else out there, someone who, uh ... looks like you."<br/>
<br/>
"And you believe me?" Lucy tilts her chin.<br/>
<br/>
You feel your eyes widen. But it's Scott who speaks. "You mean you were bullshitting us?" he says in a hard voice.<br/>
<br/>
"No," she says. "But it does sound like a bullshit story, doesn't it? I mean, even to me it sounds like bullshit, and I'm the one it happened to. So how come <i>you</i> believe me?" She grips the edge of a nearby desk, and her knuckles whiten.<br/>
<br/>
A silence fills the room. You watch Scott out of the corner of your eye as you try figuring out how to answer her question. But again, it's Scott who answers for the both of you.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, here's the thing," he says. "We've got a bullshit story of our own."<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
It comes out very haltingly and in a confused tangle, because there are two stories to tell—your story of finding a book of magic at Arnholm's and Scott's unrelated story of goofing around with some masks he found at work—and you have to back and fill and recap a couple of times before all the facts are laid out, and then you have tell it all again in a more coherent order so Lucy can put all those pieces together. When it is all over and done, she regards you and Scott with a wondering look.<br/>
<br/>
"You're right," she says, "it does sound like bullshit, even more than mine. But it doesn't sound like you're making it up."<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks," you grumble.<br/>
<br/>
But Lucy is staring at Scott. "Mitchell," she murmurs. "I remember reading about that accident. The one that—" She pauses. "That he died in."<br/>
<br/>
Scott's face twists up. "I told you, it wasn't me. It was the real Scott. I—"<br/>
<br/>
Lucy draws up close to him, and puts her arms around him. "I'm so sorry," she says. "It must be horrible."<br/>
<br/>
He embraces her back. "The really hard part of it," he says, "is that I can't even see my family. They think I'm dead, and I can't tell them I'm not, and about what happened."<br/>
<br/>
They hold each other, Lucy snuffling lightly, and Scott squeezing her tightly.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Well,</i> you think, <i>I just lost any chance to score with Lucy.</i> Then you wince at the unworthy thought.<br/>
<br/>
They finally release each other, but even then they continue to hold hands.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not going to let the same thing happen to you," Scott tells her. "I'm going to get you back to your family, I promise. One way or another—" He looks over at you. "We have to go back over to Blackwell's, try to get that book back. Get <i>anything and everything</i> we can from him."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure." You nod. To Lucy, you add, "And we'll pick you up some stuff. Dinner, water, snacks."<br/>
<br/>
She smiles and says, "Thanks." Then she covers her face with her hands. "Oh God, I'm going to start bawling again," she gasps.<br/>
<br/>
Scott gives you a look, and pulls you up the stairs and outside before you can embarrass Lucy further.<br/>
<br/>
"We'll hit Blackwell's first," he says, "then we'll go pick her up some supplies. Of course, if we're lucky we won't even have to pick her up anything, if we can back in and out with that book."<br/>
<br/>
You nod. But as you get in the truck with him, another thought occurs to you.<br/>
<br/>
Lucy says there's a duplicate of her running around. What if you caught that doppelganger and brought it back to the school, where you could tie it up, question it, find out what it knows? Maybe you could even reverse the impersonation. Blackwell sent a doppelganger out to replace Lucy. Could you send Lucy back in to replace the doppelganger?</span></div></div>


path: 1143214142112221
author_id: nostrum777
title: Salvaging What's Left of your Project
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Lucy is safe and sound for the moment, and though you can’t take your mind off the idea that someone is passing off as her, and has stolen her family, her friends, and her life, you know that Scott is right: The book is bad, and you have to get it—or them, if there's more than one—away from Professor Blackwell, who is turning out to be even worse than you could have imagined. You are filled with dread as you and Scott approach his villa, and that dread is not relieved when you see a car parked beside the villa, where there had been no car before. Scott slows rather than stops as you drift by the front gate, and you stare at the house behind it. Then, he speeds up again. Another raid on Blackwell's, he says, will have to wait for tomorrow.<br/>
<br/>
It's coming up on dinnertime, and though you dread seeing your dad—if he is your dad—almost as much as you dread Blackwell's villa, you tell Scott that you have to get home. He swings by Westside to drop you off by your truck—now sitting alone in the student parking lot—and from there you drive back to Acheson. You stop by the elementary school briefly to wish Lucy a good night's sleep, and to give her your address in case she needs to come find you.<br/>
<br/>
Dinner is mostly uneventful, and silent, as you concentrate on gobbling down the pork chops and mashed potatoes, and you cast your father only a few uneasy glances. After helping to clean up the kitchen and taking out the garbage, you rush upstairs to do your homework. After all, Walberg’s paper won’t be done on its own, and you could use the distraction. You are interrupted only once, by a text from Scott, telling you that he also stopped by the basement.<br/>
<br/>
But your mind can’t get off the revelations of the past week. You had a book of real, actual magic, and your dad forced you to sell it, to a kidnapper or worse, who probably has another copy. You are now acquainted with one of his victims, and with another schoolmate who has issues with the book.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe your dad was right; maybe it was dangerous. But the danger is fully upon you now, all about you, and you are committed to helping others endangered by it.<br/>
<br/>
So after twenty fretful minutes of false starts on your homework, you tramp downstairs to the garage, to have a look at the tools and supplies left over from your one and only experiment with the book.<br/>
<br/>
But it's gone. All of it.<br/>
<br/>
Back in the house, you stop by your dad's office. He looks up from his desk—and smiles—when you call to him.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, do you know what happened to that stuff we bought? You know, the stuff for that project?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, that." He chuckles. "I threw it away. You won’t be needing it anymore, after all. Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh ... no reason." You chew on your lip: you don't want to excite any suspicions in him. "Thought it’d make a nice memento. You know, something we did together."<br/>
<br/>
"Something dangerous we did together." His patronizing tone gives you a chill. "There’ll be more opportunities to do things together, son," he continues. "This doesn’t have to be our only project. Anyways ..." He gives you a quick look up and down. "Done your homework?"<br/>
<br/>
"Working on it."<br/>
<br/>
"Back to it, then. Don't forget to set your alarm for tomorrow."<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Upstairs, you try to return to that paper, the one explaining that Twinkies and Ding-Dongs are part of America’s culinary heritage and how they’ll survive for years and years while still remaining fresh. But still the fate of that project preys upon you. On an impulse, you shovel through the books and papers that cover your desk, looking for the notebook you jotted down notes in. With mounting worry and fear you search, for you cannot find it.<br/>
<br/>
Your door is open, and when you glimpse your brother padding by, you call to him. "Hey, have you been snooping around in my room, you little dipwad?"<br/>
<br/>
"What?" Robert leans in through your doorway, his feet safely planted in the hallway. He's shorter than you were at thirteen, and more filled out. His hair is a dark reddish-gold, and his flat nose is freckled. You've comforted yourself over the years with the fantasy that he's adopted—which would justify you in abusing him—but you've no actual evidence of it.<br/>
<br/>
"I said, have you been snooping around in here, going through my stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
"Your <i>shit</i>, you mean?" He grins insolently.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, my shit. I had a notebook and now it's gone."<br/>
<br/>
His eyes light up. "Oh, you mean for your stink bombs?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Hey, wait a minute—!"<br/>
<br/>
You leap for him as he jumps back into the hallway. He dives for his bedroom, but you kick the door back as he tries slamming it in your face. He falls back with a grin and a snicker as you barge in after him. "You were going through my stuff," you bark at him. "Weren't you, you little—"<br/>
<br/>
"N'yah, dad was throwing it out anyway," he jeers. "It was down by the trash with all that other stuff." He sniggers. "Will's weird arts and crafts project!"<br/>
<br/>
"So <i>Dad</i> went through my stuff? In my bedroom?" You gape. If your dad made a search of your room, that's a <i>much</i> bigger deal than if he was just getting rid of stuff he was keeping in the garage for you. It's like he was trying to get rid of anything and everything connected to that book, cutting you off completely from it.<br/>
<br/>
"Guess so. Wasn't me." Robert cackles some more. "You got into some big trouble with it, right?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>You have no idea, you little semen stain</i>. "Is it still curbside, with the garbage?" You turn for the door.<br/>
<br/>
Robert gives you a sidelong look. "Why, what's in it for me?"<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean, what's in it for you? If it's curbside—"<br/>
<br/>
You break off when a shit-eating grin spreads across Robert's face. "The fuck?" you exclaim. "Did you <i>move</i> it or something?"<br/>
<br/>
"You think I’d waste a chance to do anything with those stink bombs? Got it in my closet."<br/>
<br/>
"What, all of it?" You step for his closet door, but he jumps in front of you.<br/>
<br/>
"What, you want it back?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes!" But Robert blocks you again as you grasp at the closet door.<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, man, I saved it out for you," he says. "Partners, fifty-fifty on it. Or I'll tell Dad you're experimenting with it again."<br/>
<br/>
"And I'll tell Dad you hid it up in your room!"<br/>
<br/>
You try staring him down. He stares you down. Finally, you relent.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, listen, we have to get it out of the house," you tell him. "We don't neither of us want Dad finding it. Tomorrow, after school, we'll move it."<br/>
<br/>
"But we're partners on it," he insists. "You show me how to make some of those stink bombs with it."<br/>
<br/>
"It's not for making stink bombs! But okay. We'll work on it together."<br/>
<br/>
"Cool!" Robert hops on the balls of his feet.<br/>
<br/>
That ends things for the night. Will you keep that promise to Robert? Things are already too dangerous and complicated, and even if he is a little shit the last thing you want is to for anything happen to him. It would be best to keep him out of it all entirely. But that might not be possible.<br/>
<br/>
At any rate, you decide as you sink back onto your bed with your homework, that'll be something to figure out tomorrow.</span></div></div>


path: 11432141421122211
author_id: nostrum777
title: Preparations and Machinations
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Even though you struggle with your sleep, you wake up thirty minutes earlier. For once, your father reminding you of setting the alarm clock paid fruit – the extra time should give you a chance to speak with Lucy and see how she’s coping. You text Scott to meet up at the "clubhouse" before going to school; when you exit the shower you have his reply, agreeing. You have enough time to catch Robert before he can take his turn in the bathroom. "Remember our deal," you tell him. "You help me smuggle the stuff out, and I’ll see what I can do."<br/>
<br/>
"And <i>you</i> remember", he retorts. "Snitch on the deal, and I’mma tell Dad about it."<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Lucy doesn't like the sound of your plan when you tell it to her when you stop by on your way to school. And though she understands that you and Scott want to disarm the professor, she still argues against it. "Do you <i>both</i> have to go?", she asks, and from the way her gaze lingers on Scott you can tell that she thinks that <i>you</i> should be the expendable one.<br/>
<br/>
"Of course she's scared," Scott tells you gruffly after you trudge back out to your trucks, which are parked side by side. "And I'm glad. It means she's going to be careful."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Careful</i> is one way of putting it. You and Scott found the basement empty when you entered together, and for a moment you thought she had fled during the night. Then, like a blonde ninja, she had leaped out at you with the crowbar and nearly brained you. You wince again as you remember the shrill yelp you loosed ...<br/>
<br/>
"Though you know", Scott continues, and he pauses with his hand on the handle of his truck. "She might be right. We don't both <i>have</i> to go out there."<br/>
<br/>
"I want to help", you stubbornly insist.<br/>
<br/>
"Will", he starts to say, but you interrupt him with a lift of your chin.<br/>
<br/>
"If you go in", you tell him, "I want to be sure it's <i>you</i> who comes out."<br/>
<br/>
His eyes widen. Then he flushes, slightly.<br/>
<br/>
"Blackwell's not going to copy me and send out a fake", he says.<br/>
<br/>
"I wanna be sure of that. Just put it down to me wanting to be careful too."<br/>
<br/>
He regards you, then shrugs. "Okay by me. I guess Lucy's story has you spooked, huh?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>No, my </i>dad's<i> got me spooked,</i> you think. But you don't say it aloud. The last thing you want is Scott to start wondering if <i>you're</i> a fake too.<br/>
<br/>
And as you drive off toward school, you idly wonder, <i>Do the fakes know that they're fakes?</i><br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
After school, Scott has to return to his house to pick up tools for the break in—rope, a bat, mace, other things—and you go back to your own place. Robert is playing with his phone on the sofa, but he drops it and hops to his feet when he sees you. He's already moved the bin down to the garage, and you tell him to put it in the back of your truck while take care of a few things inside. You look for your mom, and ask if she's got some old clothes she doesn't mind giving away—part of a charity drive, you tell her.<br/>
<br/>
She blanches a little at the suddenness of the request, but goes upstairs to root around her closet. While she's thus occupied, Robert comes in and corners you. "Did my part of the deal", he says. "When do we start?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not today. I need to find a spot where we can hide the stuff."<br/>
<br/>
He shoves a finger in your face. "Remember, you promised."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah yeah." You push his hand away. "Cross my heart and hope my dick rots off." Your phone buzzes with a text—from Keith, but it's a good excuse to move upstairs to wait for your mom.<br/>
<br/>
She's almost twenty minutes in sorting through her closet, and you have to tell Scott you'll be a little late when he texts to say he's on his way over. You're fidgeting hard when she finally comes out with an armful of clothes.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
"What’s that?" Lucy asks as you haul the bin down into her hideout.<br/>
<br/>
"More clothes for you", you tell her, for your mom's donation—some faded blouses, skirts, jeans, and leggings, and even some underwear—are balanced on its lid.<br/>
<br/>
"No, in the box. Not even more clothes, is it?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, this is the stuff you need to make masks." You glance over at Scott, who is seated nearby fiddling with his cell phone. He looks up with a jerk of his head.<br/>
<br/>
"Get. It. Away from me." Lucy says, backing away. "I don’t want anything related to those damn things."<br/>
<br/>
"No one says you have to", you retort. "But I need some place to hide it." You drop the bin onto a warped conference table. "Besides, maybe we could use this to help you get out of here."<br/>
<br/>
"How?"<br/>
<br/>
"Make a mask for you to wear. Disguise you as some random person. Then you can go out and—"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you listening to yourself?" Lucy shrieks. "That’s exactly what Blackwell’s doing!"<br/>
<br/>
"You have a better idea?", you yell back.<br/>
<br/>
"Will." Scott doesn't have to raise his voice to fill the basement. He just has to stand up, put his shoulders back, and advance on you with a frown. <i>Goddamn it, I could bounce pennies off his pecs</i>, you fume to yourself as you back away. His skin-tight t-shirt leaves nothing to the imagination.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, I'm just trying to help!", you stammer. "I mean, she can stay in here for the rest of her life, for all I fucking <i>hhhmphgh!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Scott grabs you under the jaw and forced you up onto tiptoes. He holds you there as, over his shoulder, he address Lucy. <br/>
<br/>
"It's not a bad idea", he tells her. "It means you wouldn't have spend all your time down here, and we could use your help topside. You could even go spy on your double."<br/>
<br/>
"Not if it involves doing what <i>he’s</i> doing!"<br/>
<br/>
"Professor Blackwell? He's doing it to take your life away. We'd be doing it to get you your life back."<br/>
<br/>
You gurgle as Scott continues you hold you up by the jaw. His fingers are strong and warm and a little rough, and you <i>hate</i> that you find yourself thinking how much Lucy would probably like it if Scott stroked her with them.<br/>
<br/>
But she's too busy trying to argue. "And? What if I can’t take the mask off afterwards?"<br/>
<br/>
"That’s why we’re going to get the book."<br/>
<br/>
Lucy throws her hands in the air. "Fine. I don’t agree, but—" She collapses onto the table. "If you think it’s our best option." She glances at you, and winces. "You can let him go now, uh, Taylor. And thanks for the clothes, Will."<br/>
<br/>
With a faint smile, Scott releases you.<br/>
<br/>
You cast him a surly look, less for his assault than for the revelation that he and Lucy are now so intimate that she is calling him by his real name.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Twenty minutes later, you find yourself facing the same lone tree Scott showed you when you first tried to get into the professor's house. This time, though, you're more confident of getting up it. Scott has given you a pair of work gloves, which give you a tight grip on the tree, along with a wrench and a crowbar. Down below, he is also equipped with gloves, a wrench, and a crowbar of his own; a chain; and even a rusty padlock. He has also brought along a couple of flashlights <br/>
<br/>
You scuttle up the bole, finding that climbing a tree is much like riding a bike; once you get the hang of it, you never forget. Once you’re up, you carefully aim the wrench at the window and fling it overhand. It shatters one quarter. You slide out along the branch until you can make the leap over to the narrow ledge, and with the crowbar you clear away the last of the shattered pane. You feel inside, flip back the latch, and push the window up.<br/>
<br/>
You drop into what seems to be Blackwell’s bedroom. It's macabre in its own way. A vast bed under a billowing canopy, black and red wallpaper, and lacquered furniture and ornaments that gave it a Chinese feel. You don't stop to study it, though, but catch up the wrench, sheathe it in your belt, and scamper for the door. A skittering above sets you on edge as you step into the dark, second-floor hallway; gripping the crowbar, you sprint along on tiptoes for the staircase. Downstairs, you open the front door and call Scott in, exchanging the crowbar for a flashlight. He looks around.<br/>
<br/>
"God, this place is creepy", he mutters. "It’s almost like--"<br/>
<br/>
"Like Uncle Fester is about to jump at us." You chuckle; take away the greasy comb-over and the beard, and Blackwell would be a real-life Fester. <br/>
<br/>
Scott gives you a look. "Whatever, let’s move. We’ve got no time to waste."</span></div></div>


path: 114321414211222111
author_id: nostrum777
title: Fortune Favors the Forward-Thinkers
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The first place Scott and you check is the library. But after only ten or fifteen minutes, he throws his hands up with a snarl. "It’s not here!"<br/>
<br/>
"It must be somewhere in here", you say. "Like in the movies."<br/>
<br/>
"We're wasting our time."<br/>
<br/>
"You can start checking out the rest of the house," you tell him. "I'll keep looking in here. Like, maybe there's a secret room?" You start pulling out books and feeling at the shelves behind. Your nerves are being frayed by the arrhythmic tics of two nearby grandfather clocks.<br/>
<br/>
Scott looks around with his hands on his hips, then points at a wall.<br/>
<br/>
"There," he says. "That basement where we found Lucy. It'll be on the other side of those shelves. Maybe the secret door is there?"<br/>
<br/>
You feel your eyes light up, and you hop over to join him. <br/>
<br/>
"Dur! You're right! Are there any candlesticks to pull?" That's the way it's done in the movies, after all. In fact, there aren't any candlesticks, but there's a small stuffed dog—with a couple of heads—sitting in a nearby alcove, and when Scott lifts it, one of the shelves clicks and falls open, like a heavy door. You and Scott exchange bright grins as you pull it open, and grip your crowbars tightly.<br/>
<br/>
On the other side is the cellar, and the top of the spiral staircase. You and Scott crowd in but don't descend. He shines a flashlight over the barren space within. The broken window, you notice has been sealed up with a sheet of plywood. Unless there's another secret passage down there, it's a dead end.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
You make a search of the lower rooms—kitchen, dining room, a sitting room and a living room—before moving upstairs. At the turning of the staircase, you both pause at the sound of pattering feet in the upstairs hall. You look at each other, the same puzzlement knitting your brows. The tread is far too light to be the fat professor's; and it sounds like there's more than one pair of feet. If you didn't know better, you'd swear it was the sound of three or four children running down a carpeted hallway. You creep to the top, and peer around the corner down the hall. It is empty, and all the doors, save the one into the bedroom you entered the house through, are shut.<br/>
<br/>
You tackle the professor's bedroom first, searching everywhere—under pillows, the mattress, between the sheets of the bed; inside every drawer and under every folded piece of clothing. Scott taps at the walls, and when he excitedly yelps that he's found a hollow space behind one of the panels, you pull at every protuberance on the wall. None of them open anything, and in his frustration Scott snaps off a wooden arm that looks like a candle-holder.<br/>
<br/>
"Calm down, man!" You can’t believe that you’re less nervous than him. "We've got the rest of the floor to check out! Let's try the room on the other side."<br/>
<br/>
It's completely bare, though, and tap as he does, Scott can't find that hollow space again. He returns to the master bedroom for another search while you move through the other rooms on the upper floor. One is an office, which causes your heart to leap with hope, but it proves a bust as well, even after Scott rejoins you to make the search. The others are bedrooms much more stark and bare, and easily searched. But in one of these, furnished only with a small bed and an armoire, you at last turn up something of interest and use: a mask like the one you made, and a small metal strip covered in what look like Norse runes. Cheered by the discovery, you and Scott make a hard search for anything that might be a secret panel, but turn up nothing.<br/>
<br/>
Out in the hallway, you look down toward the last place to explore: a narrow staircase at the back of the house. At the top you find a small loft. It has been furnished as a kind of workroom, with a work table, a pegboard hung with tools and instruments, and a small plastic tool chest with lots of little drawers. Scott looks through these, muttering to himself, as you study the pegboard. You've never taken a shop class, and you've never paid attention to the tools your dad keeps in the garage, but you're struck by the fact that there's nothing hanging there that resembles a hammer, a screwdriver, a saw, or any of the other implements you'd expect. Everything has an odd shape: awls shaped like corkscrews; a set of goggles with three lenses; a thing that looks like an astrolabe. The table itself is etched with strange symbols, some resembling runes, others in a flowing script that could be Arabic, Hebrew, or Indian.<br/>
<br/>
It all makes your scalp prickle. This <i>is</i> a workroom. It's a workroom where occult things are done.<br/>
<br/>
Your hunch is vindicated when you spot a bag of quicklime under the table. "This is it," you tell Scott, and point at the bag. "That's some of the stuff you use to make masks. Ooooh!" You leap for a small cupboard that you had overlooked before, and wrench the doors open. The book has to be in there!<br/>
<br/>
But it isn't, and you have to bite down on your cry of disappointment. It's a supply cupboard, packed with a lot of small tubs of powders and liquids and pastes, each one labeled with an inscrutable symbol. But there's also a stack of papers, and hard-bound writing notebook. You pull these out and spread them over the work table. You and Scott crowd together to study the sheets, which are covered in a flowing script. <br/>
<br/>
As Scott shuffles through the papers, you open the notebook. It is filled with cryptic notes in the same flowing script — Blackwell's handwriting? — and scribbled doodles that remind you of the symbols — <i>sigils</i>, the professor insists — that were contained in the book. You feel a rush of blood to your head as your intuition takes over, and with mounting excitement you pore carefully over the first page, then the second, then the third.<br/>
<br/>
The notebook is describing the contents of the <i>Libra Personae!</i> It's all there! A description of a sigil that requires an offering of blood; a description of a mixing and firing process, as when you made the mask. You can't decipher the list of ingredients — they are written in a chemical notation — but there's no mistaking the meaning.<br/>
<br/>
Greedily, you flip pages, and note that at the bottom of each, in block letters, is a single word or phrase that you guess summarizes or describes each spell: PERSONA, EMPLASTRUM, MENS, GLUTEN, PEDISEQUOS, CADAVER, SERVUS.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, this is a waste," Scott mutters. "I can't figure any of this out."<br/>
<br/>
"These are his notes," you reply.<br/>
<br/>
"I get that!" he snaps. "Fucking useless without the book, though."<br/>
<br/>
"It's better than nothing."<br/>
<br/>
Scott looks dubious, and moves to open a door on the other side of the loft. It leads to another room, only the size of a closet, with a skylight and a floor-length mirror. He tries pulling the latter off the wall, and runs his fingers around it, as though searching for a latch.<br/>
<br/>
You, meanwhile, start gathering up all the notes and all the materials. "What are you doing?" Scott asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Cleaning him out," you say. "If he hasn't got the shit to make his masks, that's a win all by itself."<br/>
<br/>
"He can just buy some more."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't know that! Maybe some of this stuff is really rare. Even if he does, it'll delay him." You start pulling tools down off the pegboard. "We need to fuck him up any way we can."<br/>
<br/>
"That book is what we need!"<br/>
<br/>
"I know that, man! But we need to clean him out before he gets back."<br/>
<br/>
Scott makes no move to help you, though, and with a snarl of frustration you gather up everything you can in your arms and take it downstairs, where you dump it onto the dining room table. You make a fast search of the kitchen for a couple of garbage bags, and run back upstairs to sack up as much as you can. You don't pass Scott on the way back up, but he's gone from the workroom when you get back, and you cuss to yourself over his pigheadedness as you shove tools, supplies, notes, and every loose bit of whatnot you can into the trash bags.<br/>
<br/>
Downstairs again, you pack up the rest of your stuff and move it to the front door before going back inside to look for Scott. You find him in the library, pulling at shelves. "We need to go," you tell him.<br/>
<br/>
"Not without the books."<br/>
<br/>
"No! Now!"<br/>
<br/>
Scott gives you a pale, wild-eyed look, then moves over to the secret door into the basement. "We should check down there," he says.</span></div></div>


path: 1143214142112221112
author_id: nostrum777
title: Better Safe than Captured and Replaced
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Scott? Buddy?" you call out to your friend. "I think we're pushing our luck here. We got everything we need—"<br/>
<br/>
"We need the book!"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Jesus, it's like he's obsessed,</i> you think.<br/>
<br/>
"It's not here, man!", you yell from the entrance to the library. "We looked everyplace!"<br/>
<br/>
"Except down there." Scott stares into the secret passage behind the bookshelf. Then he takes a step, and disappears behind it.<br/>
<br/>
You curse and run over to catch him. You bump into him, almost knocking him down, for he's hesitating at the top of the stairs, and shining his flashlight over the dirty cellar floor below.<br/>
<br/>
"Scott!" You grasp him by the arm. "We gotta move that stuff out to your truck. We can't waste any more time! Look!", you exclaim as he descends onto the top step. "The professor had all his notes and shit upstairs in that attic. You think he'd keep his shit up there and keep the book down here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Then where is it?" Scott says. "It wasn't up there."<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno, maybe he took it work with him! But we don't want to get caught out here! We got all his notes, we got all his shit. Let's get out of here!"<br/>
<br/>
Still Scott hesitates, then takes another step down the staircase. "You start moving stuff to the truck", he says. "I'll check down here."<br/>
<br/>
But there is something horrible down there. You can feel it. It's more than just your fear that Blackwell will return and catch you. It's like there's a clammy mist rising from the dank darkness below. Something frightening is down there, crouching in wait for you.<br/>
<br/>
And maybe Scott feels it too, for still he hesitates on that second stair.<br/>
<br/>
"Scott!" You grab him by the arm. "Taylor! You don't want to take any chances! Why are we doing this? Remember? We're doing all this to get that mask off your face, so you can see your family again! You won't see them again if Blackwell catches you!"<br/>
<br/>
"I can't get it off if we don't get that book."<br/>
<br/>
"We don't know that! I'm only <i>guessing</i> that it's got the magic words or incantation or whatever in it! Besides, we've got Blackwell's notes. If there is a magic word, there's a good chance he scribbled it down in that notebook! Come on!" You tug at him — it's like pulling at a brick wall — and lick your lips. "Blackwell knows Lucy is gone. He's boarded up the window." You grip him harder. "What if it's a trap?"<br/>
<br/>
Scott wavers, then relents, and pushes you up and out into the library again. He is very pale, and there's a feverish fire in his eyes. But when he pushes the secret door shut behind him, it cuts and kills that vapor of fear. Now you just feel antsy about wanting to get out.<br/>
<br/>
Together you grab up the garbage bags in the foyer. And as you open the front door, a great tumult breaks out somewhere upstairs, like a cabinet of china and cutlery has fallen over. As you dash down the front path, a high, screeching chittering rises behind you, and a hard wind kicks up. The gate bangs shut in your faces, but Scott wrenches it open, and the two of you run out.<br/>
<br/>
The wind dies on the other side of the wall, leaving you blinking in sunshine.<br/>
<br/>
You don't pause to wonder at the sudden change, but hightail it to Scott's truck. You hurl the spoils of your raid into the back and peel out.<br/>
<br/>
Half a mile down the road, you pass another car heading the other way. You duck down when you see it, for it's the twin of the car you saw parked in front of the professor's house.<br/>
<br/>
When you sit back up again, Scott pushes down on the accelerator. "Will", he says. "Remind me never again to question your gut instincts."<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
"Lucy?" you call as you enter the school basement. "It's just us, you can come out!" You hold up at the top of the wooden stairs, lest she leap out and cosh you across the temple with a crowbar.<br/>
<br/>
There's a stir from the other end of the basement, and the girl steps out. She is very wan, and her hair is dirty and stringy. But— <i>God,</i> you think, <i>she looks great even in Mom's clothes.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Oh, thank God you're alright", she gasps, and rushes for you. A grin spreads across your face—<br/>
<br/>
—until she pushes you aside to throw herself at Scott. You feel your expression crater, and you avert your eyes, to concentrate instead on dumping your load onto the conference table while the other two murmur at each other. You do your best to ignore them as you unpack the sack, and you're halfway through sorting it all out before Scott joins you to dump out the rest of the spoils.<br/>
<br/>
Lucy joins you too, and she makes a face as she studies the strange instruments and the plastic containers you are spreading out. But with a stifled gasp she grabs the notebook. "I thought you said you couldn't find it!" she tells Scott.<br/>
<br/>
"We couldn't", he replies. "That's just a notebook."<br/>
<br/>
"But it's practically as good as the original", you boast as you pull it from Lucy's grasp. "It's got Blackwell's own notes in it. And we got all the shit he was using to make masks and stuff. Plus—!" You pull out the mask you found in the bedroom. "We got one of his toys!"<br/>
<br/>
Lucy stares at you. Then she explodes.<br/>
<br/>
"I thought you were trying to stop him!", she yells. "How does this—? You're just going to make more of that stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
You recoil. "No! We <i>are</i> trying to stop him! Without this stuff he can't—"<br/>
<br/>
"Lucy," Scott says. He draws up close to her. "We're doing our best. We were this close to get caught. But we did him some damage. It’ll take time before he can recover.”<br/>
<br/>
He puts his arm around her and tugs the unwilling girl to the far side of the room. You duck your head and try not to seethe as they fall back into that soft, murmured conversation. On the one hand you're glad that Scott —Taylor — is on hand to handle Lucy and her moods. But on the other hand, if it was just you and her— Well, wouldn't she be as grateful to you as she apparently is to Scott?<br/>
<br/>
<i>Don't ask that question</i>, a little voice inside you says. <i>You wouldn't like the answer.</i><br/>
<br/>
Instead, you finish sorting out the stuff you grabbed, then settled down to give the notebook a closer going-over.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
“Alright. Hold still.” You awkwardly grasp Scott’s face; he tenses and you back off, then resettle your hand over his face as he closes his eyes. You glance at the open notebook on the nearby table, and read off some weird words in Latin that you’re unsure if you’re even pronouncing correctly. <br/>
<br/>
It's a cryptic phrase that was written in the margins of the first spell and underlined three times, so it is obviously important. Beside it, Blackwell has added the note <i>3x whilst gripping face.</i> The latter sure sounds like what you'd do if removing a magical mask.<br/>
<br/>
But nothing happens when you try it. You feel Scott's frustration—literally, a stiffening of his face muscles—as the third time, then the fourth, fifth, seventh, eleventh, and fifteenth times fail to work the charm. You break off long enough to flex your hand, which is cramping. "No dice", you sigh.<br/>
<br/>
“Try harder!”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, whaddya think I’m doing?” You try it one more time, and the mask doesn’t pry off. Frustrated, you back off, and scowl at the notebook once more. “Maybe I’m holding your face wrong, or mispronouncing the words.”<br/>
<br/>
“Then keep trying!” <br/>
<br/>
"Taylor", Lucy says in a soft voice. Now it's her turn to calm him down. "It's alright. You guys will get it."<br/>
<br/>
"But not tonight", you say, and Scott's eyes pop with anger. "Look, I have to get home. It's almost time for dinner. But I'll take this back with me", you add as you tuck the notebook under your arm, "and we'll get together tomorrow. morning. Here?" you offer, trying to placate the red-faced Scott. "And we'll try it again. I promise, we're not going to give up!"<br/>
<br/>
Scott mutters but agrees, and you part for the night.<br/>
<br/>
You groan when you pull up into your driveway, for Robert is waiting there with folded arms. "Where the fuck were you?" he demands as you get out of your truck. "If you're trying to fuck me over on our deal—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not trying to! I had stuff to do!"<br/>
<br/>
"With that shit I helped you save from the garbage?"<br/>
<br/>
You don't answer. Robert sees you hesitate, and goes for the jugular.<br/>
<br/>
"You promised, Will! If you don't want me to tell dad—!"<br/>
<br/>
You can't stop yourself from flinching. Bad enough if you get in trouble with your dad for making off with the stuff he threw out. But Blackwell probably suspects you have something to do with the break-ins at his house. Even if he hasn't done something to your dad, he might call your house and sic your father on you. If, on top of that, Robert tells your dad what you did, you would be in the deepest, deepest pile of shit in your life.</span></div></div>


path: 11432141421122211122
author_id: nostrum777
title: Augmented (Possibilities for a Dour) Reality
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You’re close. So close. Any mistake would set you up badly. Robert can be a spiteful little imp, and you did make him a promise. But it's one that you regret. You don’t want to endanger your brother.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't try bluffing me," you tell him. "Tell Dad, and you’re never gonna see those stink-bombs again. He’ll ground both of us until you graduate!"<br/>
<br/>
"<i>You’re</i> gonna be the one in trouble, Will! You’re the one that told me to hide that stuff for you!"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't tell you to take it! I didn't know what happened to it! I even asked Dad where it went!"<br/>
<br/>
"Fine!" he grumbles. "But when your dick falls off because you broke your promise to me—!" He wheels and charges back into the house.<br/>
<br/>
You can't help wincing. Of course you don't believe your dick will fall off because you broke an oath. But even if it did—<br/>
<br/>
Well, it's not like you're getting any use out of it anyway.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Your worries about your dad prove groundless—for that night, at least—and after you finish your dinner and homework you are able to tackle Blackwell's notebook undisturbed.<br/>
<br/>
The pattern of each entry is constant. Only the colors of the ink change from page to page. At the bottom corner of each is a Latin word or phrase that seems to identify each spell. A list of chemical notations seems to correspond to the ingredients. Short, cryptic notes—"Mix." "Stir." "Fire." "Purify."—apparently refer to instructions on how to proceed.<br/>
<br/>
The trouble is with the sigils. Or the lack of them. The first spell in the book, you remember, came with a sigil that filled the bottom of a very large page, and it took the form of a wheel with intricate symbols written against the inside and outside rims. Some of the symbols that Blackwell has set down vaguely recall—as well as you can remember—some of the designs contained within the sigil. But they are not arranged in anything like a circle, and they would only constitute a negligible fraction of the symbols contained in any of the sigils. Blackwell seems to have spent a lot of time worrying over them, though, for he dug the nib of the pen deeply into the paper, and traced each stroke several times.<br/>
<br/>
So you concentrate on the names of the spells, hoping that will at least give you a clue as to what the book is capable of.<br/>
<br/>
The label for the first spell seems to confirm your hunch that Blackwell was noting the purpose or effect of each spell, for "Persona" translates not only as "person" but also as "mask" or "disguise." "Emplastrum" is more cryptic, though: "plaster." Your eyebrows go up in alarm when you translate "Mens": "mind," says the online translator. Is it possible the book has spells for duplicating not only bodies but brains as well?<br/>
<br/>
"Gluten," like "Emplastrum," is very obscure: "glue." A "Pedisequos," meanwhile, is an "attendant" or a "lackey." That also seems obscure, until you recall the double that Lucy saw of herself, and then you shiver. You've seen enough bad science-fiction shows to know that "lackey" might be closest a Latin speaker could get to "clone" or "evil robot duplicate."<br/>
<br/>
You don't need to translate "Cadaver," and that makes you even sicker than "Pedisequos." And the obscurity of its magical meaning makes it even creepier. Could the book contain a spell for raising a zombie army? And "Servus"—"slave"—seems redundant with "Pedisequos," except for sounding even more awful.<br/>
<br/>
But none of the ingredients, to extent that you can "translate" the notation, gives a further clue as to the purpose of each spell, and so you are driven back to studying the fragmentary sigils. You flip back and forth through the notebook, comparing them, looking for commonalities but not finding them. By the time you give up, you feel as though they have been burned onto the back of your eyelids.<br/>
<br/>
<i>It's funny,</i> you think as you brush your teeth. <i>I never work this hard at math or science. But I don't feel nearly as tired or frustrated as when I'm working at those subjects!</i> You put it down to the driving need to find a way of helping Scott and stopping Blackwell.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
But that night, you dream. <br/>
<br/>
You are standing in a planetarium, it seems to you, on an invisible floor, so that the star-speckled crystalline hemisphere above is mirrored by a star-speckled hemisphere below. The whole thing rotates slowly about you.<br/>
<br/>
A haze condenses in the center of the sphere, glowing more and more brightly as it collapses into a singularity. There's a flare of light, and a fiery symbol floats before you. You feel certain you have seen it before—it is one of the fragmentary sigils you studied in Blackwell's notebook: two barbed hooks, side by side, connected by a bar.<br/>
<br/>
As you watch, the figure rotates in all dimensions. Its tips flare and burn, tracing a fiery trail in the air. This trail forms the outlines of a box, bounding the still spinning sigil within. Then the box begins to rotate, and you realize it is a not a square, but a cube.<br/>
<br/>
The enclosed symbol fades away, but the sides of the cube open and fold back, like the petals of a flower, making a more complicated figure. A dodecahedron? It spins too quickly for you to count the sides, but it doesn't matter. The sides of this figure fold open again, multiplying the number of sides and making a still more complicated figure. On it goes, opening and acquiring more and more sides, until at last it is a smooth sphere, glistening before you. The surface fades but the rim brightens, until the sphere itself has vanished, leaving only a bright circle. This spins like a wheel, and complicated figures—like algebraic notation—appear around the rim.<br/>
<br/>
It's a sigil, and you are quite certain that it is the sigil that appears at the bottom of the first spell in the <i>Libra.</i><br/>
<br/>
The vision is still vivid in your imagination when you wake the next morning, and you struggle over to your desk to flip to the first page of the notebook. There, beside the word PERSONA, is a crooked figure: two hooks, side by side, connected by a bar.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
<i>Wednesday afternoon.</i> You and Scott have split duties for the day. He will return to the school basement, to take Lucy some more food and water (and probably to have some other kind of fun with her, you can't help suspecting) and to work some more at getting the mask off with her help. You meanwhile, are heading up to Keyserling College, to the library, to follow up on your researches.<br/>
<br/>
Scott looked dubious when you told him about the dream, and the certainty it gave you, that the symbols Blackwell had written were <i>guides</i> to the complete sigils. "How are you going to decipher them?" he asked, and you had to admit it was a reasonable question. Your only idea was to find a book that explained what sigils were and how they worked.<br/>
<br/>
But after an hour up at the university library, you have to confess yourself baffled and frustrated. Not by the "science" (if there is such a thing) of sigils, but because you can't find a good book on them. You can't find <i>any</i> kind of book on them. And the only books on magic that you can find in the library are neither practical nor theoretical. They are either histories or biographies of alchemists and magicians, or they are treatises full of bold promises about how to perform magic but which contain <i>no actual formulas or spells.</i><br/>
<br/>
Well, it shouldn't be surprising, you conclude with a sigh. A modern library probably wouldn't be interested in holding such stuff; and any <i>real</i> books of magic have probably long since vanished into the personal collections of practicing necromancers—like Professor Aubrey Blackwell.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Professor Blackwell.</i> You drum your fingers as you think of the man. On an impulse you go online to look at the school website, and find his departmental webpage. It is mostly uninformative, listing only a lot of publications with very dry and obviously mundane titles. But it does list his office number and office hours. You hesitate, but then impulsively close up your bag and trudge over to the Anthropology building.<br/>
<br/>
His office is on an upper floor, and from outside, below, you gaze up, trying to pick out which window his might be. What you're doing is very dangerous—if he spots you, it could excite his suspicions against you. But his hours should have ended twenty minutes ago, so you judge there's not much risk in at least walking by his door. Who knows? There might be some profit in it.<br/>
<br/>
The hallway outside the department is dimly lit, and your footfalls only whisper against the carpet. You pad along, checking the nameplates on the doors, until you find the one with Blackwell's name on it. You hesitate. Is it possible he left it unlocked?<br/>
<br/>
Then, before you are prepared, muffled voices sound on the other side, and there's a fumbling at the knob. You throw yourself beside the door and will yourself into flattening yourself into the wall as the door opens. You hold your breath as a slim, blonde figure in ass-hugging jeans comes out. She heads the other way down the hall. But even with her back to you, you recognize Lucy Vredenburg.<br/>
<br/>
Well, her evil twin.<br/>
<br/>
You blink. <i>So the fake Lucy has easy access to Blackwell's office,</i> you note to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
But you were careless not to run when you had the chance. Before you can flee, Blackwell himself comes out. You grit your teeth into a desperate grin as he turns to face you.<br/>
<br/>
With a distracted hum, he waddles right past without so much as glancing at you. Dumbly, you stare after him.<br/>
<br/>
His door is still open. You look inside.  A leather satchel is resting on his desk, ready to be taken.<br/>
<br/>
You could grab the satchel. Or, before she gets too far, you could chase Lucy's clone. Get close to it, study it, see if there is some telltale difference between it and the original. Something that would allow you to tell the difference between an original and a fake.</span></div></div>


path: 114321414211222111221
author_id: nostrum777
title: Libera Me (From Obsession)
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The idea of dealing with Lucy’s double once and for all is tempting, but Blackwell seems to be watching her closely. You figure it’s not a good idea to be so close – you already tempted fate once when Blackwell ignored you – and you are about to run, when your mind returns to the satchel.<br/>
<br/>
The <i>Libra</i> wasn’t at Blackwell’s house. What if it’s in his office? The satchel seems large enough for a book of that kind, and this could do the ultimate damage.<br/>
<br/>
You make a quick check of his office, wary that Blackwell might return at any moment. The books on his office shelves look to be of the mundane kind, so you concentrate on the satchel. As you peep inside it, your heart leaps. It contains a single book!<br/>
<br/>
It’s not the book you got at the used-book store, but it's bound in crumbling leather. Could it be the book he used to duplicate Lucy? You pull it out, and scamper from Blackwell's office before he can return.<br/>
<br/>
Back in your truck, away from the college, you stop off in a strip center parking lot to examine your prize.<br/>
<br/>
You are very careful in handling it, for although the cover isn't as fragile as you'd feared, it looks very old. It appears to be hand-written, and composed on parchment, not paper. The first few chapters have no illustrations, but your heart leaps when you read forward and find it contains some simple sigils. You study the text around these, and realize to your delight that it is exactly what you went up to the library to find: a primer on the theory and practice of sigil making!<br/>
<br/>
Now you flip through the book eagerly, looking for anything related to the sigil or symbols that unfolded in your dream. But eventually hunger and a fear of being discovered lead you to drive off. You tuck the book into your bag and return to the basement, to catch up with Scott and Lucy.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
"Lucy?" you call out as you enter the basement. "It’s me, Will! I’m coming in!" You pause at the head of the stairs when no one answers. "Put the crowbar down, Lucy! I don't want you accidentally braining me with it!"<br/>
<br/>
Still no answer. <i>Where are they?</i> "Scott?" you call.<br/>
<br/>
There's a sound of movement below, and a stranger steps out from behind a bookcase to grin up at you. "Hey Will!" he says.<br/>
<br/>
In a flash, you're overwhelmed by a half-dozen thoughts, each more terrifying than the last. <i>You've been discovered! It's the maintenance crew from the community center! It's the police! It's the FBI!<br/>
<br/>
No, it's Blackwell! One of his duplicates followed you and he's captured Scott and Lucy and now he's going to get you!</i><br/>
<br/>
"Will?" the guy says. He frowns with alarm as you trip and fall onto your ass at the top of the stairs.<br/>
<br/>
"D-do I know you?" you stammer.<br/>
<br/>
"Will, it's me!" he says. "It's—"<br/>
<br/>
Another voice sounds. "It's Taylor!" Lucy steps out to join him. She embraces him from behind with one arm.<br/>
<br/>
Your jaw falls open.<br/>
<br/>
For a moment you still fear it's a trap, because you just got back from the university where you saw another "Lucy." But this is the real one, the dirty and sallow one. She's as dirty and sallow as ever, but she looks a lot happier as she hugs Scott from behind.<br/>
<br/>
But it isn't Scott anymore.<br/>
<br/>
He's as big as Scott, unless he's actually bigger, with short, curly blond hair and a broad face. His eyes slope lazily down at the corners, and his smile is very easy. There is something very familiar about him, like you've seen him before. But the real identifiers are his clothes. He's wearing the same vintage Iron Maiden t-shirt that Scott was wearing when you parted from him, and he's also wearing the same battered, tan ball cap.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Jesus!" you exclaim, and climb back onto your wobbling feet. "Scott? I mean— Taylor?" The guy grins again, and holds out his arms as though to say <i>Ta-da!</i> "You got the mask off?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah! Turns out it's all in the way you have to hold your hands." He lays a hand across his forehead, much higher than where you had been grabbing him. "It took us awhile—it was Lucy who got it off me—but we did it!"<br/>
<br/>
"It knocked him out cold," Lucy says. "I thought he was dead! I almost called 911."<br/>
<br/>
You blink hard and shake your head, trying to get used to the idea that Scott Bickelmeir is gone and this ... stranger ... has appeared in his place. <i>Even his voice is different,</i> you think. <br/>
<br/>
"That's great," you tell him, feeling breathless with astonishment. "I'm sorry I couldn't figure out earlier how to get it off you." You can't help suspecting, though, that Scott—er, <i>Taylor,</i>—would have been a lot more patient with Lucy bending over him, touching his face, than he was with you. "So what now?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
His expression tightens, and he glances over at Lucy. <br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," he says in a resigned tone. "I've just been trying to take it one step at a time. I can't go back to my own life, you know." A wistful look comes into his eyes. "Taylor Mitchell is dead."<br/>
<br/>
A silence fills the room. You think on what he says. Could you handle it if your family thought you were dead when you weren't, and if you couldn't go back to tell them you were alright?<br/>
<br/>
Then Taylor smiles again. <br/>
<br/>
"But at least I feel I can breathe again," he says. "You have no idea what it is to be trapped under someone else’s face, Will, unable to be yourself. I wouldn’t wish this even on my worst enemy."<br/>
<br/>
<i>He </i>is<i> different,</i> you think. Not nearly as high-strung or neurotic as Scott. Was it just frustration at being trapped as Scott that made him so difficult to be around before? Is it just relief now that his nightmare is over? Or is it a genuine change, from being Scott Bickelmeir to being Taylor Mitchell?<br/>
<br/>
"So it's not over, not by a long shot," Taylor continues. He puts his arm around Lucy's waist and pulls her to him. "I'll have to put that mask on again, go back to being Scott. But at least I can get it off when I want to. And Blackwell still has his books. We've got to get Lucy back to her family, and stop him."<br/>
<br/>
His words bring back your adventure. "About that," you say as you reach into your bag. You draw out the book you stole from the professor, and hold it out.<br/>
<br/>
"The book!" Lucy exclaims. "You found it?" Taylor's jaw falls open, and his eyes shine.<br/>
<br/>
"Er, no, not exactly," you tell them. "It's a different book, one I got out of his university office when he wasn't looking. But I think it can help us figure out that notebook we got off him. So that's a plus." <br/>
<br/>
You glance back up the stairs. "So I should go get to work on it," you continue. "I just stopped by to tell you what I found. Between this book and his notes, I think we got a pretty good chance of making our own copy of the spell book."<br/>
<br/>
You turn to go, but you're stopped by a sharp word from Lucy. "What?" she says.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm going to go work on his notes for the spells," you repeat.<br/>
<br/>
"Why?" she asks, stepping around Taylor to frown at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Because ... Well, if we can't get his copies away from Blackwell, at least we can make our own—"<br/>
<br/>
"Why do we need our own copies of the spells?" Lucy demands. Her eyes have hardened. "Jesus, Will, what are you planning?"<br/>
<br/>
You stare at her, dumbfounded. Then you turn to Taylor. "Hey man," you ask, "can you explain to your— to Lucy," you correct yourself before you can call her <i>your girlfriend</i>, "that we need Blackwell's books to, uh—?"<br/>
<br/>
The words die on your lips, for Taylor is giving you the same look that Lucy is. "To do what, exactly, Will?" he says.<br/>
<br/>
"You know we were trying to get those books away from him!" you remind him.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes," Taylor says. "We're trying to get the books <i>away</i> from Blackwell. But not because we wanted them for ourselves. Right, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
Now you really are dumbfounded. Wasn't Taylor the one who was so hot to get ahold of the books that he almost got you caught back at the villa?<br/>
<br/>
Then it hits you: He wanted to get the book back because he thought it was the only way of getting the mask off himself. Now that he's done that, what does he want the book for?<br/>
<br/>
And now that you think about it, what do <i>you</i> want it for?<br/>
<br/>
"But don't we need to figure out the spells?" you insist. "To figure out how to stop Blackwell? If he can duplicate people—"<br/>
<br/>
You snap your fingers at Lucy.<br/>
<br/>
"Your clone, your evil double! I saw her up at the university! She was with Blackwell in his office. Don't we need to figure out how he made her, how he controls her, if we're going to get rid of her?"<br/>
<br/>
Lucy pales, and exchanges a terrified glance with Taylor. He takes her hand, and squeezes it.<br/>
<br/>
"I see your point, Will," he says. "But do we need to make up a spell or anything like that to deal with her? Can't we just go pick her up, bring her back here? If we can get her out of the way, then Lucy can get her life back."<br/>
<br/>
"Except then Blackwell can just capture her again," you point out.<br/>
<br/>
Taylor frowns at the ground and kicks at it, echoing the "Scott" you're more familiar with. You've scored a point with him, you can tell.<br/>
<br/>
But he's a scored a point with you. You don't need to master the magic of the masks to kidnap Lucy's duplicate and steal Blackwell's books.</span></div></div>


path: 1143214142112221112212
author_id: nostrum777
title: The Passion(s) of Will and Scott
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You quickly ponder upon the possibilities. Dealing with Lucy's double now would give her life back, and a test subject for you to deal with. You could learn how it works, how it behaves, how it thinks... But it would place Lucy straight in Blackwell's arms once more. Even if she tried to fool Blackwell by acting like the double, she'd be at risk. She's already proven that she doesn't want to do anything with your plans, and you feel Taylor would go full Scott on your ass if something happened to her.<br/>
<br/>
So you resolve to do this the indirect way, by deciphering the damn book without having it. And with Blackwell's notes and the book of sigils, you feel you're sufficiently equipped to tackle the problem.<br/>
<br/>
"How about we sleep on it, talk about it tomorrow?" you suggest. Taylor looks and Lucy and shrugs.<br/>
<br/>
You grab and shake Taylor's hand (so different from Scott's own), and you lean forward to take Lucy's, when you feel something like a force field go up between you. So instead you give her a small wave, and trudge up the stairs and outside.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Your evening passes normally, though Robert seems a bit colder with you. You put it down to his being pissed at your breaking your promise to him, and do your best to ignore him. You're also wary of your father, and dinner passes so uncomfortably that your mother is driven to ask, "Is there something wrong with you three?" She gets only grunts in reply.<br/>
<br/>
With the temptation of the new book at hand, homework is even more of a chore, and you give up on it before you're even halfway done with it. You lock your door lest your dad or Robert stumble in, and pull out the day's acquisition.<br/>
<br/>
It begins with the same kind of exhortations as opened the <i>Libra</i>: cautions about executing the "Great Designs" which mastery of the "Art of Sigil" will make possible. (<i>Maybe it was written by the same author?</i> you wonder.) It also specifically mandates that a "Hot and Purifying Flame" be prepared and maintained close at hand when practicing "this Profound Art."<br/>
<br/>
Well, there's no fireplace in your room, and you don't even have a cigarette lighter, but you read on.<br/>
<br/>
A sigil, the book goes on to explain, is an "Instrucktion" that is "carved into Nature" and by its "Action and Intent modifys Nature, as the Action and Intent of a Channel modifys the Cors and Flow of a River." <i>Okay,</i> you think. <i>I kind of guessed all that.</i><br/>
<br/>
A lot of confusing guff follows, and you have to read it several times before it begins to make a hazy kind of sense. A sigil, you are informed, isn't a single magical device, but like "a Great Machine that is composed of many smaller Machines" it is a "Great Modifycation" composed of many smaller modifications.<br/>
<br/>
Curiously, it's when the text uses the word "execute" that its meaning comes to you in a flash. You flip forward to one of the complicated wheels at the back of the book and contemplate it in something like a daze.<br/>
<br/>
<i>It's a computer program,</i> you think. <i>It's a computer program, and the world is the computer, and the sigil is giving it a program to execute!</i><br/>
<br/>
You flip back to where you broke off, and plunge forward with renewed fervor and understanding. But though you itch to try one of the examples out, you are sufficiently cautious after the book's warnings that you refrain from setting down anything on paper, and instead try to visualize what it says would happen if you did ... <br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
The next day, in Calculus, Scott (Taylor, back in disguise) tells you that something has come up and he won't be able to meet you after school at the basement as you'd planned. But he passes you some money and asks you to pick up Lucy some dinner with it. You oblige, and find her peevish and unhappy when you see her. "I'm going stir crazy," she says, but she declines your offer to take her out for a drive in your truck. You do feel sorry for her—it's probably almost as bad for her as being locked up at Blackwell's—but it pisses you off that she'd rather go stir crazy than accept a hospitable gesture from you. Back home, after dinner, you tackle the magic books again.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Then comes Friday, and Scott again gestures you over before Calculus starts. "I'm gonna see you when school's out, right?" he says. You nod.<br/>
<br/>
Then he says, "She's hot, isn't she?"<br/>
<br/>
You stare at him. Then, as his meaning dawns on you, you feel the blood drain from your face. "Wh-who?" you stammer.<br/>
<br/>
"Cindy," he says, and you stagger with surprise that it wasn't taunting you about Lucy. A sly half-smile slides up the side of his face. "You were staring at her just now, weren't you?"<br/>
<br/>
Now your face begins to burn. You were in fact staring at Cindy Vredenburg, Lucy's sister, who is in the same class as you, sitting on the other side of the room. You were marveling at her resemblance to Lucy just when Scott called out your name. <br/>
<br/>
You shrug and mumble, "She's a cheerleader."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," Scott says. "We'll talk about it when we get together after school."<br/>
<br/>
Mr. Kowalski calls class to order shortly afterward, and begins the lesson with a demonstration reducing an equation to a simpler form. When he asks for a volunteer to replicate the procedure, you surprise yourself by raising your own hand. And you surprise yourself further (and the teacher, it seems) by reducing the new equation to a simplicity that even your thirteen-year-old brother should be able to grasp. For almost the first time you can remember, a math lesson makes almost perfect sense without your having to struggle to understand it.<br/>
<br/>
"What's your deal lately, Prescott?" Carson Ioeger grouses as he follows you out of class afterward. "Chatting with football players, getting math problems right. You're turning into a disappointment to me."<br/>
<br/>
"What's disappointing about it?" you demand.<br/>
<br/>
"Your job is look bad so I can feel good about myself. Don't make me have to start comparing myself to Tilley. That'd be just frickin' humiliating."<br/>
<br/>
A strong voice sounds behind you. "Tell me you're joking, asshat." It's Scott. Neither you nor Carson noticed him following behind. He claps a strong hand on the back of Ioeger's neck. "Tell me you're just giving Will some friendly grief."<br/>
<br/>
"Er, sure," Carson stammers. "Of course."<br/>
<br/>
"Busting his balls," Scott muses. "'Cos you wouldn't want anyone busting <i>your</i> balls." He pushes Carson off balance, then swaggers away. You and Ioeger watch him go.<br/>
<br/>
Carson turns to you when he'd out of sight. "You've been acting pretty distant the last few days," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't mean to be."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, try to make it a habit going forward, okay?" He trudges off, leaving you with your mouthing hanging open.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
You put Carson out of your mind—he's always been a bit of a sarcastic asshole—and go to the library for your free period. You take out your math, for you're feeling inspired, but find yourself doodling sigilistic symbols instead. Your experience in Calculus has given you an idea. <br/>
<br/>
The primer you stole from Professor Blackwell shows how to build sigils from scratch. There are two ways. The simplest is to join symbols together to create complex sigils like equations. The other compresses multiple instructions into a single sigil of a deceptively simple design.<br/>
<br/>
Kind of like reducing a very complex equation into a smaller, more elegant one, you now realize. Maybe that's what Blackwell was doing when he scratched some simple sigils onto the pages of the notebook.<br/>
<br/>
So if you could find a way to reverse the process, to <i>expand</i> sigils rather than compress them ...<br/>
<br/>
You work at it for an hour, and find it far harder than you'd dared to hope. But it does give you a little more confidence at handling the sigils.<br/>
<br/>
And nothing blows up or turns into a frog, so that's a plus.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Back at the hideout, you find Taylor and Lucy sitting quietly in a corner with their arms around each other. You quickly avert your eyes, but not before you've caught the melancholy expression on Lucy's face. You nod at them, and ask if you can go out get them anything. It seems like the most diplomatic way of getting out of there when it's pretty obvious they'd like to be alone.<br/>
<br/>
Lucy shakes her head, but after a moment's silence Taylor says you can stop by the store and bring back a couple of gallons of distilled water.<br/>
<br/>
You've just clambered into the cab of your truck when Taylor shouts at you from the door to the basement, and comes trotting over. <br/>
<br/>
"I didn't want to say anything in front of Lucy," he says as he leans in the truck window, "but bring back about ten gallons of water. And some shampoo and soap."<br/>
<br/>
You stare at him for a long moment before the meaning of what he's requesting registers. With a gulp, you nod and twist the key in the ignition.<br/>
<br/>
But Taylor stops you with a hand on your arm.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, Will, thanks for everything," he says. "I know Lucy doesn't like saying anything, but she is grateful."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, sure."<br/>
<br/>
"I am too." He hesitates. "I'm going to take her out tonight for a drive," he continues. "She's going a little stir crazy."<br/>
<br/>
"She told me she was."<br/>
<br/>
Taylor nods, but he still doesn't release your arm.<br/>
<br/>
"You know, it's Friday night," he says. <i>Right,</i> you think. <i>You're taking her down to the river for a date.</i> "You seeing anyone?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head, and bite your tongue.<br/>
<br/>
"Well," he says, "I could use someone to cover tonight. Cover for Scott, I mean. I can't be out being him if I'm off with Lucy."<br/>
<br/>
"So what are you going to do?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a look. Again, it takes you a stupidly long time to realize what he's implying.<br/>
<br/>
He's offering to let you wear Scott's mask for a night on the town.</span></div></div>


path: 11432141421122211122122
author_id: nostrum777
title: Introduction to S(igil)++
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>If you weren’t so close to a breakthrough, you'd probably accept Taylor's invitation. But it won't bring you any closer to unraveling the secrets of Blackwell’s notebook. <br/>
<br/>
So you shake your head. "No thanks."<br/>
<br/>
"Aw, come on! It’ll be fun!"<br/>
<br/>
"It’s alright. Don’t wanna party so hard I don't want to take Scott's face off afterward." <i>And I don’t want these books out of my sight</i>, you want to add.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, suit yourself." Taylor returns to the basement, and you drive off to the store. When you return with the supplies, he thanks you warmly, but Lucy is as cold as the wintry air in December, and as distant as your chances to be with either of the Vredenburgs.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
At home, you race through your dinner and rush upstairs, locking your bedroom door behind you and throwing yourself into the books you stole off Blackwell.<br/>
<br/>
Last night you read just read through the primer, but tonight you decide to give yourself some hands-on experience with it. You still don't have a "purifying fire" at hand, but you promise yourself you won't experiment further than the "most simple and safe Experiment" that the book begins with.<br/>
<br/>
You start, as it instructs, with a clean sheet of paper, on which you draw a large square. Inside of that you inscribe a pentagram. Then—and you feel more than a little silly as you do so—you place the tip of your index finger in the middle of the pentagram and murmur the prescribed phrase: <i>Biztrekon-gatuta-e!</i><br/>
<br/>
You lift your finger, and your heart skips a beat. The pentagram has vanished, leaving only the box.<br/>
<br/>
It worked! You wet your lips, and cast a nervous glance at the primer.<br/>
<br/>
Copying the figure in the book closely, inside the box you draw a backward "L" with an "S" twining the vertical stem. You draw a circle around; then, without lifting the pen, you draw a slash through the circle from top to bottom.<br/>
<br/>
You shriek and hurl the pen away when the inky figure twists into a pair of capital R's, standing back to back.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh, sweet Jesus!</i> You hold your head in your hands and stare down at the page. The symbol came to life, and it <i>changed!</i> Just as the primer said it would!<br/>
<br/>
There's a sharp knock at your door, and again you jump. You trip on your way to open it, and almost impale yourself on the knob.<br/>
<br/>
It's your dad. "Will?" he says. "Did you yell?"<br/>
<br/>
"J-just frustrated with one of my math problems."<br/>
<br/>
His eyebrows go up. "Anything I can help you with?"<br/>
<br/>
"N-no! I'll try to control myself."<br/>
<br/>
"Mmm." He holds your eye, then sniffs at the air. "Have you been burning something in here?"<br/>
<br/>
"What?" You sniff, and smell it too. It's like a cigarette.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh ... Yeah, I think it's coming from outside." You glance at the window, which you had opened for the night breeze.<br/>
<br/>
Your dad goes to the window. His brow furrows deeply when he turns back to you, and again he sniffs the air. You tense as he glances over at your desk.<br/>
<br/>
But then he just pulls his nose and says, "I thought you might want to know that Caleb's doing fine at Salopek."<br/>
<br/>
"Good," you stammer. "You know, he really wanted that job."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. He told me today that he hasn't really seen much of you lately, except in class." He cocks his head. "Is everything okay between you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, fine!"<br/>
<br/>
"What happened with that time capsule?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh." You hesitate, weighing whether to invent some kind of breach between you and Caleb on the matter of the capsule. "Well, I wrote up that paper on my submission. Did you know Twinkies and Ding-Dongs can last for over fifty years without spoiling?"<br/>
<br/>
His eyebrows go up. "Is that what you put on the time capsule? I wanna see that grade. That is the most stupidly clever idea I’ve seen from you."<br/>
<br/>
You grin, feeling pleasure in his expression of pride. But you shiver when he claps you on the shoulder. After he goes, that sense of dread he gave you fills you with a further resolve to figure out the masks and how they work.<br/>
<br/>
Back at your desk, you find the paper is singed and starting to smoke. Quickly you bat it out, then crumple it up and flush it down the toilet.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
That night you dream again of the planetarium. It’s almost a repeat of the last dream, except this time it runs in reverse, with a sigil folding itself up into a very simple, compact symbol. It looks exactly like the one you started the experiment with—a backward "L" intertwined with an "S."<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
<i>Saturday morning.</i> You text Taylor at Scott's number to ask if he or Lucy needs your help. (It seems more diplomatic than busting in on them unannounced.) He say that he doesn't, and that he'll be taking her out again. You like the idea. With them out of the way, you would be able to move your research to the basement, where you won't be bothered by your family, and where your experiments won't bother them.<br/>
<br/>
An hour later you're parked at the basement conference table with a bag of chips, a large Coke, a sketchbook, and the primer. The trouble last night, why it caught on fire (you speculate) was that you drew the symbol on lined paper, and now, when you try it again on a piece of plain white paper, you have no problem. Under the book's direction, you continue to play with the symbol you've created inside the box, leading it through successive metamorphoses. The culmination—and it is still astonishing, though the book told you to expect it—when you slash a backwards "Z" through the fifth metamorphosis of your starting symbol, and the double-barred "A" you had created unfolds into a circle, around which are inscribed nine symbols, including duplicates of four of the symbols you had created.<br/>
<br/>
And this, the book informs you, is an actual sigil, ready for use.<br/>
<br/>
Acting on its instructions, you lay a coin in its center and run your finger around its circumference thrice. Like a jumping bean, the coin wobbles, then flips over.<br/>
<br/>
Well, like the primer promised, it's a very simple and not-at-all dangerous demonstration.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
And because it's not supposed to be dangerous, you try tackling it with your own improvised project, based on the idea you had yesterday about simplifying sigils down again. <br/>
<br/>
You start by drawing a box around the finished sigil and scratching a backwards "Z" across it. Nothing happens. You scratch a regular "Z" across it. Nothing happens. You draw a circle and slash line through it. Again, nothing.<br/>
<br/>
You pull on your lip.<br/>
<br/>
Before you can hazard another idea, your cell buzzes with a text: It's Caleb, asking what's up.<br/>
<br/>
Almost you turn your phone off, but your dad's words last night come back to you, so instead you dial Caleb back directly. If you just talk to him a little, that might get people to stop thinking that you're being anti-social or something.<br/>
<br/>
"Yo, Will!" Caleb chirps when he picks up. "Where you been?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sitting next to you in class at school."<br/>
<br/>
He laughs. "No, seriously. When was the last time we did something together?" You think, and realize that it's been way more than a week.<br/>
<br/>
But Caleb is still talking. "You're not pissed at me or anything, are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Why would I? You're not pissed at <i>me</i> are you? On account of the, uh, time capsule?"<br/>
<br/>
He laughs again. "Nah, I got some special help with that. You know Sean Mitchell?"<br/>
<br/>
"No," you blurt out before you realize what Caleb said. <i>Sean Mitchell? Isn't that Taylor's twin brother!</i> "Uh, why do you ask?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because he's out at Salopek, my work partner. Great guy. Anyway—" You can hear the grin in Caleb's voice. "<i>He</i> went up to the school with me a couple nights ago, helped me dig it up and make the replacement!" He chortles. "Isn't that awesome?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah." You feel dizzy.<br/>
<br/>
"I guess I shouldn't be surprised he helped, even though I kind of am. You know the football players, always getting into shit. Though I guess you kind of know about that too, huh? Carson told me last night that you and Bickelmeir are like best friends now or something."<br/>
<br/>
"What were you doing with Carson?"<br/>
<br/>
"We got together with him. Him, Lamont, me, Tilley. I asked Mitchell along, but he was at a party."<br/>
<br/>
Briefly you feel a stab of envy and resentment. All your friends got together last night, and they didn't call or text you?<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh. Wait. You did get a text last night. But you ignored it.</i><br/>
<br/>
"So anyway," Caleb continues, I was wondering if you wanted to go see a movie. Did you see Keith’s bit on Mike and Carlos’ show?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>What show?</i> you want to ask, but just grunt a negative.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, Mike and Carlos want to review a movie for their channel, so a bunch of us are going with them. I thought you might want to come along."<br/>
<br/>
You suck in your upper lip. It <i>is</i> slightly tempting.<br/>
<br/>
"What time?" you ask. "I'm working on my calculus homework and I'm kind of on a roll, don't want to break the streak."<br/>
<br/>
"Heh. That's something else Carson told me. You freaking <i>volunteered</i> to do a problem in class yesterday? And you got it right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, I <i>sometimes</i> know what I'm doing!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I don't want to spoil your concentration. Tell you what, after Mitchell picks me up, I'll text to see if you want to come along, and we can swing by to pick you up if you do."<br/>
<br/>
You almost drop the phone.<br/>
<br/>
Sean Mitchell, Taylor's brother, will be going to the theater with Caleb and the others. Is that a good reason to skip? Or would it be a good reason to go along?</span></div></div>


path: 114321414211222111221221
author_id: nostrum777
title: Follow the Twin with the Sigil Tattoo
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The irony of you and Caleb befriending the Mitchell twins sinks into you. If they’re twins, Sean might tell you a lot about how Taylor’s supposed to be. You’ve noticed Taylor has changed a lot, and you’re unaware of how much of Scott was really the late Scott Bickelmeir, and how much is actually Taylor’s own take on him.<br/>
<br/>
Besides, Carson and your dad are right. You’ve spent too much on this. You’d surely love to continue working on compounding that sigil, but you figure a little distraction shouldn’t bother you. You chuckle as you realize you might get ideas from the distraction itself.<br/>
<br/>
You immediately make up your mind. "Actually...come get me at my house. Tell the guys I’m going."<br/>
<br/>
"Great!", Caleb exclaims. "I’ll send you a text as soon as we’re getting close. Just wait until you meet Sean. He’s super nice!"<br/>
<br/>
You giggle nervously as the thought encompasses your mind. <i>Either Sean’s the evil twin, or I got stuck with him.</i> "Uh...sure", you stammer. "Love to meet him."<br/>
<br/>
As Caleb drops the call, you gather all the books. You’re about to mindlessly place them on your book bag, but you decide to keep them on the hideout this time. You decide to hide them out somewhere safe, somewhere hard to see, and somewhere as far away from the door as possible, and as you move away, you send a text to Taylor: <i>[going w/caleb to c a flick. hve fun w/lucy.]</i><br/>
<br/>
As you get into the car, you see Taylor’s reply: <i>[Hve fun u 2.]</i><br/>
<br/>
You make a short trip to your home, and surprisingly, only your mother’s there. "I thought you’d be staying out late," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Caleb called. Wants me to see a movie with him and some friends from school." You realize the eerie silence in the house. "Uh...where’s Dad? And Robert?"<br/>
<br/>
Your mother sits down with a sigh.<br/>
<br/>
"Your father said something about checking out some new software, but I bet he's trying to sneak up to work." She looks at you in a conspiratorial way. "He thinks I don't know, but I still let him." She turns back to a cup she’s drinking from, and then tells you about your brother. "Robert’s in a study group with some friends from school. He should be arriving a little late."<br/>
<br/>
If your nerves weren’t on edge, you’d dismiss your mother’s concern; however, both your father and your brother gone could only mean something. You go upstairs and drop your books as you ponder the possibilities. Your dad must have gone to Blackwell once again; maybe to report how everything’s going, just like with Lucy’s double. And as for your brother? You can’t imagine what’s going in that mind of his, but you’re glad you left the books back in the basement. You don’t want any of them nosing through your belongings.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Before the hour could end, you listen to the blaring sound of a horn, followed by a buzz from your phone. <i>[dude im n ur home. where r u?]</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>[coming downstairs now]</i>, you reply back, and dash downstairs. Outside, you stop dead in your tracks as a familiar face emerges from the driver’s seat of the truck in the driveway. You approach with caution, as Caleb gets out and presents him. "Yo, Will! Sean, this is Will. Will, Sean Mitchell."<br/>
<br/>
The resemblance is startling; in fact, you were almost about to ask him where he left Lucy. He puts out his hand with a smile, exactly as Taylor often did when meeting you. "Hey, Will! Nice to meet you outside of school."<br/>
<br/>
"Right. I don’t see you that much," you reply, still unnerved by how similar he is to his brother. "Nice to meet you."<br/>
<br/>
You get behind Sean’s car, and you notice that the Mitchells share more than just looks; they seem to share some tastes as well. You keep listening as Sean and Caleb start talking about work, about school, and about girls, and a wild thought forms on you. <i>Taylor had success with Lucy. What if we could use Sean to lure Lucy’s duplicate?</i><br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
The movie, it turns out, isn't a new one in a theater, but a straight-to-streaming horror movie, and you watch it (of all places) in the Top S(h)elf Storage Complex. That's where Carlos Montoya (whose family owns the complex) has his makeshift studio, but at least it's inside a climate-controlled unit, so the viewing experience is pretty comfortable, even if there's a half-dozen of you crowded into the room. It's an interesting choice of venue, and it occurs to you that if you ever need a new work space, you might try renting such a unit yourself.<br/>
<br/>
The movie itself is godawful, but the company is good, and pretty soon you're hooting at it along with the others, riffing on the bad dialogue and cracking wise at it. Mike Hollister, who with Carlos hosts a YouTube movie-review channel, even compliments you on your insults and invites you to make an appearance on an upcoming video. You tell him you'll think about it.<br/>
<br/>
When it's over, everyone agrees to watch the first <i>[Matrix]</i> to clear the stink out, and during the changeover you sidle up to Sean. "So how’s Caleb doin’ at Salopek?" you ask. (It's the best you can come up with.)<br/>
<br/>
He laughs, and it's a bit eerie how much he sounds like Taylor. "Well, he was a bit disappointed when he found out what it was like, but he's doing his best. He’s a good worker. Your dad’s showering him with praise." You feel your mouth filling with bile as he mentions that; Caleb seems more like what your father would like you to be, rather than what you are now, but he always liked science and engineering.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb must have heard his name, for he scoots over to joint you. During the brief chat that follows, he mentions about how Carson has seen you with Scott Bickelmeir. Sean makes a face, and calls him a creep.<br/>
<br/>
"He seems like a nice guy to me," you protest.<br/>
<br/>
"If you wanna hang around him," Sean says, "don't come bitching to me when you get burned."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb jumps in. "You got some kind of history between you?"<br/>
<br/>
Sean's expression blackens.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, you could say that," he replies. "He was a friend of my brother, Taylor. Bad influence." He grimaces. "They were together the day Taylor died."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb, ever the undiplomatic doofus, asks for details, and Sean briefly recounts the story of Taylor's traffic accident. You offer your condolences, which Sean accepts with a shrug.<br/>
<br/>
The movie starts shortly afterward, but you don't pay a lot of attention to it, as you've seen it many times before and have other things to think about. Indeed, you're on the verge of point of making an excuse and texting someone for a ride, when your eye falls onto Sean's bare bicep, and the tattoo that encircles the muscle.<br/>
<br/>
You'd noticed it briefly before, but had assumed it was just the typical barbed-wire or Maori design. Now, sitting directly beside Sean with your nose only a few inches from his arm, you do a double-take and feel your jaw fall open.<br/>
<br/>
It's a tattoo of a sigil, like those in the primer you stole from Blackwell. Instead of taking the form of circle, it is a ring that circles Sean's arm. The symbols are unfamiliar, but the style is unmistakable.<br/>
<br/>
You nudge him and in a low voice ask him about it.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, it's just something I had done after my brother's death. No biggie. Just something to remember him by."<br/>
<br/>
"Where'd you get the design?" <br/>
<br/>
"It was in some stuff he left behind." <br/>
<br/>
Carlos calls out for quiet, so you lapse into silence. You've got a lot to think about anyway. <br/>
<br/>
Taylor has said that he wants to reconnect with his family, and with Sean here it would be easy enough to get him to drop you off at the basement, where you could surprise the brothers by reintroducing them to each other. And there'd be a bonus for you, for after Sean has understood what is going on, he would surely be anxious to help you both out by supplying you with the stuff he mentioned. He would also be a great recruit in your secret battle against Blackwell. <br/>
<br/>
But just as you wouldn’t want <i>your</i> brother to get involved, you feel it’s for the best to consult with Taylor first. You excuse yourself and move to a corner to text him. <i>[Yr brother sean showd up at the movie. Want me to bring him back so u can c him?] </i> <br/>
<br/>
Taylor takes a very long time answering, and you grow more and more anxious as you wait and pace. When it does come, it’s very short and sounds very calm, but it worries you: <i>[Leve him alone n leave it 2 me.]</i> <br/>
<br/>
The reply leaves you in an agony of indecision. If Taylor was willing to see Sean today, you could get Sean to stop by his house, maybe, and give you those papers. Of course, if Taylor only wants to delay the meeting, you would get your chance at the papers later. So perhaps it is best to respect Taylor's wishes, and to leave Sean alone. <br/>
<br/>
On the other hand, maybe you could still wheedle those papers out of Sean without telling him why you want them, and without taking him back to the basement to see his brother.</span></div></div>


path: 1143214142112221112212211
author_id: nostrum777
title: The Plan to Reunite the Mitchells
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Family issues have to be dealt between the family. You’re not a Mitchell, and you dropped the idea of being Scott Bickelmeir nearly a day ago, so you feel it’s best to give Taylor wide berth. You did enjoy hanging out with your own friends again – you almost forgot how nice it was, even if they can be jerks and assholes sometimes – but you choose to return home early, recalling that your mother’s probably alone.<br/>
<br/>
You ask Sean to take you home, and he agrees to even though the movie is still going. The screen’s projecting the moment where Neo learns about the nature of the Matrix, and you can’t help but feel that you’re somehow close to the character, just learning about the reality of the world. Magic exists. The enemy could be anywhere, everywhere, wearing the faces of the people you love. It can be terrifying, but as you recall the end of the story, it’s a journey of realization. You feel that, if Taylor and Lucy ask you why you’re trying to learn about the Libra, you have a plausible answer.<br/>
<br/>
You’re just trying to recall if it was "know thine enemy" or "fear thyself" ...<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Sean drops you at your house, and you see both Robert and your dad arrived before you did. They look at you, your father making the obvious question. "Where were you, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
"Watching a movie with Caleb, Keith and some other guys. Decided to cut out early, though." He doesn't look satisfied by the answer, so you add, "Sean Mitchell was there too. He’s a nice guy." That gets a smile from your dad, and he drops the subject.<br/>
<br/>
Your mother calls you in to dinner, and the atmosphere is less tense than it has been recently. You tell them about the movie you watched, and about how these two schoolmates have a YouTube channel where they do movie reviews, and how they invited you to contribute. You even have the presence of mind to add that maybe it could get you extra credit in your Film as Literature class. That seems to further impress your parents.<br/>
<br/>
Upstairs, you decide to continue the respite from your magical studies, and pull out your math homework. You oddly find Calculus oddly soothing than previously, but your mind still gravitates towards the sigils, as you find yourself doodling some of them in your notebook. You notice, in particular, you’ve accidentally replaced Leibniz’ notation for integrals with a sigil from Blackwell’s notebook, and have to erase it.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
You visit the hideout on Sunday, full of ideas sparked by your calculus homework, and you even take your math textbook with you to the hideout. Taylor and Lucy are there, and you note that they have started constructing a kind of next in the corner of the basement, with blankets, pillows, a couple of sleeping bags, and other homey touches. They're occupied with their cell phones, though, so you don't feel like you're intruding when you settle in with the length of the old conference table between you and bend over your calculus book.<br/>
<br/>
Last night's experience has given you the idea of trying to treat the sigils as a kind of calculus problem, and so you study in detail—and with new and excited appreciation—the textbook's explanations of derivatives and integrals, noticing that mathematics tends to rely on actions that oppose each other: addition to subtraction, multiplication to division, derivatives to integrals. You also gain for yourself a fresh insight on how mathematics is taught in a very specific way: how addition is taught before subtraction, for instance, and how multiplication is just a way to add multiples of the same number, while division is just the opposite of multiplication. Derivatives and integrals work a similar purpose, but they’re used to simplify equations. In fact, you notice in your textbook that some of the most famous equations in Physics were derived or integrated from existing equations. That only strengthens your hunch that sigils work in a similar way. With a sense of anticipation and confidence, then, you pull out the notebooks you stole from Blackwell and tackle that idea you had for reconstructing sigils from the simplifications you are sure he jotted down.<br/>
<br/>
However, three hours in, you’re still stumped. You do feel you’re making progress – though you can tell you’ll need to sharpen up on your math skills some more – but you take a break when Taylor gets up with a grunt to declare that he's taking Lucy out for another drive. You stop him long enough to ask if he wants to talk to his brother, but he tells you thinks it's still too early. Something in his manner makes you think it's not a matter of it being "too early," but a matter of him not knowing how to make the approach.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
So you're startled on Monday afternoon when, as you're loping out after school into the student parking lot, you spot two figures in football gear standing nose to nose in the practice fields.<br/>
<br/>
At first the scene makes no sense at all, for you are now so used to seeing Taylor outside of Scott's mask that for a long moment you actually take it to be Taylor talking to Scott. Only when you realize that would be impossible do you see that it's Sean, not Taylor, who is glaring at Scott.<br/>
<br/>
Then, to your dismay, they launch themselves at each other.<br/>
<br/>
Hardly knowing what you're doing, you hurl yourself across the parking lot at them, shaking your backpack loose and dropping it as you sprint over the grass at them. They are clutching each other, struggling to throw the other down, when you leap at them in a flying tackle.<br/>
<br/>
You might as well have tried tackling a dump truck.<br/>
<br/>
But even as you bounce off them, at least you surprise them into letting go of each other turning to see who the moron was who tried tackling them.<br/>
<br/>
"Thun of a bitch!" you snarl up at them as you nurse your bruised nose. "The fuck are you guyth doing?"<br/>
<br/>
"Prescott?" a thoroughly bewildered Sean asks. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"<br/>
<br/>
"Trying to thtop you guyth from being a coupla moronth." You touch your nostrils, then study your fingertips. It doesn't seem to be bleeding.<br/>
<br/>
Scott flushes. "It's none of your business, Will. Just let me handle things."<br/>
<br/>
"Handle things how? Is this your idea of talking to him?"<br/>
<br/>
Scott's eyes blaze, and for a moment you think he's going to hit you. But he only turns and stalks away.<br/>
<br/>
You glance back at Sean—who is watching all this with astonishment—then hurry after Taylor. "What was going on back there?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing."<br/>
<br/>
"It looked like something to me."<br/>
<br/>
Scott glares. "I can't talk to him," he says. "Not like this." He jabs a finger at his face.<br/>
<br/>
"So take it off and show him who you are!"<br/>
<br/>
He stops in mid-stride. "Jesus, Will, I can't do that here! Not out in the open!"<br/>
<br/>
"So do it someplace private. Do it back in the clubhouse."<br/>
<br/>
Scott makes a face, and his fists bunch up. It's a long moment before he answers.<br/>
<br/>
"It would be a shock," he says. "How the fuck could I explain it?"<br/>
<br/>
"If you don't try, then you never will." And when he doesn't answer, you point to his face. <br/>
<br/>
"Maybe it's like a band-aid," you tell him, "and you just have to rip it off. Because if you wait for it to be easy, it'll never happen. And then why did we go through all that shit to figure out how to take it off you?"<br/>
<br/>
Scott's face turns gray.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you sure?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Remember what you told me at Blackwell's, about trusting my gut?"<br/>
<br/>
Scott winces, and his shoulder sag. "Alright," he says as he turns to trudge back to the school. "But make it work."<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
You trot back over to Sean, and ask if you can meet to talk when he gets off work at Salopek. He's clearly puzzled, but agrees. You return home to wait for five o'clock, then on your way out again you stop by the school long enough to warn Lucy that you'll be bringing Taylor's brother back. She shakes her head and calls you an idiot.<br/>
<br/>
Sean follows you from Salopek back to the elementary school in his own truck, which spares you an awkward conversation at least. You're vexed to see that Scott's truck isn't out front when you pull up.<br/>
<br/>
"So what's this all about, Prescott?" Sean asks as he dismounts to join you. He sounds tired and a little pissed off. "I gotta get home soon."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't want to miss this," you assure him. "It's about your brother. Scott ... Well, he's got something to say."<br/>
<br/>
Sean's expression freezes, and a flush rises up his neck. "I don't have anything to say to that son of a bitch," he says. "Especially not about that."<br/>
<br/>
"Look, just give him a chance." You grasp Sean by the shoulder. "There's something he has to say, something he has to show you."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll wait five minutes, and then I'll give him thirty seconds to talk. Then I'm gone."<br/>
<br/>
"That'll be enough," you assure him. "Let's wait inside. Uh, Cindy Vredenburg's sister is meeting us here too, and she's probably here already." But if you thought that might catch his interest, you're disappointed, for Sean only shrugs.<br/>
<br/>
"What's your problem with Scott, exactly?" you ask Sean as you lead him to the basement door.<br/>
<br/>
"He took my brother away from me."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sure he didn't mean to," you stammer. Sean just makes a face. At least, you've enough tact not to make the obvious, tasteless joke: <i>I wish someone would take </i>my<i> brother away from me.</i><br/>
<br/>
But it's like you're punished anyway just for thinking it. For when you're halfway down the steps, you look up to see that Lucy isn't the only one waiting for you in the basement.<br/>
<br/>
Robert's waiting there too.</span></div></div>


path: 11432141421122211122122112
author_id: nostrum777
title: The Brothers Bury the Hatchet
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You’re starting to believe karma has it against you. Sean bumps into you from behind as you stop cold at the sight of your brother.<br/>
<br/>
He's wandering around the middle of the basement with a smug look on his face, and he turns even more smug as he looks up at you. The moment hangs as no one—you, Sean, Robert, or Lucy, who is standing in the back with her mouth hanging open—says anything.<br/>
<br/>
Finally, you find your voice. "What the hell are you doing here?" you demand.<br/>
<br/>
"Trying to figure out what <i>you've</i> been up to," he retorts. "Who's this?" he asks, turning to Lucy.<br/>
<br/>
She gasps. "Do you know this little prick?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Know him?" you and Robert exclaim in unison. He snickers as you flush. "He's my little pest of a brother," you mutter.<br/>
<br/>
Everyone starts talking at once, except Sean, who cuts everyone off with a hard, shrill whistle between his teeth. "Will," he says when everyone shuts up. "What the hell is all this?"<br/>
<br/>
"This is Lucy Vredenburg," you say, pointing at the girl. "Cindy Vredenburg's sister. Lucy, this is Sean Mitchell. Uh, <i>Taylor's</i> brother?"<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes widen. Behind you, Sean asks, "You knew Taylor?"<br/>
<br/>
"Um—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes," you answer for her. "She's one of the reasons I wanted you to come out. And that's my little brother, Robert, over there," you grind out through clenched teeth. "Come on, Robert," you say, "this is a private thing. You need to get out of here."<br/>
<br/>
"Not without my stuff," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"What stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
"The stuff you stole from me!" He crosses over to your "Arts and Crafts" bin.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't touch that! It's not yours!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes it is! Dad threw it away, and I grabbed it, so it’s mine!"<br/>
<br/>
"Let him take it, Will," Lucy says. "I don't want it near me anyway!"<br/>
<br/>
Robert smirks at you as he picks the bin up. You should let him go—you need to get him out of here before Taylor shows up—but as he saunters up with his prize you can't resist pointing out the obvious. "Where are you gonna put it? Dad thinks he threw it away."<br/>
<br/>
Robert's face falls. He hesitates. Then he retorts, "That's for me to know and you <i>not</i> to find out!"<br/>
<br/>
"Look, just leave it here, go home, and we'll talk about it later."<br/>
<br/>
"No way! How dumb do you think I am?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you can't—"<br/>
<br/>
You break off when you see Sean rolling his eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"Time's up, Will," he says as he turns back to the stairs. "I’ll see you tomorrow in school, and make sure you tell Scott—"<br/>
<br/>
"Tell me what?" says Scott Bickelmeir, who has stepped through the doorway while you weren't looking. He and Sean glare at each other.<br/>
<br/>
"I was going to tell Will to tell you go fuck yourself, asshole," Sean replies. "But since you're here, I can tell you now to your face."<br/>
<br/>
<i>To your face.</i> Sean's words pierce you like a spear. You didn't know how you were going to explain things, you just tried bringing the brothers together on a hunch that you could find the words. Now you see that there's only one way to show them.<br/>
<br/>
So as Scott advances down the stairs with a hot glare on his pale face, you brush past Sean to put a restraining hand on his shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
"Calm down, man," you tell him. "You trust me? 'Cos—"<br/>
<br/>
"You should be trying to calm <i>me</i> down," Sean interrupts you from behind. "Oh, this was a bad idea. You know you got my mom <i>scared</i> to leave the house?"<br/>
<br/>
"What?" You look back, but Sean is glowering past you at Scott. His face is as pale as Scott's, his eyes are hot, and red spots blaze in the center of his cheeks.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm talking about this fucker," Sean snarls. "He's been stalking me and my mom. Parking outside our house, like a fucking psycho! He—"<br/>
<br/>
"Take the mask off, Taylor," you interrupt him. "Come on, man", you repeat as Scott falters. "It's the only way. Just show him. Sit down and take the mask off."<br/>
<br/>
Scott turns wondering eyes on you. You grip his shoulder. Sean cusses. "Go fuck yourself," he says. "Get the fuck outta my life, away from my house, away from my mom!"<br/>
<br/>
Scott starts, as though touched by a hot match. He blinks a sudden wetness from his eyes.<br/>
<br/>
Then he falls backward onto the stairs, his face downcast.<br/>
<br/>
"Keep him here," he mutters at you. "Keep him here long enough for me to—"<br/>
<br/>
He puts a hand to his temple and mutters to himself. You step backward, to give him room. Too late—only as you bump into him—do you remember that Robert, still holding the bin of supplies, is standing nearby, watching, as Scott Bickelmeir tears his face off, revealing the face of Taylor Mitchell beneath.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
He's passed out for several minutes, during which you awkwardly try to explain to the dumbfounded Sean Mitchell what exactly has happened. Fortunately, he has the evidence of his own eyes to back up your wild stories about magic masks and mistaken identities, and after he's woken Taylor by poking and prodding at his brother's face (to reassure himself that it is real) he's got Taylor there too to explain things. An awkward minute passes between them before they embrace each other. Both are weeping openly when they release each other. You offer to leave (taking Lucy and Robert with you) so they can have private time together to talk, but instead they go up and outside to reconnect. You let out a huge sigh of relief when the door closes on them. <br/>
<br/>
You tense up all over again when you realize they've left you alone with Lucy and Robert. "What?", you growl at Lucy, for she's folded her arms and is giving you a narrow, speculative look.<br/>
<br/>
Her eyebrows go up. "I was just thinking that was a very nice thing you did for Taylor."<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. "It was his idea. That was the whole point of what we've been trying to do, anyway."<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, it was nice that you pushed him into it. Jesus, you have no idea how he's been going on about it when we've been out together. 'I've got to talk to Sean, I've got to tell Sean what's been going on.' So go talk to Sean, I kept telling him, but he kept saying that he didn't know how to, or that it was too early." She gives you a direct look. "Good for you for finally taking the bull by the horns and getting it done with."<br/>
<br/>
It gives you a warm glow—a little bit of one—to have Lucy finally say something nice to you. But then she follows it up by nodding at your "Arts and Crafts" bin. "And now we can finally get rid of that stuff", she says.<br/>
<br/>
You feel your face fall.<br/>
<br/>
"No we can't!" you protest. "We still got the professor to deal with! Or do you want to spend the rest of your life down here?"<br/>
<br/>
Robert would pick that exact moment to jump back into the conversation. He's been mercifully quiet (but watchful) all through the drama with Taylor and Sean, but now he says, "What the fuck is going on here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing, Robert", you snap at him. "Just go home. And don't tell Dad anything about this!"<br/>
<br/>
He thrusts his lower lip at you.<br/>
<br/>
"You're in this secret club", he exclaims, "with, like, magic stuff." He leaps back from the bin, which he's been standing near. "Is that what this stuff is?"<br/>
<br/>
"No," you lie.<br/>
<br/>
His eyes narrow. "Then you won't mind if I take it. Since it's mine."<br/>
<br/>
"Alright," you confess. "That's all part of this magical stuff. That's how come I don't want you playing with it. It's too dangerous. Because this isn't a 'secret club'. There's this university professor, he's like a black magician. He kidnapped Lucy over there and he—" You take a deep breath. "He replaced her with a magical robot clone, or something."<br/>
<br/>
Robert's eyes widen. Then his lip curls. "No way!" he jeers. "Really!?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're doing it all wrong, Will," Lucy says, "if you're trying to get rid of him. You're just making it sound cool. Here, watch this."<br/>
<br/>
She marches over to glower at Robert with her hands on her hips.<br/>
<br/>
"Robert," she says in a firm voice. "Your brother's trying to score with me." Your jaw drops, as does Robert's, but Lucy just continues. "He's trying to impress me with all this magical shit, and he thinks that if he can help with this problem I've got at home, then he'll have a chance with me and I'll want to make out with him. Do you want to stick around and watch?"<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself blushing a bright red as Robert falls back and starts howling with laughter. "Nice job," you growl at her. "Now he'll <i>never</i> leave."<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Robert is still there, and you've explained to him the outlines of everything that's been going on, when Sean and Taylor return. They look wan and a little worn out, but happy.<br/>
<br/>
They've also got other plans laid out. "You can't move in with Sean," Taylor tells Lucy, "but our mom's gone most of the day, and you can stay over at our house while she's at work. You'll still have to sleep here." He also goes on to say that he wants all of the supplies moved out to Sean's as well. When you protest, he says it will be safer there because there will be less danger of the center's maintenance staff stumbling over it. You quickly accede when you see Robert frowning at the decision. Taylor further adds, when you ask about them, that you'll be free to go over to look at the notes Sean saved from Taylor's papers.<br/>
<br/>
Your brother gets his revenge on you, though, as you drive back to your house. "You, trying to score with that girl," he replies when you ask what he's snickering at.<br/>
<br/>
It pisses you off that Lucy said that. And yet, she's right, isn't she? For what other reason would you have for thinking, now, that maybe you could impress her by capturing her doppelganger, clearing the way for her to go back home?</span></div></div>


path: 114321414211222111221221122
author_id: nostrum777
title: To Fetch an Evil Twin
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Your brother’s jeer feels like a spear thrust to your feeble heart. Of course you’d want to score with Lucy. You had a crush on her back in your sophomore year, and now that she’s closer, you feel you could have a chance. <br/>
<br/>
Not that you want to admit it to your little brother. "So what if I am trying to score with her?" you retort.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, at least you got good taste," Robert sarcastically replies. "You think you got a chance with her against, y’know, that Taylor guy?"<br/>
<br/>
If there’s something that you hate about your brother, it's that he can be right in the most unexpected way. Taylor’s an unbeatable rival: athletic, good-looking, supportive, friendly ...<br/>
<br/>
The last word lingers in your mind. You’ve grown close to Taylor these few days. Is it fair to snatch his girl from under his clutches, when he’s been nothing but supportive to you? Besides, Lucy has been quite the bitch every time you’re close; even this one moment where she was nice to you was only because you helped Taylor, not because of you.<br/>
<br/>
Yet, you can’t fight the idea that she could change her mind if you just found her a way to get her life back. <br/>
<br/>
You know, like you did with Taylor.<br/>
<br/>
You emerge out of your thought bubble to see your brother looking at you closely. "I’unno if I have a chance," you mutter back at him. Fortunately, you’ve arrived at your home and quickly change subject. "Anyways, no word of this to Dad, you hear?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," he jeers. "Just like I didn’t told him anything about your boyfriend!" He jumps out of the truck before you could even react.<br/>
<br/>
Inside, your dad glances up at you and Robert over the top of his newspaper. "What are the two of you doing together?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
His question, and the edge of suspicion in his voice, gives you a chill. "Any reason we shouldn't be?" you stammer. When he only raises an eyebrow, you add, "I saw Robert on my way home and gave him a ride."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, we didn't want to be late," your brother says. With a grunt, your dad returns to his reading.<br/>
<br/>
Dinner has a very different dynamic; rather than fixating on your father, you are more worried about Robert. You even finish your meal almost at the same time as he does, and you do the dishes together; you notice your mother’s warm smile of satisfaction as she watches you working.<br/>
<br/>
But upstairs, afterwards, you both revert to form. Robert follows you to your room and leans in your doorway with his arms crossed. You feel yourself bristling. "You need something?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"An answer to my question," he smirks. <br/>
<br/>
"What question?"<br/>
<br/>
His smirk deepens. "You think you got a chance with Lucy against that Taylor guy?"<br/>
<br/>
You leap for him, and he scampers off into his own room. You slam the door on the empty hallway, your face flushed.<br/>
<br/>
But all evening long you're preoccupied with his question. <i>Would Lucy be at least a little bit nicer if I tried helping her the way I helped Taylor? Would she be interested in me if I did? Would it fair to Taylor?</i> With those questions swirling in your head, it's not until bedtime that you struggle through the last of your homework.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
<i>Tuesday morning.</i> You wake up tired, confused and with a sense of dread and disgust that you can’t seem to explain. Breakfast doesn't help, and you ask your parents for a mild painkiller before paying a visit to the old school basement. Taylor's already there, dressed out as Scott, and you help him  and Lucy move everything out of the basement. The sight of them together rattles you, and you spend the rest of the day in a daze. The only moment you were driven away from your distraction is when you receive your score for the time capsule assignment: a score straight between B+ and A-, as Walberg acknowledged it was a brilliant, if senseless, idea that made him laugh. You briefly wondered how a walrus would laugh before falling back into the funk you woke with.<br/>
<br/>
When school lets out you roam around the city in your truck as you try to clear your thoughts. Neither Lucy nor Taylor will be at the hideout, but you suspect your brother will be looking for you there, and you don't want to see him. You briefly consider stopping at Top S(h)elf, to see if Mike and Carlos still could offer you a spot on their You Tube channel, and you even change direction to drive out there. But this takes you by the college campus, and it occurs to you as you pass it that Lucy's duplicate is probably somewhere on campus. And that gives you a wild idea: Why not try to find her, spy on her, see if you can figure out a way to kidnap her?<br/>
<br/>
You pull into a small parking lot long enough to get out your phone and do an online search. The fake Lucy is connected to Professor Blackwell, so you search the college's website for his office location, then drive off to find a visitors' lot. By good fortune, one is directly across the street from the Humanities building, where Blackwell has his office.<br/>
<br/>
And on your way in, you slow up when you pass a truck that looks a lot like the one that Scott Bickelmeir drives. <i>Has Taylor had the same idea as you?</i><br/>
<br/>
So your nerves are vibrating as you mount the stairs to the Anthropology Department is housed; not only might you run into the professor, but you might run into Taylor and have to explain yourself. But your luck holds again as you round a corner and spot Lucy's twin at a junction down the hallway. You dive back and peek around to watch as she studies her cell phone in the middle of the hallway. After a minute of reading and tapping a message into it, she moves off away from you. You hurry after, and pause only long enough to confirm that she was standing in front of Professor Blackwell's office door.<br/>
<br/>
You follow her down and out of the Humanities building, keeping well behind in case she glances back, and you have a long and satisfying time to study the confident sway in her walk. She holds her head up and her shoulders back; her pose and gait put you in mind of a prize racehorse stepping proudly around the track for the enjoyment of the crowd. You've not seen the real girl show that kind of poise down in the school basement, but you've talked to her enough to know that the doppelganger is executing a perfect mimicry of the proud Lucy Vredenburg.<br/>
<br/>
She leads you into the university library, and for a panicked few minutes you lose her in the maze of the stacks. When you find her again, she is sitting at a desk facing the windows, where she reads a book while tapping notes of some kind into her cell phone. You find a book and a desk of your own, and watch her.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
An hour passes, and between your own stifled yawns you notice that she is yawning as well. She is slower to turn the pages of the book, and she lays her phone aside. Finally, she closes the book, lays her arms across it, and puts her head down.<br/>
<br/>
You wait and watch and wait some more, hardly daring to move, watching to see if and when she will stir. With something halfway between courage and a reckless lack of caution, you lever yourself out of your chair and creep over to where she rests. She is breathing heavily, and when you peek around you see that her eyes are closed and her lips slightly parted.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Do doppelgangers sleep? Do doppelgangers dream?</i> you wonder.<br/>
<br/>
There's no time to call Taylor and tell him where to find you, or to ask what you should do. Either you go for it now, or you retreat. And if Taylor yells at you—<br/>
<br/>
It's the thought of Taylor getting pissy at you that decides you. <i>Fuck that and fuck him if doesn't trust you not to mess things up.</i> The magic words are already forming on your lips as you reach around to place your fingers across Lucy's brow in the manner that you saw Taylor himself do. With a claw-like grip, you pull at the girl's face.<br/>
<br/>
Too late you wonder, <i>What if it's not a mask, but some other kind of magic?</i> Also, too late, you wonder, <i>What if it is a mask, and the fat professor is under it?</i><br/>
<br/>
But when next you are aware of yourself and of where you're standing, you have a mask in your trembling hand, and beneath you, in Lucy's clothes, is ... What? Where Lucy's head and hair had lain, now there's a featureless lump of stone, laying atop other stones where her arms had been.<br/>
<br/>
No— When you step back to examine the thing further, you see that it's one solid mass of whitish rock filling out her clothes. It's like removing the mask has caused the doppelganger to petrify while losing all its shape and features.<br/>
<br/>
Your knees almost buckle with relief when you realize that you've won. You've disarmed Lucy's duplicate!<br/>
<br/>
Now all you have to do, it comes to you in a rush, is call Taylor, tell him what you've done, and get him out here so the two of you can transport the thing out to where you can study it. <br/>
<br/>
But as you are fumbling out your phone you get another idea. The mask you pulled off the thing will have Lucy's memories in it. What if you take it for yourself for a little while, and use it to delve into her mind, to figure out how she thinks? Why, inside her mask, with her book bag and clothes, you could even pass yourself off as her. <br/>
<br/>
You could even disguise yourself as the doppelganger and become a double agent working against Blackwell.</span></div></div>


path: 1143214142112221112212211221
author_id: nostrum777
title: Confessions of a Mannequin
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The idea of becoming Lucy is very enticing. Your mind runs with the possibilities. You can use the mask to defeat Professor Blackwell and give Lucy her life back by going undercover and acting as a double agent. She'd be grateful to you for that, wouldn't she? And if you have any doubts, you only have to put the mask on and then you'd have her memories, her attitudes, her feelings. You'd know everything about her, including how she would really feel toward you.<br/>
<br/>
<i>You won’t like the answer.</i><br/>
<br/>
You are raising the mask to your face when that echo of a thought from a couple of days ago—when you first wondered if you and Lucy might ever make a connection—stops you. <i>Don't ask a question when you won't like the answer.</i><br/>
<br/>
And given the massive invasion of privacy, and the way she'd berated you each time you've talked about using magic, you know what the answer would have to be.<br/>
<br/>
So you set the mask down and call Taylor at Scott's number.<br/>
<br/>
"Will?" he says when he picks up. "What's going on?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, are you close to Keyserling?" you ask, pretending that you hadn't seen Scott's truck outside. "I need you to come up to the college library. Preferably with a rope or something."<br/>
<br/>
You hear Scott’s voice deepen into a growl. "Will, what the fuck are you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I caught the fake Lucy. I know how that bastard did it."<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
It takes Taylor—still dressed out as Scott—less than ten minutes to find you. (Luckily, during that time, none of the students that pass by pay any attention to you or to the bundle of clothes draped over a desk in imitation of a napping girl.) Scott frowns with curiosity as he stalks up to you, and you brandish Lucy's mask with a grin. He ignores you though, and approaches the thing in the chair. He jumps a little when he sees what it is, and touches it gingerly as though afraid it will turn and bite.<br/>
<br/>
"Shit," he mutters in a wondering tone. "What's this?"<br/>
<br/>
"<i>That</i>," you reply, "is the thing the professor used to duplicate Lucy. <i>This</i>," you continue, showing him the mask again, "is how he does it. Apparently, if you put a mask on that thing, it becomes a clone of whoever’s on the mask."<br/>
<br/>
Scott gulps. "Fuck. Really? That’s creepy as hell."<br/>
<br/>
You grunt in agreement. "Anyways," you continue, "we need to get it out of here. I don't think we can carry it out, though."<br/>
<br/>
"So what do we—?"<br/>
<br/>
For the third time you gesture at the mask.<br/>
<br/>
"By putting the mask back on it. Then, well—"<br/>
<br/>
You take a deep breath, for here comes the hard part, the part where you have to admit why you need his help getting it out of the library.<br/>
<br/>
"The real Lucy likes you," you tell Taylor, "so I figure maybe you can talk the fake one into going downstairs with you, out to your truck?" He doesn't react. "Then once we've got her in your truck, take the mask off again. Then we can haul it into the school basement and keep it there." <br/>
<br/>
Scott stares at you. "You mean you wanna kidnap her," he says.<br/>
<br/>
You stare at his retort. "Well, what do you suggest? We need to take the statue someplace. We can’t leave it here!"<br/>
<br/>
Scott looks between you and the thing, and gnaws a long time at his lower lip. Then his brow furrows, and he shoots you a sharp look. "You think it turns into whoever is in the mask?" he says. You nod. His lips tug into a small smile. "Then why do we have to put <i>Lucy's</i> mask back onto it?"<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Scott runs back down to his truck to get his gym bag, leaving you to struggle with pulling Lucy's clothes off a rock-like mannequin that's folded up around a desk. It's impossible to get them all off, but you loosen them enough that you think nothing will rip when the transformation occurs. You give Taylor a double take when he returns, for he's not just fetched another change of clothes, he has restored himself to his real face. He sets the gym bag on the desk, glances around to make sure the coast is clear, then leans over to set the mask of Scott Bickelmeir onto the statue.<br/>
<br/>
The white, stony skin of the thing softens and deepens into a golden tan, and a mop of thick, blonde hair sprouts on the potato-like head. For a moment the thing doesn't move.<br/>
<br/>
Then it raises its head and looks around with a dumbfounded expression. It stares at you, then twists around to stare up at Taylor. Taylor, for his part, swallows and pales.<br/>
<br/>
No one says anything for a long moment. Then Scott says, softly, "Jesus. So I guess I'm the clone now."<br/>
<br/>
Taylor moistens his lips. "Scott?" he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
Taylor stares at him hard, then blinks a suspicious wetness away. <br/>
<br/>
"Nothing," he says. "Come on, you need to change." He pushes the gym bag toward the clone. Scott glances down at the clothes he's wearing—Lucy's clothes—and says a bad word.<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong?" you ask Taylor after the Scott-thing has gone off to a restroom to change.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing's wrong," he retorts, his voice gruff.<br/>
<br/>
"Is it weird seeing Scott from the outside again, after being him for so long?"<br/>
<br/>
Taylor shoots you a hard, ugly look, then grimaces. "Yeah, sure, that's what it is," he says. "Come on, finish folding up Lucy's things." <br/>
<br/>
He refuses to say anything else, and a prickly silence envelops the trio of you, Scott Bickelmeir, and Taylor Mitchell on the drive back to the elementary school basement.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Lucy Vredenburg squirms in the chair, trying to twist out of the ropes that bind her to it. She grunts and chews at the gag in her mouth. With white-hot hate she glares up at you.<br/>
<br/>
It's kind of a turn-on, you'd have to confess. Especially as she's naked.<br/>
<br/>
But when the door to the basement opens, you are quick to throw the old sleeping bag across her lap and torso before springing to attention.<br/>
<br/>
"—I never see this place again, I'll die happy," the girl is saying as she trudges down the creaking, squeaking wooden steps. She shudders, and gives you a dirty look when she spots you.<br/>
<br/>
Then she freezes and does a double take at the figure in the chair next to you. Taylor steps up beside her, and puts a friendly arm around her shoulder. "The fuck?" Lucy gasps as her eyes boggle.<br/>
<br/>
"Lucy, this is Lucy," you smirk at her. "She'd come over to say hi, but she's kind of tied up."<br/>
<br/>
Okay, it's a cheesy line, but the whole situation—girl confronting her tied-up twin, clone, duplicate, whatever—is already cheesy in a bad, B-movie kind of way.<br/>
<br/>
Lucy gapes, and takes a small step forward. The thing in the chair—that statue, now back inside the mask of Lucy Vredenburg—makes a muffled scream through the gag.<br/>
<br/>
"What's going on?" Lucy demands in a voice that's gone soft with horror.<br/>
<br/>
"It's your evil twin," Taylor says. "The one Professor Blackwell sent out to replace you. We caught it up at the university. Actually," he corrects himself as he catches your eye, "Will caught her. I just helped carry her out here."<br/>
<br/>
"You wanna talk to her?" you ask Lucy. "I'd kind of like to know what she has to say to you." You shiver a little with expectation as you step behind the duplicate and untie the gag.<br/>
<br/>
The doppelganger screeches, then— "Fucking God!" it yells. "What the hell are you—? What the fuck's going on here? If this is a kidnapping," she snarls, "you should know that I'm <i>really good friends</i> with most of the college football players, and all I have to do is tell them what you tried doing to me for them to <i>gghkkmppph!</i>" You quickly bind the gag back onto her.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Was it bluffing?</i> you wonder. <i>Does it know it's a fake? Or does it think that </i>it's<i> the real Lucy?</i><br/>
<br/>
Taylor comes over and pulls the gag down again. But before the clone can start yelling again, he grabs it by the face and pulls the mask off.<br/>
<br/>
Lucy, white as a sheet, clutches the side of the old conference table to keep from collapsing. "No. Way," she murmurs as she stares at the lumpy thing that's now tied to the chair.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes way," you reply. "And it works with any mask. Like, with Scott's mask? That's how we got it out here, we put Scott's mask on it and, uh, he walked out to the truck with us. It looked just like him, talked like him, acted like him."<br/>
<br/>
Taylor's expression is grim. "Apparently, all you have to do," he says, "is get a mask of someone, and you can use that thing to make a copy and send it out to replace them."<br/>
<br/>
Lucy turns green and sinks into a chair. Taylor steps over to support her. <br/>
<br/>
"She was so real," Lucy mutters. Her eyes are wide with horror when she looks up again. "I knew what he did, the professor. I saw her, back at his house. But to see her here, like that, talking like—" She swallows.<br/>
<br/>
Then she comes to life again. "Destroy her. Destroy <i>it!</i> All of it!" she shrieks, baring her teeth and breathing hard. "It's evil!"<br/>
<br/>
"It doesn't have to be," you blurt out. "Scott wasn't evil, when we put the mask on it. In fact, it was like he wasn't dead, like him and Taylor were both back to being alive."<br/>
<br/>
"There you go again!" Lucy snarls. "Your goddamned fascination with this shit." She shivers. "Destroy it," she tells you again. "Destroy that shit. Destroy everything!"<br/>
<br/>
"I can’t."<br/>
<br/>
Lucy rounds on you. "What did you just say to me?" she says, sounding just as pissed as the doppelganger. "Why can't you?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Because I think my dad's also an evil clone,</i> you almost blurt out. But you catch yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Would she even believe you? She'd probably just accuse you of being melodramatic. Maybe you should just tell her you need to "study" the stuff. She'll think that's the real reason anyway.</span></div></div>


path: 11432141421122211122122112211
author_id: nostrum777
title: Parental Issues
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You can't help flinching under Lucy's hard stare. But you stubbornly stick to your guns.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, we can't just throw this stuff away," you tell her and Taylor. "The professor still has the book that made it all, you know, and—" You falter. "Fight fire with fire," you lamely conclude.<br/>
<br/>
Lucy's expression curdles into a glare. "Face it, Will, you just like getting off on this stuff. You're as bad as the the professor."<br/>
<br/>
Maybe it's her accusation, maybe it's the sneering way she makes it, maybe you're just sick of her treating you like shit. But something inside you cracks. You feel the heat welling up inside you even before you start screaming back at her.<br/>
<br/>
"Take a look around, you fucking cunt!" you explode, and Lucy's eyes nearly pop from her head. "I've been busting my ass to help <i>you,</i> and <i>Taylor,</i> and <i>everyone else who's been mixed up in it!</i>" You jab a finger at Taylor, whose mouth has fallen open. "I helped get him out that mask he was nailed up inside! I got him talking to his brother again! And I helped get <i>you</i> out of one stinking basement"—spit flies from your lips, but you're too wound up to care—"and I'm <i>fucking sorry</i> if I didn't have a better place to take you except here! But I even went up to the college and managed to bag your evil twin, so you can <i>fucking go home whenever you fucking feel like it!</i> And by the way, thanks for being so grateful! But in the meantime, what have I done for myself? What have I done about the <i>thing</i> that's back at <i>my</i> house pretending to be—!"<br/>
<br/>
But you choke on the accusation even as it's about to come rushing out, and you feel your eyes bulging as you gasp and try to catch your breath.<br/>
<br/>
Lucy has turned white and is openly gaping at you. Taylor is also staring, but his voice is hard when he speaks. "What thing?" he asks. "Pretending to be what? What are you talking about?"<br/>
<br/>
You clamp your jaw shut and hunch your shoulders. You twist on your feet, regretting how close you came to confessing the fears you have about your father, and also regretting that you choked before you could. But Taylor steps forward, bearing down on you.<br/>
<br/>
"My dad," you tell him in a half-strangled mutter.<br/>
<br/>
"What about your dad?"<br/>
<br/>
Ever fiber of every muscle tightens into a knot, and your hand shakes as you raise it to point at the thing that's still tied to the chair. "I think he's one of <i>those</i> things."<br/>
<br/>
Taylor and Lucy turn in unison turn to look at it; then in unison still they turn back to stare at you. "What makes you say that?" Taylor says.<br/>
<br/>
"Feeling I've got," you mutter. "Feeling I've had ever since you and me started hanging out." You take a deep breath.<br/>
<br/>
"Since that first day when you followed me home," you continue, "'cos you wanted me to get the book for you. But he made me sell it back to the professor, you know, which isn't like him. And he also agreed to let me off on my promise to work on Salopek, something he was always nagging me about. I didn't even know there could be, like, these clone things out there, but I just had a feeling there was something <i>off</i> about him." You glance over at the notes you've been compiling. "And the feeling's just gotten worse since then."<br/>
<br/>
You're exaggerating your suspicions, but Taylor doesn't challenge you, except to ask, "How could the professor kidnap your dad?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," you admit. "Except he went out to talk to him before. He was helping me with the book. You know he's an engineer out at Salopek, where your brother works," you remind Taylor, "so he was interested in it. He didn't understand what was going on, so he told me he tracked down an expert in, like, alchemy or something. He went out to see the professor. And when he came back—"<br/>
<br/>
A hard shiver runs through you. Saying it out loud makes it sound far worse than just thinking it. "When he came back, he was <i>different.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
A heavy silence falls in the school basement. It makes you self-conscious, and you have to hang your head when you feel yourself blushing. Suddenly, without intending it, you are rushing up the stairs and outside.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
You're slouched against your truck, your back against a front wheel, when you hear footsteps. You look up. It's Lucy, coming out of the basement. She looks properly whipped. Shame-faced. And that makes you feel ashamed for having screamed at her.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," she says as she shuffles up to you. "I'm sorry."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I'm sorry," you growl back at her. "I shouldn't have yelled at you, I—"<br/>
<br/>
"No, it's alright." Her voice is very soft. "You know, carrying that kind of fear around, it has to be awful. I mean—" She rubs her arm. "It was awful for me, but at least I knew what was happening. But if I thought the professor, or anyone, had done that, like what you're scared of, to someone in my family—" She breaks off. "And at least I had you and Taylor helping me. I <i>am</i> really grateful for that. Thank you," she says in a tiny voice.<br/>
<br/>
It makes you wince. <i>What a hero I am,</i> you reproach yourself. <i>To get the girl to thank me all I had to do was scream at her and make her feel guilty.</i><br/>
<br/>
"And I'm sorry I've been so short-tempered with you," she continues. "I <i>hate</i> all of this, you know. And watching you get all excited with it, like it was something in a movie or—"<br/>
<br/>
"We'll get rid of it all when this is over," you tell her.<br/>
<br/>
Lucy catches her breath. "Promise?" she says.<br/>
<br/>
Instantly, you regret what you said. "Sure," you reply. Silently, though, you add, <i>And if I don't, what you don't know won't hurt you.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Thanks," Lucy says. "I guess I should help. I mean, I want to," she hurriedly adds. She glances back at the basement. "I'm going nuts without something to do, you know. That's one reason I've been so pissy."<br/>
<br/>
<i>I bet you're not pissy when you're off with Taylor, just the two of you,</i> you think.<br/>
<br/>
"So if you want to come back inside with us," Lucy says, "we can talk about how we can help you out with your dad."<br/>
<br/>
You look up and hold her eye. She doesn't blink. So with a shrug, you get up and follow her back into the basement.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Taylor is perched on the conference table when you rejoin him. He's thumbing a text into his phone, and he gives you a sharp look when he glances up, but doesn't say anything until he's set his phone down.<br/>
<br/>
"So, Sean's on his way out here, gonna pick us up something to eat," he announces, and looks between you and Lucy. "He can give us the lay of the land out at Salopek."<br/>
<br/>
"What lay of the land?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"To deal with your dad," Taylor says. "I remember him only a little from when I was working out there, and maybe work arrangements have changed since I was there. Sean can tell us if we can get to him, deal with him."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Deal with him?</i> The phrase alarms you. "My dad? Deal with him how?"<br/>
<br/>
Taylor's brow furrows. "Didn't you say you think he's one of these magical clones? So we deal with him. So we grab him like we grabbed Lucy's clone. We'll get the mask off him, put Scott's on him, walk him down here like we did Lucy."<br/>
<br/>
"I said I only <i>think</i> he might be a clone," you protest. "I don't know for sure."<br/>
<br/>
But Taylor only shrugs. "You wanna be sure, don't you? The test is the same as the cure. We grab him and try to pull a mask off him. If it comes off, we do the face swap thing. If he isn't, no harm done."<br/>
<br/>
Now it's time for you own jaw to drop open. "No harm done?" you exclaim. "You don't know my dad, if you think you can just try tearing his face off and get away with it by saying 'No harm done'!"<br/>
<br/>
"It's no biggie, Will," Taylor says with a shrug. "How am I gonna get in trouble? I'm supposed to be dead!"<br/>
<br/>
"So then how are you gonna—?"<br/>
<br/>
The upshot is a long wrangle during which Taylor comes up with an idea for ambushing your dad in his office at Salopek. It goes like this: While Sean is establishing an alibi for himself elsewhere in the Salopek plant, Taylor (in his own face, but pretending to be Sean) will go find your dad in his office. If your dad is a clone, he'll replace the mask with Scott's mask and walk out with him. If your dad is really himself, Taylor will run out and escape. But your dad won't be able to blame the attack on the guy who looks like Sean Mitchell, because Sean will have that alibi, and Taylor can then slip back into hiding under the mask of Scott Bickelmeir.<br/>
<br/>
"Best part is," he concludes after hashing out the details of this harebrained scheme, "is that it leaves <i>you</i> in the clear. Your dad can't blame anything on you. Which he would if you tried doing this thing at your house."<br/>
<br/>
"But it wouldn't give me closure." You retort in a quavering voice. "Taylor, we've done everything together so far. We do it, we do it together. In fact...", you say as you turn desperately to the door, the tone of your voice changing to a resolute one, "let's do it right now."<br/>
<br/>
"And let your mom know?" Lucy's words stop you. "She doesn't know about this. Your brother, maybe, but... Will, for once in your life, don't try to solve everything yourself. Let them do it."<br/>
<br/>
This is the first time Lucy has shown some concern for you, and is enough to make you pause. Should you let Taylor go with his plan, even if your gut instinct's telling you it's a bad idea? Maybe if you were there, you'd make sure everything's alright. Maybe it doesn't have to wait until tomorrow.</span></div></div>


path: 114321414211222111221221122112
author_id: nostrum777
title: Behind a Father’s Face
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Hey, man, thanks for giving me a lift." Caleb seemed genuinely surprised that you offered to take him to Salopek as you left school. He was more surprised to know you did it because you wanted to see Salopek up close and personal. "Changed your mind about working there or something?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, not exactly." You smile tightly. "Just thinking I might not be as bad at that kind of stuff as I thought. Did you hear from Carson about Kowalski’s class?"<br/>
<br/>
"That you solved a derivative like you were possessed? ‘S not a big deal, y’know. Even cocksuckers like you get lucky sometimes."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you! I swear, it’s gotten a lot easier for me recently! Anyways," you continue as you approach the main building at Salopek, "I want to ask Dad a few things."<br/>
<br/>
"I can take you to see him. Had to do it once or twice." You seethe a little as Caleb about working with your father. It gives you a twisted sense of satisfaction to know that he was working with an evil clone. That is, if it is an evil clone.<br/>
<br/>
You have to stop at the reception desk first, though. "Um... I’m here to see Harris Prescott?"<br/>
<br/>
The receptionist looks up with a bored expression. "Name?"<br/>
<br/>
"William Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
As she taps on the computer, she asks, "Are you his son?"<br/>
<br/>
"The older one," you reply with strange pride.<br/>
<br/>
"Great to meet you!" She smiles as she hands you a pass hanging on a lanyard. "Want me to call and tell him you're on your way up?"<br/>
<br/>
Your heart thuds once. "No, that's okay," you stammer. "Uh, he's expecting me."<br/>
<br/>
"He is?" Caleb asks. "I thought you said—" He shuts up when you nudge him, and you shoot an awkward grin back at the receptionist.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb's confusion turns to exasperation when you ask him to show you around the place. "I got work, dude!" he exclaims. "Didn't you come up here to see your dad?" <br/>
<br/>
<i>I'm waiting for a signal from Taylor.</i> That's what you can't tell him, and it's why you need to hang loose for a bit. <i>The hell is keeping Mitchell?</i> you wonder. "I'm not in that much of a hurry," you mutter.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb gives you a look, and gives you a quick tour of the box-like administration building, from the cafeteria to elevator banks. "If you really want to kill some time, you could come help me and Sean," he tells you, sarcasm dripping from his voice.<br/>
<br/>
But you send him grumbling on his way, and look for the restrooms. You're in there, warming hands that are cold with anxiety under some hot tap water, when the phone in your pocket vibrates with a text from Taylor. [<i>In yr dads office ready to go.</i>]<br/>
<br/>
But when you knock at your dad's office door, there's no answer. You know again, louder.<br/>
<br/>
"Can I help you, son?"<br/>
<br/>
You jump and whirl. A man in janitorial coveralls is giving you a puzzled smile. <br/>
<br/>
"Er," you gasp, and glance between him and the door. "Do you know where Harris Prescott is? He's my dad, and I need to talk to him."<br/>
<br/>
"I saw him just go out." The man's smile widens.<br/>
<br/>
You gape. "Was he alone?"<br/>
<br/>
"There was a blonde kid with him. One of the guys from the repair plant. Guess there was something your dad needed to look at."<br/>
<br/>
Your head whirls and your breathing starts to cut out. This wasn’t part of the plan. Sean was supposed to establish an alibi someplace while Taylor took care of your father. If the two of them are wandering around the grounds, they might run into Sean!<br/>
<br/>
You hurry back down to the reception area. "H-hey, did you see my dad going with someone somewhere?" you ask the woman out front, who is on the phone.<br/>
<br/>
"Hmm?" She covers the mouthpiece. "He's out in the parking lot with one of the employees, moving something. You must have just missed him." She turns her attention back to her phone call.<br/>
<br/>
Frazzled, you rush outside and scan the parking lot with shaded eyes. You quickly spot Taylor, his head bobbing up from between two cars, and you race over. Of your dad there's no sign.<br/>
<br/>
Taylor jumps when he sees you running up, and his face is pale. "Hey man," you gasp, "where's my dad?"<br/>
<br/>
Taylor doesn't answer, but looks at the ground at his feet. You edge over to look down. <br/>
<br/>
Aubrey Blackwell, in clothes that are far too small for him, sprawls on the blacktop between two cars.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
"He was coming out just as I was coming in," Taylor explains on the drive out to the elementary school basement. "He told me he had some stuff he needed to move out to his car and he asked me to help. After we got the stuff stowed, I—"<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't have to finish. You know the sequel. He grabbed your dad, pulled a mask off him, and found the fat Professor Aubrey Blackwell beneath.<br/>
<br/>
It's not Professor Blackwell in the back of Taylor's truck at the moment. It's your dad, unconscious and bound up in ropes, with Sean kneeling over him to handle him if he wakes up again. It sickened you to put that mask back onto the professor, but it was the easiest way to lug his ass away from Salopek.<br/>
<br/>
It's a long drive out to Acheson, and "Harris" is awake again as you park at the school, but Taylor knocks him out again by pulling the mask off. Sean and Taylor strain every one of their massive muscles as they carry Blackwell down into the basement. He's already reviving as you tie him up in the chair next to what's left of Lucy's clone.<br/>
<br/>
You brush past Taylor to put a fist in Blackwell's face. "Alright, professor. Game over. Where’s my dad?"<br/>
<br/>
Blackwell laughs—a blubbery sound. <br/>
<br/>
"I should have known it was you behind it all, Will," he chuckles. "You're a resourceful young man. Quite the chip off the old block. Your father underestimates—"<br/>
<br/>
You slap him across his greasy jowls, but his grin remains fixed. "Don't fucking mock me. Where's my dad?"<br/>
<br/>
"Will," Taylor cautions you.<br/>
<br/>
"Best listen to your friend," Blackwell says. "You hold me, but I hold the high card." He twists in his bonds. "But let's call it a fair exchange. You let me go, and I'll return your father to you."<br/>
<br/>
"Pfft! And what then? You'll just come after us again!"<br/>
<br/>
"That is the risk you have to run. Weigh it carefully. The risk I will pose to you and your father, versus the certainty that you'll never see your father again."<br/>
<br/>
His threat is like a hand that grasps and squeezes your heart inside your chest. He’s absolutely right. Maybe you and your family can survive if you let the professor go. But your dad is lost for sure if you don't bargain with him.<br/>
<br/>
So wracked are you with the pain of indecision that you don't react when a cell phone goes off. It's Taylor who hunts down the phone, and finds it in your dad's pocket. "Will," he says as he studies the screen. "Will!"<br/>
<br/>
You tear your gaze away from Blackwell, whose expression has darkened. Taylor shows you the cell phone screen. There's a text from "Prof. A. Blackwell." You frown and open it. [<i>Temporarily delayed at school. Meet elsewhere to collect loot?</i>]<br/>
<br/>
You stare at the screen. At first you feel nothing, only a numb confusion. How can Professor Blackwell be texting your dad when the professor is tied up in the basement next to you in the rent and torn remnants of your dad's clothes? There's not two of him, are there?<br/>
<br/>
It's when you ask yourself that question that your confusion begins to melt with head-spinning excitement. You yank Taylor up the stairs and outside, leaving Sean to guard the professor.<br/>
<br/>
"Blackwell's got a clone of himself," you excitedly explain to Taylor. "Like he had a clone of Lucy? He's got one of himself!"<br/>
<br/>
But Taylor's frown deepens. "How come?"<br/>
<br/>
"For it to do the scut work he doesn't want to do! I don't know!" You throw your arms around wildly. "But he's got one, and it's texting him, looking for him! I guess maybe he had to turn it on—activate it," you correct yourself, "while he was pretending to be my dad!" You can't help making a face. "But you see, if we get hold of that clone, it probably knows where my dad is, and we can find out from it without making a deal with the professor!"<br/>
<br/>
"Why would the clone tell you if the professor won't?"<br/>
<br/>
"We could maybe trick it into telling us. Or—" You have to gulp as your heart starts beating wildly. "We could get the mask off it, the way we got it off Lucy, and one of us puts it on. If we can get into its memories, we could find out that way."<br/>
<br/>
Taylor's expression perks up.<br/>
<br/>
"That's a great idea," he says. "Do we go meet it up at the professor's house, or bring it out here?"<br/>
<br/>
You open your mouth to answer, then hesitate.<br/>
<br/>
Blackwell's clone will be looking for "Harris Prescott," which means that if you meet it at his house someone will have pretend to be your dad. You're not sure you can deal with that. But if you bring it out the basement, the professor, though tied up, might be able to work some kind of juju on it.</span></div></div>


path: 1143214142112221112212211221121
author_id: nostrum777
title: Calling All Bluffs.
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>There don't seem to be any good answers to Taylor's question. Meet the clone here at the basement, or at his house? The basement is home turf to you, but you're afraid of bringing the clone and the magician together in one spot—one misstep, and you could be enslaved by their magic! But to meet the clone at the villa is also fraught with danger, for it would would have the home field advantage, and quick resort to any nasty gadgets or traps the professor has on hand there.<br/>
<br/>
No good decisions, but you settle on the latter, hoping that fortune will continue to favor you. There is only one thing to settle first.<br/>
<br/>
"Um, Taylor?" you say. "Are you willing to be my dad for awhile?"<br/>
<br/>
"What?" Taylor, who has been waiting for you to speak, jumps at the question.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, the clone’s gonna be expecting my dad when we meet it out at the house. So, one of us needs to put his mask on. I think it should be you."<br/>
<br/>
"How come? I mean", he hastens to add, "I'm willing to help out and everything, but—"<br/>
<br/>
"My dad can't go missing", you blurt out. "He has to go home when all this is over." You feel yourself paling. "We can't put his mask on one of those things that the professor made."<br/>
<br/>
Taylor looks very grave, but he nods.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I get it, Will", he says. "If we don't figure out any other way of handling it, I guess Scott Bickelmeir can disappear for awhile. I'll go change now." He turns toward the basement door.<br/>
<br/>
You pace the grounds outside, waiting, and alternately hoping for and dreading the reappearance of Taylor in the form of your "father." When the tension is unbearable, you burst into the basement to see what the hold up is.<br/>
<br/>
You nearly swallow your tongue.<br/>
<br/>
Your father is standing there, looming with a very haggard expression over the professor. And as your dad is dressed, Blackwell is now naked, save for the too-tight boxers that pinch him tightly under his gut.<br/>
<br/>
Despite this, the professor looks up at you with a very smug expression.<br/>
<br/>
"A game attempt, William, at getting your father back without my help," he sneers. "But as your 'father' and I were just discussing— Oh... but perhaps, <i>Harris</i>", he gloats, "<i>you</i> should tell your son."<br/>
<br/>
"T-Taylor?", you stammer.<br/>
<br/>
He turns wide eyes up at you. "It's this mask, Will", your father says in a soft, horrified voice. "It doesn't work."<br/>
<br/>
"Yes it does. You—" You gulp. "You look just like him!"<br/>
<br/>
"But I can't <i>think</i> like him. I can't fool your family, Will! Because... I don't remember anything that <i>he</i> remembers..."<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
But that's a worry for later. And maybe, you decide, there will be an answer to it in the mask that Blackwell's clone is wearing.<br/>
<br/>
You park in front of the villa gate, and a minute later Taylor, in your dad's SUV, pulls up behind. You had dropped him off at Salopek to collect it, and the supplies that the professor had tried smuggling out, so as to better complete the deception to come.<br/>
<br/>
Silently you greet each other, and silently you walk side by side up the parched walk to the portico. Taylor is carrying the supplies, and he shifts it in his arms in order to knock at the front door. You blink stupidly, then with a grimace push the door open. After all, if it's supposed to be the professor, in disguise, returning home, why would he knock?<br/>
<br/>
Professor Blackwell is just stepping into the foyer as you enter, and for one terrible moment you believe that he must have escaped and beaten you back home. But this professor only peers at you unhappily. "Yes?" he says. Then he adds a startled, "Hnh!"<br/>
<br/>
You don't like the exclamation, but it's Taylor who replies. "I made it back", he says. "A little late, but here I am." As the professor is staring at you, he adds, "I got Will to help me carry the stuff out."<br/>
<br/>
The professor's eyes glitter as they flick between you and your father. "There was a change in plans?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, just a delay."<br/>
<br/>
The professor's head falls a little to one side as he studies you with a hard, hungry expression. No one speaks. The contents of the box slide and clink as your dad shifts the weight from one arm to the other.<br/>
<br/>
"You'll want to take that upstairs", the professor tells your dad, though he continues to watch you closely. "You know where?"<br/>
<br/>
"Of course." Your dad hesitates, then steps forward. "Come on, son."<br/>
<br/>
But the last thing you want is to let the professor's clone out of your sight. "I think we should just put it down here", you announce. "In the library."<br/>
<br/>
The professor's eyebrows rise fractionally. "The lad knows his own mind", he murmurs. He shoots your dad a sharp glance. "Can we speak frankly in front of him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Of course."<br/>
<br/>
The professor's eyebrows rise further. "Of course?", he echoes skeptically.<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, yes."<br/>
<br/>
"Ah!" The professor's expression lights up. "I begin to understand! Well!" He beams at you—a look that makes your flesh crawl—then seizes you by the chin. You're too shocked to pull away. "I know we were entertaining the idea", he says as he gloats over you, "but I didn't know we had settled on it. Was the decision precipitate? Was that the reason for the delay?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes", your dad says after a fractional hesitation.<br/>
<br/>
"And just like that he's troublesome no more." The professor releases you. "Does he know anything?", he asks your dad, "about the missing girl, and the other missing things?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes."<br/>
<br/>
"And now", the professor says, cocking his eye upon you again, "he has told all and will be returning all?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes", your father says for the third time, still sounding uncertain. You feel yourself starting to sweat. There's a nasty subtext to whatever the professor is saying, but you can't follow it. And you feel Taylor in imminent danger of blowing the impersonation, because he clearly isn't following it either.<br/>
<br/>
Then, of a sudden, your dad relaxes. <br/>
<br/>
"Yes," he says in a much more commanding tone. "He tried to warn me about you, told me he rescued a girl from your villa. Naturally, I couldn't let him run around free after that." He settles a hand on your shoulder. "So now you've got an assistant. I mean, <i>I've</i> got another assistant." He turns a smug smile upon the professor.<br/>
<br/>
But if he expected the professor to look impressed, he is disappointed. Instead, the clone's eyebrows have lifted so high they are in danger of leaving his forehead behind entirely.<br/>
<br/>
"Indeed", he says, sounding like he's trying to suppress his mirth. "And which spell did you use, <i>sir</i>?" The honorific is said with an ill-disguised sarcasm. "Come, let's step into the library, and you can tell me all about it."<br/>
<br/>
As he turns, something in you snaps. <i>I can't let him get to the library,</i> you think with a wild fear. <i>Something awful will happen if we let him get there!</i><br/>
<br/>
So you hurl yourself upon his broad back, knocking him face first into a wall. The professor sputters and wheels. "Get him, Taylor!" you shout. "Get his face off before he puts a— Oof!" You gasp as the professor falls back and slams you into a wall.<br/>
<br/>
But you don't fall off him, gripping tightly close to his neck. Taylor drops the box with a bang and a clatter and leaps forward to grab the professor by the face. The three of you wheel inside the confines of the narrow hallway, but you and Taylor are able to overmaster the clone. You feel him freeze solid in his clothing even as he twists about to throw you off.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus!", you gasp as you slide off. "Took you long enough. What were you waiting for?"<br/>
<br/>
"What were <i>you</i> waiting for?", Taylor spits back. "I was just trying to bluff him, waiting for <i>you</i> to— to—"<br/>
<br/>
His eyes bulge as he does a double take at the frozen clone. You follow his glance, and do a double take of your own. Your stomach plunges and your hair crawls all over your scalp when you see what is standing there, in the professor's clothes.<br/>
<br/>
It's your father. A petrified version of him.<br/>
<br/>
You feel your lungs collapse, and the hallway slowly fades to black as you realize what truly happened to your father.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
But you're not out long, if you're even passed out, and you spring upright when you are next aware of your father shaking you awake.<br/>
<br/>
Except it's not your father. It's a fake. Your own father is—<br/>
<br/>
You shudder and retch. But before Taylor can say anything, you're scrambling to your feet and running for the front door. The mask of the professor, which had fallen from your frozen father's face, is in your hand.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Blackwell!</i>, you puff and pant and cuss to yourself. <i>Got to get to the professor. Shim the mask. Beat the truth out of him. Find out what he did!</i> <br/>
<br/>
For there's no point in putting on the mask to learn for yourself, as was your original plan. As the professor himself gloated back at the basement, and as Taylor proved in your father's mask, it will only work for whoever made it. <i>I'll hurt him until he tells me,</i> you promise yourself. <i>And I'll kill him if he doesn't!</i><br/>
<br/>
The yard outside passes in a blur as you jog for the gate. The sun is bright, and a shaft of golden light stabs you in the eye, causing you to wince as you gallop for your truck. You wrench the gate open and leap outside.<br/>
<br/>
An arm shoots out in front of you, at just the right height to catch you in the throat. It's like running into a sturdy tree branch. Your feet fly forward as your neck snaps back, and then you're falling. You feel your ass hit the stony ground, and then the back of your head hits something hard and sharp.<br/>
<br/>
This time, when the blackness falls, there's no quick return.</span></div></div>


path: 11432141421122211122122112211211
author_id: nostrum777
title: From a Nightmare to a Grim Reality
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Your dad's eyes bore into you. He's smiling, but there's death behind the smile.<br/>
<br/>
He's sitting at the dining table, eating as he smiles at you. Your brother and mother flank him, and gaze into his face with adoring expressions.<br/>
<br/>
A deep unease settles on your shoulders. This is your dining room, but every wall is draped with dark, purple-hued curtains. A dim glow, like candlelight, suffuses the room. The ceiling, when you glance up, is a well of shadows.<br/>
<br/>
"Will, son..." Your father says as he continues smiling at you, unblinking. "You're a very resourceful boy. I never gave you enough credit. I should have. I see that now. I should have picked you first."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Picked me?</i>, you wonder. <i>Picked me for what?</i> <br/>
<br/>
Your father cuts his food, never taking his eyes off you. The knife and fork clink against the plate, but he never lifts the food to his mouth.<br/>
<br/>
With mounting unease you try to push yourself back from the table, but the legs of your chair are fastened to the floor. And when you try to rise, your strength fails.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh God, it's like when the zombies come and I can't run because my feet keep sinking into the floor!</i><br/>
<br/>
The curtains rustle, and figures step out from behind them. They shuffle toward you with the slow-motion gait of the undead. But they have the faces of your friends: Caleb and Keith, Taylor and Lucy, Scott Bickelmeir. But their eyes and grins are glassy, and their heads wobble on their necks.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh Jesus,</i> you realize. <i>They're not real.</i><br/>
<br/>
"I should have picked you first", your dad repeats. "But it's not too late to pick you last. You'll be happier this way. I am." With a hand he indicates the crowd. "We all are."<br/>
<br/>
Clammy hands close over your face from behind.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
"AAAAAAAH!!!" You kick and thrash, desperately trying to escape, but something heavy pushes you down. "Get it off!", you scream. "Get it off my face!"<br/>
<br/>
"Easy there", comes a voice out of the dark. It's a deep baritone, strong and resonant.<br/>
<br/>
"Looks like Sleeping Beauty's having a nightmare", says another. This voice is lighter, and there's a snicker in it. "You heard him, Frank, get off his face."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not on his—"<br/>
<br/>
"Here, let me", a third voice breaks in. It's your father's, and you freeze in terror. "Will", he says. "Will! Wake up!"<br/>
<br/>
You pry your eyes open, and flinch at finding your dad leaning over you. "Don't", you whimper. "Please don't!"<br/>
<br/>
"Will!" Your dad shakes you gently. "It's okay. It's me, Taylor."<br/>
<br/>
You stare at him. The back of your head is very hot, and the front of your brain feels smothered with fuzz. <i>Why is Dad telling me his name is Taylor?</i> you wonder.<br/>
<br/>
Then it all comes back to you—the fight with Blackwell's clone, and what you found under the mask—and almost you swoon again. But you push yourself up, and almost pass out with pain as the back of your head throbs.<br/>
<br/>
You find you're back inside the professor's villa, on the cold floor of the dark foyer. You wince as you look around.<br/>
<br/>
You're being supported behind the shoulder by a dark-haired guy who looks a little older than you. His black eyes glitter, and his mouth is set in a grim line. He reminds you of the basketball players back at school—a muscled jock who doesn't like to be fucked with.<br/>
<br/>
Beside of him is another kid, this one with bright blonde hair. His eyes gleam like his companion's, but his mouth is parted in a wide, white smile.<br/>
<br/>
"Just a bad bump", the dark-haired kid says as he helps you into a sitting position. "Didn't even break the skin. But it wouldn't be a bad idea to see a doctor."<br/>
<br/>
"Are you gonna foot the bill, Frank?", the blonde kid says. "You're the one who punched him out."<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't punch out anyone, Joe. I only put my arm out to grab him."<br/>
<br/>
"And just about took his head off."<br/>
<br/>
"Who <i>are</i> you guys?", you demand, and wince as your head throbs again.<br/>
<br/>
"Good Samaritans, dur", says the blonde one, and he doesn't hide his sarcasm. "We picked you up and brought you inside, didn't we? You can call me Joe, and him Frank. And who are you?" He glances up at Taylor with a hard grin. "Colleagues of Herr Professor?"<br/>
<br/>
There's an awkward pause. You still hurt too much to think clearly, and Taylor is at a loss for words. The air seems to thicken noticeably. "It must be bad, whatever it is", Joe says, "if you don't even want to introduce yourselves."<br/>
<br/>
"My name's Will, and this is my dad", you retort. You're in too much pain to take any shit. "And yeah, we came out to see the professor."<br/>
<br/>
"Is your dad a life model?"<br/>
<br/>
"A what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Your dad. Is he a life model?" Joe cocks an insolent eye at Taylor. "You sit for artists professionally, Mr. Will's Dad? Is the professor an amateur sculptor?"<br/>
<br/>
"What are you talking about?", Taylor demands.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm talking about that thing in the hallway. The life-size statue that looks just like you, Mr. Will's Dad."<br/>
<br/>
Taylor wheels to stare back down the hallway. His jaw drops, and he's very pale when he turns back around.<br/>
<br/>
"Let's take it outside, Joe", says the one named Frank.<br/>
<br/>
"We can do it in here."<br/>
<br/>
"It'll be faster outside."<br/>
<br/>
"But now they don't want to go outside, now that you've mentioned that's what you want to do. Besides—" Joe rears up, and you see that he's built almost as strongly as his friend, with hard biceps and a deep chest under his surfer's mop. "This is our chance to have some fun. When the cat's away, the mice will place some strategically positioned anvils to drop on its head." He cocks a bright but daunting eye at you. "This will be our little secret, guys," he adds as he puts a finger to his lips.<br/>
<br/>
You exchange a long, wide-eyed glance with Taylor. He speaks for you both when he asks. "What's the deal, guys?"<br/>
<br/>
Joe's smile is so broad it threatens to split his head in two.<br/>
<br/>
"Tit for tat, Will and Mr. Will's Dad," he laughs. "For every question we answer, you have to answer one of ours."<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
The ensuing talk is no fun, and you and Taylor get the worst of it. Your head hurts too much to think clearly, and Taylor—who’s a lot less physically impressive with your father's middle-aged dad bod than with his own wrestler's physique—looks pinched and harried. The others, on the other hand, have no trouble intimidating you with hard, bright stares. That goes double for Frank. He doesn't talk, but he doesn't have to. The planes of his face are very hard and he doesn't smile. By the end, you have the impression that he would like to twist your head off your neck, and that he could do it, too.<br/>
<br/>
From Joe, who does the talking, you learn that they are from out of town, come specially to pay a call on the professor, and that they are "professional competitors" of some sort. When you ask if that means they're archaeologists, Frank makes his only real comment: "Archaeologists take things out of the ground. We put things in it."<br/>
<br/>
In return you are forced to confess that you sold the professor a book on alchemy; that you came out to deliver him supplies from your dad's work; and that you freaked out when you found a life-sized statue of your dad in the hallway. You implicitly confess more, probably, when you are unable to explain where the professor is or how you got into his house when he wasn't home.<br/>
<br/>
So badly are you doing, in fact, that you soon call a halt to the talk. "Fuck this. You’re not the cops." On wobbling feet you stumble to where that "statue" of your father lies. "Help me move this," you tell Taylor.<br/>
<br/>
Frank blocks the hallway. "Hold it. You’re not taking anything, dipshit."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh no," you retort. "I’m not going <i>anywhere</i> without this."<br/>
<br/>
"Then I guess we get to keep talking," Joe says. He grins. "'Cos if you ain't leavin' without it, we ain't lettin' you leave with it. It's the professor's property, right?"<br/>
<br/>
You clench a fist, ready to deck either of them in the face, but a single glance from Frank stops you. <br/>
<br/>
You wheel and rush for the front door, hating yourself for running. "So why you want the dingus so bad?" Joe asks as you brush past.<br/>
<br/>
You flip him off and charge out the door. At your truck, you look back to see the two of them watching you from the porch with speculative expressions.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
The afternoon feels like a disaster, but worse awaits you in the school basement. Sean is perched on the conference table, staring vacantly at a wall, but the professor is gone. Only his ropes remain, coiled beside his chair.<br/>
<br/>
"Sean!" Taylor grabs his brother. "Sean!" Sean turns a dreamy eye onto his twin. "Sean, where's the professor?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hmm?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sean!" Taylor shakes him hard, and Sean's eyes slowly clear. "What happened to the professor?", Taylor demands.<br/>
<br/>
Sean frowns as though gathering his thoughts, and looks around. He stares at you as you hold up the empty ropes. He blinks once, then jumps up with a cry.<br/>
<br/>
"He hypnotized me!", he yells. "The son of a bitch hypnotized me! I was talking to him, and then—" He rubs his eyes. "And then I was untying him! Oh, Jesus!" he groans.<br/>
<br/>
You and Taylor turn horrified faces on each other. The professor loose? And those two weirdos at his house loose as well?<br/>
<br/>
While you were talking, Joe had given you a phone number, telling you to call if you ever "needed help." Maybe you should call him now. But why have anything to do with those assholes? You’d rather look for Blackwell yourself – make him pay for what he did, and force him to fix everything.<br/>
<br/>
Then you smirk. Why not set them against each other? But you’ll need to keep clear watch on one of them – all the more to set them on a collision course.</span></div></div>


path: 1143214142112221112212211221122
author_id: nostrum777
title: Delirium Demens
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Even though you know bringing the clone to the basement isn’t a good idea, going to the professor’s house seems a worse one. Just thinking of it gives you goosebumps. The professor’s clone would have all of his memories – and therefore knowledge of any traps inside the house.<br/>
<br/>
But the basement is <i>your</i> home turf. Sean is here, in case something goes wrong. Nor are the old elementary school grounds visited very often, if something does go wrong. Like, no one ever noticed you had a girl living there for an entire week.<br/>
<br/>
You text the clone a reply, telling him to meet you at the Acheson Community Center. When the clone asks why you won't be coming out to the house, you reply that you are being held back at work.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
You’re downstairs, with a gagged and sweaty Blackwell looking at you with scorn. You grip the crowbar tightly, until your knuckles white. You made sure to check on his pockets for any surprises, and you made sure to set everything as far as possible from him. You barely contained your anger at seeing him, at thinking how close he was to you without you even realizing. If you hadn’t acted earlier ... if you hadn’t found Lucy’s dupe and confronted your own fears, Blackwell could have been at your house, perhaps preparing to dispose of you. You can’t help but feel hatred at his affront, but his helplessness gives you pause. It’s only after you feel a buzz on your phone that you take your eyes off him. It’s Taylor, telling you that "Blackwell" is approaching. You point the crowbar at the real deal in a silent threat, then set it down and go upstairs.<br/>
<br/>
You step outside to meet Taylor, as the two of you see Blackwell’s car approaching. He parks between your trucks – maybe not recognizing either of them, to your fortune – and you're moving toward him even before he's gotten out of the car.<br/>
<br/>
"Get ready," you tell Taylor. "I’m gonna bring him close. When you see your chance, grab and hold him while I get the mask off." Even as the professor gets out of his car with a worried expression on his face, you're stepping up to meet him. "Professor Blackwell?" you call.<br/>
<br/>
He turns and looks at you with disdain. "Ah, William. Such a ... ah ... strange coincidence!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," you reply with a smirk. "Dad’s waiting for you downstairs." You jerk your chin at the window peeping up at ground level. "In the basement."<br/>
<br/>
The professor starts. Then, to your surprise, an evil grin creases his face.<br/>
<br/>
"So," he says with a gloat in his voice. "I take it he procured the supplies?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Supplies?</i> you wonder. Then you remember what Taylor said, about helping your "dad" carry some materials out to his car. <i>Was that what Blackwell was doing? Replenishing his cache of supplies?</i> More and more, it dawns on you how fortunate you were to capture him in time.<br/>
<br/>
Blackwell grasps you by the hand. "So good, William, to have you finally on the team," he murmurs. "I trust you can bring Ms. Vredenburg to us? I think we would both be glad of her comp—"<br/>
<br/>
From behind you, Taylor launches himself at the professor, knocking him to the ground. The clone's eyes pop with surprise and horror as you grab him by the brow. "No! You can't! You must be—!" he manages to gasp before his face comes away in your hand.<br/>
<br/>
You almost drop it in fright and surprise. Underneath, where you expected to find another lumpish thing like you found under the Lucy-clone's face, is something quite different.<br/>
<br/>
It's your father. Petrified, with an expression of surprise and despair on his frozen face.<br/>
<br/>
"Will! <i>Will!</i>" Taylor shakes you, but you don't respond. "Will, come on, snap out of—"<br/>
<br/>
You shake him off and with a snarl of rage rush back to the basement door and down the stairs. You grab up the crowbar as you pass, and as the professor cowers you slam him blindly across the shoulder. He yowls and tries to jump out of his bonds.<br/>
<br/>
"Son of a bitch!" you scream. "What did you do to my father?"<br/>
<br/>
"Do, William?" he replies through a wince. "I'm afraid I don't follow—"<br/>
<br/>
"You turned him into one of those <i>things!"</i> You smash him in the side of his hip with the crowbar. "You <i>killed him!"</i><br/>
<br/>
Blackwell cackles. Stunned by his laugh and the sudden grin he turns on you, you take a step back. But your grip on the crowbar tightens, and it's only because you know you still have to deal with him that you don't crush his skull with it.<br/>
<br/>
"Ah me," Blackwell sighs, and there are tears of laughter mixed with the tears of pain in his eyes. "You <i>are</i> a clever lad. I really should have employed you, if only to keep a close eye on you. And you would have made a better test subject than your father." His grin turns into a grimace. "If only to get you out of the way," he softly snarls.<br/>
<br/>
"Shut. <i>UP!"</i><br/>
<br/>
You raise the crowbar, but a strong hand grabs it. "Will, stop it!" someone shouts, and the weapon is wrenched from your hand. You wheel to find Taylor and Sean both glaring at you. "Get a grip!"<br/>
<br/>
"You don’t get it!" you scream at them. "He killed my dad! He—" You gulp back a sudden flood of hot tears. "He killed my dad..." You drop to your knees, and your head hangs.<br/>
<br/>
"Will," Sean says as he squats beside you. "Maybe he isn’t dead. Maybe he—"<br/>
<br/>
"No," you lament. "He’s gone. Lucy’s right. Lucy was right all along."<br/>
<br/>
"Will, listen to me." Sean shakes you. "I don’t think he's dead. I checked him out. I swear, I think he’s breathing!"<br/>
<br/>
You look up, your rage numbed by a wild hope. You wheel to stare at the professor.<br/>
<br/>
"Wouldn't you like to know, Mr. Prescott?" the magician sneers. "Wouldn't we <i>both</i> like to know? Though I have good reason, I would say, to withdraw my earlier offer, it still stands. Release me, and—"<br/>
<br/>
But you jump to your feet and run out the basement. You dash over to where what's left of your father, still in the professor's clothes, lies inert in the grass. Blackwell's mask is on the ground beside it.<br/>
<br/>
"Will!" One of the Mitchells is yelling at you, but you're already unbuttoning your trousers and kicking off your shoes. "You're really going through with it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Like he said, I have to know," you tell him as you pull off your shirt. "And if I'm wearing this mask, then we'll <i>both</i> know."<br/>
<br/>
Mitchell sucks in his lips but doesn't argue as you kick off the last of your clothes. Then you settle on the grass next to your father, and lift the cold mask to your face.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
You wake up with a hard groan. The last thing you recall was Prescott’s bastard tricking you. You can still feel his cold, sweaty fingers on your face as he pulls at the mask.<br/>
<br/>
<i>The mask.</i> You sit up and look down at your naked body, then recoil in disgust. The vast belly is fish-white, and it hangs off your gut and into your lap like a great bag of dough. You look around and find you're alone.<br/>
<br/>
But not forgotten. Blackwell's clothes—black pants and a gray turtleneck sweater—are nearby. You don't blame the Mitchells for fleeing after dropping them next to your new, fat, inert body.<br/>
<br/>
And they wait until you're pulling on shoes and socks before coming out to meet you. "Will?" Taylor says warily.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" You glare up at him.<br/>
<br/>
He sighs. "So I guess you've found out already."<br/>
<br/>
"Found out what?"<br/>
<br/>
"That you can't get the memories out of the mask?"<br/>
<br/>
You frown. <i>What's he talking about?</i> You clearly remember it all, with just a little self-prompting. The trip to upstate New York to abscond with the sad remaining assets of an elderly madwoman. The visit to Salopek to pick up a box you had so cleverly misdirected. The gloating pleasure at studying and performing the initial spells. The savory delight at kidnapping that odious (but delectable!) Vredenburg girl, and copying her and replacing her. Your rage at finding the <i>Libra Personae</i> missing, and your fury at the bullheaded bookstore owner who refused to tell you who had purchased it. The bitterness at knowing you would never find it again, and the astonished excitement when Harris Prescott, the book in his possession, blundered into your house. You remember too (though a little more dimly) making a mask of the man, and returning home to put a stop to his son's experiments, and you remember too—<br/>
<br/>
Your stomach drops with horror.<br/>
<br/>
You remember too the prisoner's shouts when you entered his cell (lately vacated by the mysteriously vanished Lucy Vredenburg); you remember knocking him out and dragging him upon the <i>Libra</i> so you could execute the next spell.<br/>
<br/>
The <i>Cadaver</i> spell. The one that turns a living human into a <i>pedisequos,</i> the magician's loyal servant.<br/>
<br/>
You retch as you confirm your worst fears. Blackwell turned your father into one of those statues that can be turned into a clone.<br/>
<br/>
"Will?" Taylor says. "What are you going to do? Without Blackwell's memories—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I've got his memories," you snap back. "I know exactly what the bastard did and how he did it!"<br/>
<br/>
"What?" Taylor exclaims. "You mean he was lying? He told us the memories won't work for you, that only the crafter of the mask—"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh what a cunning piece of shit he is,</i> you think. (And because you're thinking it with a copy of Aubrey Blackwell's own brain inside yours, the thought contains more than a tinge of admiration.) For you <i>shouldn't</i> be able to get the memories, not this fast. In his own experience, it takes many hours, usually with a period of sleep in between, before the memories come. The motherfucker was trying to bluff you into taking the mask off before you realized it <i>would</i> work for you, only after a delay.<br/>
<br/>
So what do you do?</span></div></div>


path: 114321414211222111221222
author_id: nostrum777
title: The Ones Who Get Their Noses Where They Shouldn’t
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The irony of you and Caleb befriending the Mitchell twins sinks into you. If they’re twins, Sean might tell you a lot about how Taylor’s supposed to be. You’ve noticed Taylor has changed a lot, and you’re unaware of how much of Scott was really the late Scott Bickelmeir, and how much is actually Taylor’s own take on him.<br/>
<br/>
However, you’ve done a lot of progress, and with Taylor and Lucy away, you have all the time in the world to make some real advances. And you’d keep the books close, in case the worst happens.<br/>
<br/>
You immediately make up your mind. “Thanks, but no thanks.”<br/>
<br/>
Caleb seems flustered. “Oh, uh, alright. I’ll still text you if you want to come. Bye.” He hangs up, and you definitely think of turning off the phone, to avoid more distractions. However, you still keep it on close, just in case.<br/>
<br/>
Though you have a good grasp on how sigils work, and a demonstration of how a sigil can be folded and unfolded, you’re no closer to the answer after two hours of solid work. You grunt and hiss, wishing for a moment the dreams weren’t as cryptic as they do. You close your eyes, hoping you could take a nap and see if a dream pops up, but your active mind doesn’t seem to help.<br/>
<br/>
So, you try to free yourself away from distractions. The sound of outdoors can’t get in, and your eyes no longer catch any rays of light, so all you need to do is strip off your thoughts. One by one, you strip yourself from your worries – about Blackwell, and your dad, and Robert, and both Lucy and her double, and as you think of your love life, even Lisa Yarborough – until there’s nothing.<br/>
<br/>
And then, you feel as if falling. <i>Upwards</i>.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
You have no idea if it’s a dream or if it’s reality, but you’re once again in the planetarium. However, this time, you see all the planets gravitating around you - “planets”, you call them, but you notice a few differences. For one, the Earth is absent; you move, turn around, but you can’t seem to see it. You do, however, notice the Sun and the Moon as well.<br/>
<br/>
As you observe the planets in order, you feel as if you were watching different worlds in a mirror. Verdant yet volcanic greenery, a sphere glistening with a shiny metallic sheen, iron cliffs and frigid seas... Images of worlds so distinct to what you’ve seen from documentaries about the real planets, that you can’t help but think if the images gathered from satellites are hiding the truth about these worlds.<br/>
<br/>
You stop at Pluto, for it is where you feel a strange sense of something that can only be described as <i>belonging</i>. It appears at first frigid and distant, dark and unapproachable, yet as you touch it, the planet seems to unfold itself, and you see the majesty of the intricate mechanism within. It is like a miniature star, with motes of light and heat pulsating to and fro from this brightness. Symbols both familiar and obscure to you gravitate, folding in and out of the inner sun; gears and circuits, mechanisms both ancient, modern, futuristic and beyond are but cogs in this amazing machinery, toiling endlessly in perfect order. The sight fills you with wonder, and you feel your mind resonate with many ideas. You feel lost in such a wondrous sight, but you feel a slight tug drawing you back, and Pluto folds itself until it seems cold and distant once more.<br/>
<br/>
You turn. It is the Moon, standing atop you. You feel the same sense of kinship as with Pluto. The Moon, unlike Pluto, does not unfold itself as you touch it; rather, it ripples, as if you had dropped a small stone at the water. You look at it closely, and it is as if looking at a mirror, for you see yourself gasping and gazing in utter wonder. The world within, beyond your own sight, is tranquil – a perfect place to hide, to escape from everything, and with the mirror within, to truly find yourself. Then you realize why you can see yourself – it is a mirror world, but not in the sense that it reflects the world behind you, but the world <i>within</i> you.<br/>
<br/>
You turn around, only to see the Moon and Pluto flanking you, circling you in a peculiar dance. If only you had a place as tranquil as the Moon, yet as industrious as Pluto...<br/>
<br/>
...and then it clicks. The sense of belonging. The perfect workshop. A perfect workshop you could create, not in the physical world, but in this imaginary world of wonders above and beyond the physical.<br/>
<br/>
Yet, you feel the physical world calling. There is much to do, and very little time. The planets disappear, but with the feeling that they expect your visit once again. You feel as if falling down, dragged by the inevitable gravity of this world, and as you turn around, you see Saratoga Falls as dusk envelops it. Two motes of light sparkle in the distance, close to Keyserling, but you are dragged to a singular mote standing very close to your home, very close to – no, <i>inside</i> the elementary school basement, to the only one standing inside that place.<br/>
<br/>
You.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
You wake up to see a familiar face glowering down at you. "So this is what you were doing with the stuff?", your little brother snorts at you.<br/>
<br/>
"What?" You sit up sharply. "What do you think I’m—?"<br/>
<br/>
Robert picks up the sigils primer and waves it at you. "You’re doing magic!"<br/>
<br/>
Your heart skips. But then you laugh.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, right", you chortle. "And as soon as I learn how to saw someone in half, I'll add you to my act. How the hell did you get in here anyways?"<br/>
<br/>
"I followed you." Robert drops the book and picks up Taylor's mask. "So, who’s ‘Scott Bickelmeir’?"<br/>
<br/>
"Stop touching what’s not yours!" You snatch at the mask, but he pulls it away.<br/>
<br/>
"It's not yours either, it's Scott Bick—!"<br/>
<br/>
You jump at him. "Hey!" Robert howls from under you. "What's the big deal?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's not your property!", you yell as you yank the mask away from him in a panic. "You're right, it belongs to a guy I know at school. Scott Bickelmeir." You get up off Robert and look around for a safe place to put it. "If he caught you playing with it, he'd fold you up like a pretzel."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure." Robert snorts as he sits up. "If he's anything like your friend Caleb, I could totally take him."<br/>
<br/>
"He's a football player."<br/>
<br/>
"How do you know any football players?" Robert's tone is scathing. Then his eyes pop. "Oh my God, is he that guy who was out at the house last week? That big guy?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah."<br/>
<br/>
Robert's mouth curls up in a leer. "Your boyfriend?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>"Shut up!"</i> You wheel on him and hurl the mask onto the conference table with a snarl. It rings and bounces and clatters down the length of it. "Look, just go home. You don't belong here."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't either." Robert swaggers over to your supply bin. "Tell you what, gimme my stuff here back, and I won't tell dad you're breaking and entering onto school property."<br/>
<br/>
"It's not your stuff!"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure it's mine! I got it out of the garbage! And you fucked me over when I told you I had it!"<br/>
<br/>
"I need it, Robert! For my ... magic act." You hate having to play into that pretense.<br/>
<br/>
He snickers. "Are you really studying magic? Cool, show me a trick!"<br/>
<br/>
"How about I make you disappear?"<br/>
<br/>
He plants his feet and crosses his arms. "Go ahead and try. 'Cos like I say, if you throw me out of here, I'll just go tell dad—"<br/>
<br/>
"Fine, what do you want?"<br/>
<br/>
"I want my stuff back! Or, at least, I want in on this magic act. Is this part of it?" Before you can stop him, he picks the mask up and raises it to his face. "Do you wear it while pulling a rabbit out of a—?"<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't finish. There's a split second of confusion where you're not sure who's standing in front of you, and then Scott Bickelmeir—his eyes crossing—crumples to the floor.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
<i>So fucking typical!</i>, you hiss to yourself as you frantically pull at Scott's face. <i>I'm such a fuck up!</i><br/>
<br/>
For not only did you let Robert get ahold of the mask again, and not only were you too slow to stop him from doing something stupid with it, but now you can't figure out how to get it off him! Oh, you know the magic words all right, and you know you have to pull at his forehead, not at his face. But you forgot to get Taylor to show you exactly how to position your hand. <br/>
<br/>
So you yank and pluck and scrape at the forehead of the unconscious Scott Bickelmeir fruitlessly for almost a full minute before giving up and calling Taylor.<br/>
<br/>
And, naturally, Robert wakes up long before Taylor and Lucy can get back.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
At least one good thing comes of this colossal fuck up. Robert is no longer threatening to get you in trouble with your dad.<br/>
<br/>
And you're even pleasantly surprised to find he's able to follow the complicated story and explanation that you're forced to give him after he's gaped and gawped at his new reflection in that dusty mirror in the corner. He believes it, too. Or, at least, when he starts to look skeptical—as you tell him about the book you got at Arnholm's, and the experiment you conducted with it with your dad, and of your dad forcing you to sell the book to Professor Blackwell; and of meeting Scott Bickelmeir, who told you he was wearing a mask and how he needed help getting it off; and of how you raided the professor's to get the book back (but failed), and of rescuing Lucy, who has been replaced at her house by a doppelganger—you only had to point to the mirror to remind him that it all must be true.<br/>
<br/>
But then Lucy and Taylor get back. And neither of them looks at all happy.</span></div></div>


path: 1143214142112221112212221
author_id: nostrum777
title: The Real Purpose Behind The Research
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Alright, Will." Lucy points at you and your brother, under Scott’s mask, and shrills at you. "What’s going on here? Who’s that guy, and why he’s wearing Scott’s mask?"<br/>
<br/>
"The ‘guy’ over here is my idiot brother", you growl back. "He was snooping around and got the <i>genius idea</i> to put on something he shouldn’t have!"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey!" The hairs on your back go up as your brother replies in a rippling baritone far deeper and scarier than the squeak he usually makes when he argues back. "You could'a avoided all of this if you hadn't tried fucking me outta what was mine anyway! And now I can’t get out of this...thing!" He grabs his face.<br/>
<br/>
"Teaches you not to mess with what’s not yours."<br/>
<br/>
"No." Lucy jabs at you with a finger. "It teaches you not to mess with things you’re not supposed to!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, ex-<i>cuuuuuse me,</i> Princess!" You'd yell at Lucy some more, but you catch the expression on Taylor's face. "Alright, alright!" you exclaim, and throw your hands into the air. "So it’s all my fault, even if I tried not to tell this dimwit about our stuff, and tried not to lead him here, and tried to tell him it was <i>dangerous</i> to—"<br/>
<br/>
"Cut it out, Will," Taylor says. "You two have a lot to explain, though."<br/>
<br/>
Lucy pushes up to Robert, who with widening eyes tries backing away. He backs up into the wall with a thump, and freezes as Lucy wraps her fingers around his temple. She murmurs and pulls, and a mask comes away in her hand. Robert, in his native form, materializes, folds up, and falls to the floor. Lucy makes a face at you as she gives the mask back to Taylor. "Give me a good reason," she tells you, "why I shouldn’t throw that shit away."<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
While Robert's passed out, you briefly relate how, after you took a brief nap, you found him inside, how he confronted you, and how after a brief scuffle where you clearly tried to take Scott’s mask away, he surprised you by putting the mask to his face. Taylor seems satisfied, but Lucy presses the issue. "I’ve <i>told</i> you, Will, that shit is dangerous. It ruined my life, Taylor’s life, and if we weren’t here and he had run away, it could have probably ruined your brother’s life too. When are you gonna understand it, dammit?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, it’s you who doesn’t understand!" You grab one of the masks. "This not the problem! Blackwell is! And while he has the book, we can’t do anything! What if he makes Taylor the next evil clone? He could capture you again, and nobody would be capable of stopping him!"<br/>
<br/>
"Blackwell is the problem because he has that damn book!" Lucy retorts. "I’m not saying we shouldn’t stop him. I’m just saying that we shouldn’t be doing the same thing he’s doing to stop him!"<br/>
<br/>
"She’s right, you know."<br/>
<br/>
"You too, Taylor?" You turn your backs to them, fuming. "Blackwell has something we don’t. He has the advantage. We only bought us some time; if we don’t do anything—"<br/>
<br/>
"Then why the hell haven’t you gone and gotten that fake me off the streets!? I’m sick and tired of this place; I thought I was going crazy before Taylor took me out, and I live in fear thinking that I’m gonna meet my double and she’s gonna do something bad to us! But instead of using your brain to figure out how to stop her, you’re here playing around with those things! Will, this isn’t helping us! It’s not helping you, it’s not helping us, and now your brother’s mixed up! So tell me one good reason why figuring that out is a good idea, or do yourself a favor and burn all of that away!"<br/>
<br/>
"No!" Your heart starts to race as you listen at Lucy’s proposal. "Are you crazy!? This", you speak as you grasp Blackwell’s notes, "is the way we can deal with him once and for all! That way, we’ll know how to deal with the clones, see how he does everything, be one step ahead of him--"<br/>
<br/>
"We could do that with the book", Lucy points out.<br/>
<br/>
You immediately latch to it. "Exactly! But because we don’t have the book, we can--"<br/>
<br/>
"And what will you do when we get the book?"<br/>
<br/>
As you’re about to speak, you realize the meaning behind her question. She set you a trap, and you just triggered it. She made you think.<br/>
<br/>
You drop to the floor, ass first. "I dunno."<br/>
<br/>
"Exactly. So do yourself a favor and destroy that."<br/>
<br/>
"And stay being a nobody, right?" Your throat starts to hurt.<br/>
<br/>
To your surprise, Lucy kneels down before you and says something that, for a moment, chills you to the bone. "Who says you’re a nobody?"<br/>
<br/>
You look up at her. "I’m not a jock. I’m barely one of the smart guys. I dunno what I’m gonna do when I graduate. The only girl I ever met dumped me for someone who’s better looking and has a better future."<br/>
<br/>
Lucy makes a wry half-smile. "You’re better looking than you let yourself look."<br/>
<br/>
Your stomach starts to rise, either from pleasure or because you're going to vomit. "Y-you really think so?"<br/>
<br/>
She wrinkles her nose. "Try getting a haircut and dressing a bit better. You want a girlfriend? I bet there's some who’d look at you if you just cleaned up your act. And you'd have to be really dumb if you’re not smart enough to figure out what to do with your life." She remains silent for a moment, then sends another curve right at you. "So is that why you want to play around with this stuff? Because you think you’re a loser, and it'll help you not be a loser? Look at what it did to Taylor. This stuff's not gonna help you."<br/>
<br/>
You look at the bin, in your father’s handwriting. "Will’s Arts and Crafts Mix." The one moment where you genuinely felt your father was proud of you. Replicating the experiment in the book was nothing. Replicating the experiment in the primer was likewise nothing. Copying the <i>Libra Personae</i> just from notes and scribbles, to the point you could do the same spells that it contains? If there was a Nobel Prize for magical theory, you’d be a line to it.<br/>
<br/>
Magical theory. You’ve never been so excited to do something, anything, in your life until you got the book...and even then, you never realized it until you lost it. It was the notes that started your fascination; they contained the spells, and if you deciphered them, you could have your own copy. And when you got the primer, you realized there was a world beyond the Libra. The dream about the planets made it very clear. It only took you until now to realize it.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Give a little thought about what you want to be in the future.</i> You want to be a magician.<br/>
<br/>
You could get Lisa back. Or why just Lisa? Why not step higher? Why not Chelsea Cooper? Why live in fear of Lester "the Molester" Pozniak, when a simple spell could bring him to your knees? The possibilities open to a magician are endless. With ample time to study, you could unravel the secrets of the Universe. The Libra first. Then, the world of magic itself.<br/>
<br/>
And then, it sinks into you. <i>That’s probably exactly how Blackwell thinks.</i> Lucy sees it in you, and that's why she's trying to stop you. And now, your brother is knocked down on the floor, because you mindlessly dragged him into this.<br/>
<br/>
Lucy’s right. This has gotten too far. Magic is dangerous. It ruined Taylor’s life, and he didn’t even have the book. It’s ruining Lucy’s life, because of someone unscrupulous that owns it. And, now you realize, it may have ruined your life as well.<br/>
<br/>
You stand up and grasp the book with the sigils. You see your research, and how it looks like the writings of a madman. It would be best if you just destroyed it.<br/>
<br/>
And then...what? All that’d be left is to stop Blackwell. Give Lucy back her life. Destroy the Libra. And then...you’d be the same loser you ever were. No...worse. You know magic exists, and rather than exploit it, you simply ignored it. There’s a world of possibilities that you could do with it.<br/>
<br/>
Like dynamite. A simple stick full of destructive power, made for noble purposes, but exploited by people that were unscrupulous. So shocked was his creator, Alfred Nobel, that he devoted a prize to reward those that would advance technology for the betterment of mankind. Magic isn’t the problem. Not knowing how to use it, however, is.<br/>
<br/>
You don’t have to be Blackwell. You can be better than him. Master magic to stop him from doing any more harm. Figure out how to use the Libra for good...or if not, how to stop it from doing more harm.<br/>
<br/>
You turn around, and you look at Lucy and Taylor. Blackwell doesn’t have the real deal. You have something that he doesn’t. Friends.<br/>
<br/>
And thus, you look at a fireplace, hidden deep within the basement. You hold the book in one hand, and Scott’s mask in the other.</span></div></div>


