Chapter #35Secrets and Promotions by: Seuzz   You take a deep breath and glance over your shoulder, then scurry over to the cabinet. Inside: Hallelujah! It's the book, along with half a dozen masks.
Your heart pounds. There is no way you can make off with the book and not get caught. But if you copied out some of the key spells— Oh, but what if Gordon or Steve or Jason came back and caught you?
You pace around in a tight circle, thinking furiously. You can't watch the parking lot from the window. If you had a look-out stationed down below—
You pull out your cell phone and call Caleb. "Dude, it's me. Tell me you can turn loose from whatever it is your doing."
There's dead silence for a moment, and when he speaks his voice sounds very strained. "Uh, not really."
"This is really important, man. Important for all of us."
"Can't you call Keith?"
"I just spent the whole day with him, and we're not exactly feeling friendly with each other. Please come help me."
"Well, what is it?"
"I haven't got time to explain. I need you to drive over to the school. Call me when you hit the parking lot."
"Don't take this the wrong way, dude, but I can't. Unless you're on fire and want me to come over and piss on you to put it out. That I'd do. Call Keith."
"What the fuck is so—? You sound weird. Are you wearing a mask?"
"Yes," he says.
Fuck. "Bail. This is more important than any stupid job for Patterson."
"No it isn't," he says, and the line goes dead.
You start to hurl the phone at the wall, but catch yourself in time. Must be getting his cock sucked.
Your hands are shaking with rage and fear as you dial Keith—which maybe you should have done to start with. He grumbles at the sound of your voice, but agrees to return to the school.
* * * * *
"This is boring," Keith says. "I'm turning on the radio again."
"I need to be able to hear you," you retort. "The radio will fuck things up."
"Then talk to me. I'm just sitting down here with nothing to do."
He's down in the parking lot, in his car, watching the street while you copy the sigils into the art sketchpad that you had him pick up on the way over.
"And I'm trying to get these cockamamie sigils right." You double check one of the oddball curls in the book against the copy you're making. "I need all the concentration I can muster."
"You can study and talk at the same time," Keith replies. "Why can't you do that now?"
"Because that's just for a grade and I don't care. This is for our lives." You can't see Keith—he's down in the parking lot, in his car, and you only have his voice coming through the cell phone for company, but you can picture him rolling his eyes.
"Well, how much longer is it going to be?"
"Depends on whether Patterson or Black or someone shows up. I've only got a few more to do."
"How many is 'a few'?"
"Four."
"And how many have you done?"
"Three."
"Oh, bite me. I'll give a false alarm if that's the only way to get out of this."
"Okay, I won't copy them all. We don't need the one that turns people into golems."
He's silent for a bit. "Why didn't you call Caleb," he asks when his tissue-thin supply of patience has run out.
"I did, and he told me to fuck off. Apparently he's on a job."
"Getting who?"
"Shut up and let me finish, and then maybe we can use these spells to find out."
Tilley continues to grumble, and you continue to work, and you wind up copying only four spells: the three that let you make masks, mind bands, sealant; and the one that binds masks to bands. You doubt you'll need to make a golem; you don't want to change anyone into a golem; and you've no familiarity with the seventh spell, the new one that Patterson uncovered. You glanced at the eighth spell briefly, just enough to see that it appears to be unreadable. That must be why Patterson hasn't progressed beyond it.
It took nearly an hour and a half to do—and you had to cheat your way around the book's "copy protection" spell by writing down mnemonic devices and acrostics for the ingredients—but you now have a rough and ready version of the key spells.
When that's done, you return the book to its cupboard and lock it away, then dismiss Keith. You finish up the two masks Gordon left for you, and then call Patterson. He doesn't give you a chance to explain about the extra work you had to do, and just directs you to leave the masks and take off.
* * * * *
"You finish that job yesterday," you glower at Caleb on Monday morning when you meet up at your lockers.
He gives you a slit-eyed stare back. "Yeah, and thanks for almost fucking it up," he says.
"You almost fucked me up," you retort. "Lucky thing Tilley could turn loose—"
"Someone say my name?" Keith appears from behind you.
"Yeah, I was just about to tell Caleb about our little adventure yesterday. But maybe it can wait till after school. We probably have another 'club meeting'."
"And what kind of club would have you fuckers as members," a voice says behind you. Tilley freezes at the sound, for you don't have to turn to recognize it as Seth Javits'.
A brawny arm shoots out and grabs Keith by the collar. "It's been too long since we've hung out, Tilley," continues the guy you were pretending to be the other day. Then he grabs you. "You too, Prescott." He squeezes your neck in the crook of his elbow and hauls you, struggling, through the halls.
Your mind spins in a panic. Javits is Keith's special bully. But after the past few days, with you pretending to be him— Your knees almost give out, for you have the horrible and unshakeable feeling that he has somehow found out what you've been doing with his face.
The mass of students parts as Javits pushes through, until he comes to one of the boys' restrooms. He has you and Keith squeezed up inside his armpits so he kicks the door open. "I need PRIVACY!" he bellows at the top of his lungs to the few students inside, and no one meets your eyes as they shuffle out. Javits pushes you and Keith inside, then follows. He leans back against the door and smirks.
"Message from the club presidents," he says. "You two fuckers need to get it in gear. Tilley, get your hands off your crotch and get Yumi. Prescott, you got a new assignment, and we want it done yesterday."
Your head swims. "You're—" Tilley croaks, finding a voice you can't. "You're part of the club too?"
"You're mostly right, but only mostly." Seth grins. "Try guessing my real name."
Okay, that makes more sense, you decide. "Patterson."
"Ding. That's one wrong answer." Seth holds up a finger.
"Gordon?" Tilley asks.
"That's two."
"Lynch," you mutter.
"Three strikes, you're out." He crosses his arms, and his grin widens.
You stare, hardly believing it could be— "Caleb?" you whisper.
"You already lost, but yeah." He flexes a bicep. "Like my new look? Cindy did."
"Fuck!" you exclaim. "You can't walk around school with Javits' face! What if the real one—"
"Bzzt! Real one's taken care of. That's the main perk of being a senior member." He laughs as your jaw drops. "Yep. Finished my fifth job Saturday. The one you almost fucked up. So, I get to be Seth Javits, and Seth Javits gets put on ice, for as long as I want."
Keith's jaw drops. "What. The. Shit? How—?"
"That's classified, Tilley. But you gotta respect me, now, when I'm lookin' like this and when I ain't. Hell, Lynch's gotta respect me. Black and Patterson made that clear to the little—" He glowers. "And you guys need to get done, so you can get up to the senior level with me." He unzips his backpack. "Tilley needs to get Yumi. Will, your next job is to get Nurse Shaffer. You can do that today." He hands you a blank mask. "You'll walk into a door, get a bloody nose, and go to the nurse's office. Once there— Pop!" He mimes slapping a mask onto a face.
"Eww," Keith says, speaking for you as well.
"Nah, it's brilliant," Seth says. "You don't have to wear her face, unless you piss Patterson— or Black— or me— off. Just score a copy of her."
"I'll take your word for it it's brilliant," you say. "But what do you mean I'm going to 'walk into a door'?"
"Well, like this."
And then he punches you hard in the face.
* * * * *
Freaking Caleb, you think to yourself as you stagger down the hall, face turned high and a hand to your nose to stanch the bleeding. People jostle you, and you hear laughter. Maybe it has nothing to do with you, but you're sure it does. Sharks and blood, you bitterly reflect, and pray that the Molester doesn't catch sight or scent of you.
So, Caleb is now a senior member, and is acting like an asshole to boot. Grimly, you find yourself toying with the notion of not telling him you've got your own copy of the book—and that you've already made up and are polishing a blank mask and mind strip.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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