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DO NOT SUMMON AT ALL COSTS
Stanford stares down at the pages of the journal. His hands feel stiff and heavy, but his touch is light, like the pages might shatter if he moves too quick. He hasn’t read them in thirty years. His mind flicks back to the first time he’d held the third, cover almost shiny-new, pages fresh and clean compared to the weathering of its brothers.
*
Bill has proven himself to be one of the friendliest and most trustworthy individuals that I've ever encountered in my life. What a guy! I honestly can't trust him more. Not evil in any way, Bill is a true gentleman.
“Hey, Sixer, watch out!” Bill calls, and flicks his flashlight on. Ford ducks behind the doorway, but Bill’s ray catches his hand – it shrinks, a little, before he can yank it out of harm’s way. He clicks on his own flashlight, flips the crystal, and jumps out from behind the door. The ray hits Bill’s hat, and expands like a balloon, growing taller and wider until it falls over Bill’s head.
“Take that, Cipher!” Ford clicks his own light off, and brings his now-smaller hand up to observe. “Amazing,” he says, twisting it around. “Same movements, same veins, same fingers.”
“We literally just dug these out of the forest, Sixer,” Bill says, pushing his too-big hat up with his free hand. “I’m sure you’ve seen more impressive things than this.” His golden hair is mussed, and he grins at Ford. Ford always seems to forget how adorable he is, sometimes.
“Sixer?”
Ford blinks, comes back into himself. “Sorry, Bill,” he mutters, gluing eyes to shoes, “I was just-“
“-staring,” Bill says, smirking. He takes his hat off, walks over to Ford, and shoves it on his head. “There – now you should be able to think clearly!”
Ford chuckles, pushing it up, meeting Bill’s eyes – one yellow and cat-slitted, the other covered with a triangle eyepatch. Bill grabs it, again, his hand lingering in Ford’s hair for a moment longer than necessary. Ford breathes in, deep, and forces his mind to the journals.
“We have to write this down,” he insists, “before I forget.”
“Before you forget?” Bill raises an eyebrow.
“Bill,” Ford says, crossing to his desk, “this is important.” He sits down, reaches for the newest journal. He’d stuffed one and two with extra pages, scrawled extra notes in the margins, even Bill had had trouble reading the thing – he had to keep this one relatively clean. “I don’t want to miss anything.
“Sixer,” Bill says, “between your smarts and my omniscient knowledge, that’s impossible.”
Ford opens the journal, scrawls Height Altering at the top. “Nothing is impossible,” he says, looking up at Bill.
“Some things are,” Bill says. “Not much, but some.” He grins, squeezes Ford’s shoulder, and his eyes flick to the journal. “Did you mean to open it to the middle?”
Ford’s face falls, and he looks down. Sure enough, he’s scrawled on a random page. He picks up his pen with his still-smaller hand, and buries his face in his normal one.
“Hey,” Bill says, squatting down to his level, “you’re brilliant.” He smiles, toothy and sharp, but Ford’s heart still swells when he meets his gaze. “You can do this.”
Ford smiles back at him, picks up his pen, and continues writing down the bottom of the page.
“Legends tell?” Bill laughs. “Hey, I guess legend does suit me. Magic spells, epic battles, scary demons.”
Ford snorts, elbowing Bill in the side. “Please, Cipher, like you could ever be scary.”
*
CAN’T BE TRUSTED
Stanford pauses, and flicks to the crystals’ page. It’s old and dusty now, like its brothers. Like his brother.
Like him.
He sniffles, wiping his eyes on his sleeve, and shuts the journal.
“At least it’s all over,” he croaks to the air, words trembling.
A part of him wishes it weren’t.