So on the bright side, Conscience is gone. On the not-so-bright side, so is Juliet.
And while not that long ago, Alex would actually have seen that as being strictly win-win—well, at least for her, anyway—it breaks her heart to see Justin so angry and guilt-ridden over having handed his girlfriend over to become the mindless slave of a mummy. And man, as hard as he was on himself over that whole thing with the wisp, it's nothing compared to how badly he beats himself up for this.
Having made the vow to spend his every waking moment in pursuit of her, Justin starts skipping class—possibly for the first time in his life, ever—whenever he uncovers even the vaguest of leads on the mummy's whereabouts. After about two weeks, he stops going to school altogether and devotes himself to the search full-time, which Alex only finds out about when Mister Laritate calls her to his office to ask what's wrong with him.
"Mono," Alex lies, thinking quick on her feet as she pours two cups of coffee and hands one to the principal. "Just his luck, huh? Dude finally finds a girl desperate enough to actually make out with him, and she gives him cooties."
"Ah," Mister Laritate frowns, fiddling absently with his bolo tie, as though the idea of Justin making out with someone makes him vaguely uncomfortable. And for once, Alex can relate. "Well, I guess that explains why he's been looking so down in the mouth lately. Darn shame, though. He was on course to win the Perfect Attendance award at graduation this year. Would've been a real feather in his cap."
"Shyeah!" Alex scoffs into her coffee. "Sure it would."
"Can't be helped, I guess," Mister Laritate sighs, and he actually sounds so deeply disappointed that Alex has to force herself not to roll her eyes. "I'll rustle up Justin's teachers. We'll send you home with some sort of home-based study program for him. That way he won't lose the semester and can still graduate on time."
Amazingly, Jerry and Theresa go along with the ruse, allowing Justin to stay out of school for the time being as long as he keeps up with his home study. Which means that he's not only gotten out mortal school on top of Wizard Lessons now, but he's also turned Alex into his personal courier service, as she ferries assignments back and forth between him and his teachers at school. Truly, she lives in an unjust universe.
As far as Alex can tell, to keep up with his homework on top of his mummy-hunting, Justin starts to completely forego sleep altogether. He hunts by day, scouring the underworld, digging for clues—often literally, as most of his contacts and informants are technically undead, or "respirationally challenged" as they prefer to be called. By night he locks himself in his room or holes up in the lair, rushing through his homework and doing the bare minimum he feels he can get away with—which, because he's Justin, still earns him an A every time—so that he can devote himself to the study of old Monster Hunter texts and ancient lore on the combat and defeat of mummies. And by late-night, he continues to work out in secret in the basement, for hours on end, which is the only time Alex ever seems to sees him anymore.
Not that he sees her, of course. Twenty minutes is all it takes her to get the invisibility spell right, now. Still never on the first try yet, but she's definitely getting closer. At this rate she'll definitely have it down by Thanksgiving, assuming that Justin doesn't get himself killed by then.
Justin attacks the treadmill and free weights with a passion that Alex wouldn't have suspected him capable of. Not merely the clinical intensity with which he's approached everything, as long as she's known him, but an almost primal, animal ferocity. As if he's not just bettering himself for the struggle to come, but actually punishing himself for not being up to the challenge of yesterday.
Silent and invisible, she keeps watch over him, wand in hand, ready for the moment when he falters, when he finally hits the wall or runs out of gas, to give him the necessary boost to push through. But he never does, not once, no matter how hard or fast he pushes himself. He's being stupidly reckless, and she's pisssed at him for that, more than words can express...but she's oddly thrilled at the same time. Because it's usually Alex who's stupidly reckless, flaunting rules and logic and common sense, while Justin is the cautious, careful one, guarding against the moment that the whole house of cards collapses beneath them. And to have their roles so suddenly, radically reversed makes her feel closer to him, somehow. Like maybe they finally understand each other, or whatever.
And as much as it worries her—because, even with her Man of Steel spell still in place, he is going way, way too hard—it also makes her tingle in places she ought not be tingling.
It's worst when he's on the floor, doing pushups or crunches, all straining and grunting and sweaty, and constantly making what she's convinced must be his 'O' face. She imagines what it must feel like to be under him, or over him—around him—running her hands over his arms, his chest, his ass, as he pistons in and out of her, driving himself deeper and deeper into her with every thrust. And she literally has to sit on her hands, pinning them between the rocking chair and the backs of her thighs, to keep them still.
But then...
One night, about three and a half weeks after Juliet's abduction, Mrs. Van Heusen makes a rare visit to the Sub Station just before closing time for an update on Justin's progress. And though Alex can't overhear their conversation from the counter, where she's trying to keep herself awake by pouring sugar into her palm and licking it off, the slump of Justin's shoulders and the way he bows his head as they talk tells her that she's in for long night.
She's not wrong. Though she gets the invisibility spell right in record time (17 minutes, rock!), he's already hard at it by the time she sneaks downstairs, wand held at the ready...and apparently, she's not the only one going a speed record, tonight. Justin's legs are practically a blur beneath him, his face a mask of pain, as the treadmill whirs beneath him as fast as she's ever seen it. Grimacing to herself, Alex picks her way through the boxes littering the basement towards the treadmill, risks getting close enough to him to get a peek at his speed, and gasps.
OK, this is so not good.
"Jesus Christ, Justin. Are you fucking crazy?" she mutters to him, under her breath.
Fortunately, as per usual, he doesn't hear. The white cord leading from his iPod to his earbuds jiggles haphazardly as he pumps his arms, the music so loud that Alex can almost make out words for once, though they're strangely distorted, high-pitched and robotic. It's still maddeningly familiar, this song he's been listening to on an endless loop for weeks, now. But it's...off, somehow...and for the billionth time she struggles to place it. Leaning forward and cocking her ear towards his, she strains to pick out the lyrics, even a word or two that she can Google to narrow it down a bit. And she's so focused on what she's hearing that she really doesn't notice the way her gaze slides down the front of him, along his sweat-soaked shirt, and comes to rest somewhere near his midriff.
And that's when she sees it.
There's an odd flutter of movement in his shorts just a few inches below the waistband which draws her attention, distracting her from the music. It takes a few moments of squinting at it before Alex realizes with a start what she's seeing from this new vantage point: her brother's junk bouncing freely up and down with every step he takes. And it's kind of like watching a train wreck unfold, in that as much as she doesn't want to see it, at the same time it's so goddamned riveting that she absolutely cannot look away.
Oh, holy crap! How the hell has she never noticed that before?
Of course, now that she's seen it, she can't unsee it. Even when, after an eternity, she finally tears herself away from his side and goes back to her rocking chair. And even though she's not really seeing anything, it's still hotter than all the really good parts of every smutty romance novel she's ever skimmed through. Her cheeks burn, her legs twitch, and she desperately presses her thighs together to try and snuff the fire that she feels building between them, even though her boyshorts are soaked right through...
And though Alex fully intends to sit on her hands again, instead her thumbs hook themselves into the waistband of her flannel pants and underwear, and pulls them down to her knees. The seat of the wooden rocking chair feels deliciously cold against her bare bottom as she settles back down onto it. Without taking her eyes off her brother's bouncing member, she slips her left hand up under the hem of her T-shirt, sliding it up her stomach to cup her right breast, and rolls her taut nipple between her thumb and forefinger. Sighing with relief as much as pleasure, she holds her wand up to her mouth and whispers an old familiar incantation that sets it vibrating, then reaches down and presses the blunt end of it between her legs.
Alex inhales sharply and bites her bottom lip to keep from crying out, then lets her breath out slowly as she eases the handle of her wand in past her threshold. She can't help but grin at the illicit, electric thrill that pulses through her. It's not the first time she's done this, naturally—you give a power-infused, phallic object to a pubescent girl, and hey, sooner or later human nature and simple curiosity are gonna take hold—but she's rarely done it out in the open like this, and certainly never with Justin in the room. Even though she's invisible, the notion that she could be discovered by him at any given moment fills her with an urgency she's never felt before. That, combined with the sheer and utter wrongness of getting off to the sight of her brother's penis jiggling in his shorts as he pushes himself to the limit of his endurance and beyond, drives her to the brink faster than she ever would have thought possible.
Panting heavily, halfway certain that Justin can hear the subtle squish squish squish of her wand sliding in and out of her, even over the pounding bass of his music, Alex drives it up as deep as she can into herself, pressing it against her g-spot, then moans aloud as she bursts around it. She presses her head into the back of the rocking chair as her spine arches into her orgasm, the rubber heels of her Uggs skidding against the concrete floor as her toes curl inside them. Fireworks explode behind her eyelids as her entire body shudders, then stills, all except for the throbbing of her pulse in her ears, and her throat, and her clit.
The euphoria she feels lasts for maybe a minute or two at most before the guilt sets in.
Swallowing hard, Alex exhales shakily and opens her eyes. Justin is still running full-bore on the treadmill, completely oblivious as he stares straight ahead, features contorted in agonized determination. He might as well be staring straight at her in disgust. Looking down at the floor, Alex hunches her shoulders and slips her wand out of herself as silently as possible, then reaches down and hitches her pants back up. She absently wipes off the handle of her wand on off the hem of her T-shirt, then reaches down and tucks it into her boot.
God, she has never felt so dirty. And not in a good way, either. Here her brother is practically openly flagellating himself out of guilt and heartbreak and self-loathing, and she's using it as wank fuel? In the same chair their mother used to rock them to sleep in as babies? Alex has always been proud to consider herself a little bit of an evil genius, but this... this is too sick and twisted, even for her.
She wants to run away, hurl herself up the stairs to cry, to throw up, to hide beneath her covers and pretend it didn't happen. But instead, she stays right where she is. Because tonight is the night Justin may actually need her most, and she absolutely refuses to abandon him. He certainly wouldn't abandon her.
This whole other thing with him, though? That has to stop, pronto. It is definitely long past time she found herself a boyfriend, if only to get Justin off her fucking mind, already.
There is that new English dude in art class, the one who's been eyeing her every time he thinks she's not looking for the past couple weeks. He's not Justin by any means, but his accent is cute, and he's got the whole art thing going for him. Plus, y'know...somebody decidedly not-Justin is probably exactly what she needs right now.
Alex nods to herself as she sits on her hands again, and keeps her eyes rooted to the concrete floor before her. Yeah, OK. Cute English artsy kid. She can work with that.