Josh and the Magic Vial

by Craig Spence

  A bolt shot open, the knob twisted, and her pinched face poked out the gap. “Master Dempster,” she cried. “Do come in.”

  She closed the door after him, and locked it. “Sit down,” she gestured to a stool in front of her counter while she limped around to the other side. Wheezing and grunting, she climbed onto her own stool, then fixed him with an unsettling gaze. “You won’t mind talking to a lonely old woman for a bit before I fetch your things, will you?” she said.

  “N-no,” he answered politely. “But I do need to get home. My parents are expecting me.”

  “Ah,” she commended. “How refreshing. Why most parents have no idea what their whelps are up to these days, eh? There’d be a lot less trouble in the world if only parents would be more attentive.”

  Endorathlil found this funny and she tilted her head back to laugh. Something flashed at her neck, catching Josh’s eye. It was a vial, on a fine, silver chain. The thing glowed with a peculiar light that transfixed him. The bottle seemed to be filled with a colourful, dancing gas — light that lived.

  “You are drawn to the vial?” Endorathlil observed.

  “What is it?”

  She touched it instinctively. “It is a precious artifact. Most people have no idea, though. They do not see in it what you have seen. Only a very few appreciate its beauty.”

  “The light inside? What’s that?”

  Endorathlil thought for a moment, as if she’d never considered such a question. “It is spirit,” she answered. “Pure spirit.”

  “How do you get spirit into a bottle?”

  “Why, magic of course!” the old witch crowed. “You think of me and my kind as crackpots, or clever entertainers. Well, my boy, it takes more than a cheap sleight of hand to capture the essence of a soul and preserve it in a crystal jar.”

  “Whose soul?”

  “Eh?” she croaked, taken aback by the question.

  “Whose soul is it in the bottle?”

  “Oh, no one’s in particular,” she flummoxed, waving her hands about as if she were shooing off flies. “Just spirit extracted from the air . . . The air lives, you know. There’s not a moment you aren’t surrounded by spirit.”

  “But you said ‘soul’ just then,” he insisted. “A soul always belongs to someone.”

  “Bah!” she spat. “We quibble over words. The bottle, and what’s in it, belongs to me. It’s been mine these fifty years and it will stay mine until the day I die.”

  Josh was on the point of disputing this, but he shut up, seeing her hard look. He couldn’t explain it, he knew it was completely irrational, but he felt the vial belonged to him. He was certain the strange substance inside was reacting to him, calling out his name in an indecipherable language of light.

  Sensing his covetous thoughts, Endorathlil tucked the vial into the folds of her robe.

  “You wouldn’t sell it, then?” Josh asked.

  “Sell it! Why I would part with my very life before I’d part with this trinket. A witch parting with a Spirit Bottle? Unheard of!”

  She glared, then — remembering their business — softened her look with a frightful grin. “If you appreciate the true nature of a Spirit Bottle, you must be interested in other aspects of Occult,” she said.

  “I don’t believe in magic.”

  “Don’t believe! How can you not believe what you’ve never considered? What if I showed you the power of magic?”

  Josh shrugged, trapped by her challenge. “I’m willing to try anything, I guess,” he said with a nervous laugh.”

  “Good.” Endorathlil rubbed her hands together. “I do like a young man who’s not afraid to learn something new. You shall take something far more valuable than your skateboard and backpack away from my shop today. You shall leave with knowledge of a whole new world.”

  Before he could say anything Endorathlil closed her eyes and began to hum, rocking precariously on her stool. Then she chanted.

  Where night resides, in sacred cave, or gloomy grove, or wormy grave I utter mystic prayers . . .

  Josh sneered. But a shiver tickled his spine.

  Arise, dread force, I summon you with ancient rite and proper dues from musty, dripping lairs . . .

  He could not take any of her ranting seriously, but Josh had to admit Endorathlil sure could put on a show. He was sort of scared.

  Arachne! Weave your subtle strands.

  Enmesh the air with silver bands.

  Make fast your deadly snare . . .

  “Wha . . . !”

  Startled, Josh sprang back off his stool. Something like a cobweb had brushed his cheek. Had Endorathlil tricked him? Had she thrown something, or released some kind of sticky substance with a secret mechanism?

  The victim struggles all in vain.

  Your venom numbs his fevered brain.

  Aught’s left but cold despair.

  Too late he realized the invisible threads that bound him were real, and that there was venom in Endorathlil’s words. Struggling to free himself, Josh crashed into the table behind him, then collapsed with a clatter onto the floor. Barely conscious, he felt hands grabbing under his arms and legs, then the room turning sickeningly on its axis as he was lugged toward the back of the shop. He had one last thought before numbness claimed him utterly, and that was that he’d been very, very foolish.

  11

  Quick! Quick!” Endorathlil had squawked. Even Conky McDougal was too astounded to move, though. He and Ian Lytle stood frozen in the back room doorway, staring wide-eyed.

  “Holy smoke!” Conky breathed.

  “Boys!” Endorathlil shrieked. “Come and get him. Now!”

  Jolted by her command, they scrambled to the front of the shop. Conky gestured for Ian to take Josh’s arms; he took the legs. Grunting, they lugged Endorathlil’s stunned victim down the aisle.

  “Carefully,” the witch fussed. “If we’re lucky, he won’t have any marks on him at all. Nothing to remind him what happened here.”

  “Or to use as evidence,” Ian thought.

  “Get on you two!” Endorathlil urged. The interior of the shop was concealed, but if someone had put their face to the window, they just might have found a chink in the blinds and seen the boys wrestling with what appeared to be a corpse.

  In the far corner of the back room Endorathlil kept a cot, a sagging, creaky apparatus, covered with a moth-eaten blanket. They laid Josh out, propping his head against the greasy pillow, then stepped back as Endorathlil pushed past them.

  “Ah,” she crooned. “It’s him, I’m certain, Vortigen. He must be the one.”

  Again, Ian and Conky exchanged a puzzled glance.

  She gazed adoringly at her anaesthetized victim until he twitched and moaned, startling her. “To work,” she scolded. “To work.” Bustling to the foot of the cot, she fetched a metal tin from a rickety chest of drawers. Ian imagined cookies had once been stored in there, or cake, things that gave delight to its original owners. What Endorathlil kept inside he shuddered to think.

  So intent was she on her weird business, Endorathlil had forgotten all about the boys. She pried the lid off the tin and spread some utensils out on the mattress: scissors, a needle, plastic film canisters and cotton swabs.

  “Just a few strands of your lovely hair,” she said, snipping a few tufts behind his ear. “I’m sure you will forgive me when you’re seated on your side of the double throne, eh? I’m sure you won’t hold this minor alteration against me.”

  Conky twirled his finger next to his temple. “Nuts,” he mouthed.

  She placed the locks inside one of the plastic canisters and sealed it.

  “See, my Lord. He makes no objection. Surely that’s a sign.”

  Having obtained her sample of hair, Endorathlil took up Josh’s left hand, examining it closely. She turned it over and studied its palm, tracing its lines with her crooked finger. “See!” she cried. “See how his future tends? Can there be any doubt? His very flesh announces who he is and who he will be.”


  Endorathlil snipped a few clippings from his fingernails, put them into one of the film canisters, and then snapped the lid shut.

  “Just one more ingredient, my boy, and your destiny is secured. One more little morsel for the Lord of Syde to savour come the night of the full moon.”

  Picking up the needle and a swab, she jabbed at his arm then daubed at the trickle of blood. The swab she put into a third container, and using a fresh swab dipped in antiseptic, cleaned the puncture and stanched its bleeding.

  “All’s ready; all’s done,” she breathed. “Your fate is sealed. You shall be heir. The choice is up to him, of course — him alone, my dear. But you just wait and see, in two week’s time you shall dwell in Syde forever.”

  Finished her ministrations, she put away her instruments then, turning, she remembered the boys. Endorathlil shot them a threatening look. “What are you two spying for?” she snarled. “Get out, and stay out unless I call for help.” As they backed out of the room she added, “And if either of you breathes a word of what you have seen, you will rue the day. Rue the day you were born!”

  They watched from the doorway as Endorathlil turned and bent over her victim. “Awake, dreamer!” she commanded, clapping her hands. “Awake!”

  Josh rolled and moaned, then opened his eyes and struggled onto his elbows. “Wha . . . what happened?” he slurred.

  “Oh my!” the witch fretted. “Oh my Master Josh! You gave me such a fright. I only wanted to show you the power — just a little trick. I meant no harm.”

  “What happened?”

  “You fainted. Fainted like a canary in a coalmine, my dear. I am sorry.”

  “But there were others,” he remembered.

  “Yes. I called my assistants to help get you to the cot. I was just about to call an ambulance.”

  Josh managed to sit on the edge of the cot with his head in his hands.

  “Shall I call one?” Endorathlil hesitated.

  “No,” he mumbled. “I’m okay.”

  “I do hope so.”

  “I was warned,” Josh muttered, still groggy.

  Ian’s heart leapt and the hair on his neck stood up. He didn’t flinch though. Not under Conky’s fierce gaze.

  “Warned?” Endorathlil inquired, sweetly. “About what, my dear?”

  “About coming here.”

  “Oh?”

  Ian balled his hands into fists and crouched slightly, thinking this could end in a fight for his life. “Idiot,” he thought. “Friggin’ idiot!”

  “Who would have warned you about coming here?”

  Endorathlil wondered, hoping to coax more information out of him. “And why?”

  Glancing up, Josh caught Endorathlil’s predatory gaze. Then he remembered the postscript on the anonymous letter. “I have risked my life to warn you,” it had said. “Please do not tell anyone about this letter . . . ”

  “Uh, my friend Millie Epp warned me,” he lied. “She told me not to come here because something bad was sure to happen.”

  “Well,” Endorathlil huffed. “I’m sorry to hear your friend has such a low opinion of me. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it.”

  “Millie’s a bit uptight,” Josh explained.

  Endorathlil could see he was lying. Conky still glared at Ian.

  “D’ya believe that Lytle?” he asked.

  “Why shouldn’t I?” Ian responded, too quickly.

  Conky shrugged.

  12

  Ian had to do something. What he’d seen in the back room scared him. Stealing a guy’s backpack was one thing; turning a blind eye when he was in mortal danger another — and Ian had no doubt the Dempster kid was in deep. He had to warn him.

  Then run for cover.

  Endorathlil and Conky were sure to find out he’d ratted. How, he could not say, but they would sniff him out. And then? They might go after Adele, if they couldn’t get at him. Ian wasn’t taking any chances. He had an aunt across town. She would take Adele in for a couple of weeks. He would call if things got hot. That would mean more money from Adele’s bankroll to cover expenses. Ian resented it, but had no choice.

  “Jeez!” he cursed, rummaging around through a barrel full of eyeglasses. Value Village was the place to go, if you wanted to put together a disguise. And Ian needed a disguise. You could end up looking like just about anyone or anything with their selection of used togs and accessories. He tried on a thick pair of horn-rims. “Holy smokes,” he yelped, almost swooning. The glasses warped and blurred his world, transforming it into a drunkard’s nightmare. “Perfect!” he smiled. “I’ll take ’em.”

  Next, he pried a curly, black wig off its Styrofoam stand, and tried it on. Ian laughed. With a hat it would work fine, he figured. Of course anyone with any smarts would figure out he was wearing a costume. That was okay. The disguise only had to work for a couple of minutes, that’s all. Just long enough for him to issue his warning, then get out.

  Ian couldn’t go directly to Josh. Conky was suspicious already and might have the Dempster place watched. What about the mail? That would take too long. Telephone? Ian had a better plan. He would deliver his message to Josh’s friend, the girl with the frizzy red hair and the bright, emerald eyes. After his embarrassing episode outside Café Java he wanted to redeem himself. “Nobody believes you over the phone,” he reasoned. So he’d invited Millie to a clandestine meeting at Café Java — a place she seemed to like going.

  Jamming a battered old fedora over the wig, he checked himself out in a mirror at the end of the aisle. He beamed. The get up was worthy of Bozo the Clown, which was okay as far as he was concerned. When people noticed your getup, sometimes they didn’t notice you.

  Conky had never been invited up to Endorathlil’s apartment before, and looking around, he wasn’t sure it was such an honour. “What a dump,” he thought. He’d kicked her fat, ugly cat away a couple of times, but the thing kept coming back, coiling around his legs, purring loudly.

  “Lumpkin likes you,” the cat’s mistress cooed from the kitchen, where she was preparing tea and cookies for her guest. “That’s a very good sign. My Lumpkin knows who I can trust.

  Her judgment is infallible.”

  He’d been lining up a really good punt to get rid of the mangy feline, but Conky checked himself and, despite his squeamishness, stroked the cat a couple of times. “Nice kitty,” he said stiffly.

  “We need to talk, Conky,” Endorathlil was saying. “I think the time has come for you to progress.”

  “Progress?”

  Conky wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. Nothing in this world came for free, especially not from a stingy old hag like Endorathlil. Still, it was worth his while to listen. Besides, after what he’d seen her do to the Dempster kid Conky didn’t really have much choice. “She could paralyze me on the spot,” he shivered. “Turn me into an instant zombie.”

  “I’ve not had an apprentice now for many years — I’m afraid my last one didn’t work out — and I do not have many years left to pass on what I know. I’m at an age when I have to think of the future.”

  The future, as far as Conky McDougal was concerned, suddenly meant getting out of Endorathlil’s apartment as fast as he could. “Apprentice?” That sounded a lot like work. Creepy work.

  “Have you ever thought of sorcery as a vocation, my dear?” Endorathlil asked, rattling out of the kitchen, carrying a tray loaded with a teapot, cups, and cookies.

  “No, ma’am,” he answered, then added quickly, “Not that I don’t believe in the power of occult. I’ve seen what you can do with my own eyes.”

  “What you have seen is nothing compared to what might have been,” she said bitterly. “But never mind that. There’s still time for great deeds, and I intend to pick up the wand, my friend, pick it up and use it.”

  “What kind of deeds?” Conky gulped.

  She poured two cups of tea and gestured for him to take a cookie. Then, with a grunt, Endorathlil lowered herself into the armchair opposite. �
��I needn’t remind you that the road to power is not open to the faint of heart. You know that from personal experience, eh?”

  He nodded.

  “You can never stay still once you have taken that trail,” she whispered, conspiratorially. “They’ll pull you into the ditch if you do — the levelers, I mean.”

  “Who?”

  “You know them,” she snorted. “The subordinates who question your authority, not because they want if for themselves, but because they resent your having it. The ones that snicker behind your back, or ask impertinent questions . . . ”

  “Like Ian Lytle, you mean?”

  “Ah! Master Lytle,” she smiled mysteriously. “He’s something more than a leveler, Conky.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought you would have seen it by now, an intelligent boy like you.”

  “Seen what?” he cried.

  “That he’s a challenger,” she answered impatiently. “For a boy in your position there are two sorts of enemies: levelers and challengers. The first type is more common, the second more dangerous. Ian Lytle is of the second class, and you must be careful or he shall win.”

  “Why do you care which of us wins,” Conky demanded.

  Endorathlil smirked. “Very good!” she applauded mockingly.

  “In truth I wouldn’t care a fig, except I do favour you. Then there’s the matter of loyalty.”

  “He’s a rat!”

  “Exactly,” Endorathlil agreed.

  “Then let me take care of him!”

  She laughed and shook her head as if she were disappointed in her star pupil. “You are a rash young man,” Endorathlil admonished. “To catch a rat, you must set a trap. If we are to make an example of Master Lytle, we must make sure he’s an example that suits our purpose.”

  “I don’t follow,” Conky complained.

  “Of course you don’t, fool!” she snapped, thrusting her contorted face at him. With some effort Endorathlil smiled, then she continued. “If we are to make an example of him, we must first have a crime. My suspicions and your hatred are not enough, unless we want to prove to your followers that we are merely cruel and arbitrary, instead of being stern and disciplined.”