Josh and the Magic Vial

by Craig Spence

  Conky had to admit she had a point.

  “Never act on instinct, boy. That is your first and most important lesson. Instinct is the fire that makes the metal glow; experience is the anvil we lay it on; reason is the hammer we shape it with, blow by well aimed blow.”

  “Huh?”

  “Dolt! We need a pretext.”

  “A pre-what?”

  “Arghh,” Endorathlil howled, holding her head in her hands as if she intended to pop it off and throw it at him.

  “Have him followed,” the exasperated witch ordered.

  “Is that all?”

  She leered, an evil grin that made even the likes of Conky McDougal cringe. “Not quite,” she answered, nibbling the corner of a cookie. “There is one other thing I want you to attend to personally.”

  He watched and waited, knowing better than to interrupt.

  After a long, excruciating pause, Endorathlil spoke again. “Ian has a little brat of a sister. She goes by the name Adele.”

  “Yeah,” Conky swallowed, nervous.

  “Oh, I don’t want you to harm the girl,” the witch soothed. “I just want you to fetch a lock of her hair and a few drops of her blood — no more than a mosquito might draw. Consider it a little test of your loyalty.” She grinned.

  “But . . . ”

  “Oh, and some fingernail clippings would be nice, if you can get them, although they are not altogether necessary.”

  “She’s just a kid!”

  “That’s why she’s valuable to us,” Endorathlil said sweetly.

  “Once we hold her fate in our hands, we control Mr. Lytle, do we not?”

  “But she’s a kid!” Conky wailed.

  “Coward!” Endorathlil hissed. “Instinct is the fire; experience the anvil; reason the hammer. Forge the armor of greatness, and put it on.”

  13

  Millie could have done without the cloak and dagger stuff. “Meet me at Café Java, four o’clock, tomorrow.” the note instructed. “Come alone. Do it for Josh’s sake, and don’t say a word to anyone.” That was it. She had found the note lying on her notebook at the library. She had a pretty good idea who it was from.

  “Rude so-and-so.” Millie snorted. Her resentment smouldered as she waited for Ian show up. The only reason she had come to Café Java at all was to say a few choice words to the ignoramus, but now he was adding to her indignation by keeping her waiting. Four o’clock had ticked by ten minutes ago, and still no mystery man.

  Millie was always perfectly punctual herself.

  “I should get up and go,” she stewed.

  But she didn’t. The whole thing might have been a prank; then again, it might not. She sighed. “Ten more minutes, then I’m outa here.”

  She had just settled on this final, final deadline when a thump and clatter drew her attention to the entrance. Someone had walked into the plate glass door. A commotion ensued as passers-by helped the unfortunate to his feet, then the door swung open and in stumbled the most outlandish character Millie could have imagined. He was young, perhaps her age. But he had a battered fedora jammed onto his head, a crop of curly black hair — obviously a wig — sprouting out from under its greasy brim. And the glasses! She almost laughed out loud, for the bottle-bottom lenses were doing more to impair the unfortunate’s vision than improve it. He groped along, bumped into the first table he came to, causing another commotion, then staggered down the aisle toward her.

  “Oh God, no!” Millie flushed. “Please, no!”

  Pray as she might, the character jostled and crashed his way toward her with the inevitability of a pinball bouncing off every rubber. Feeling his way into the chair opposite, he sat down carefully, then said, “Hello.”

  “Why don’t you take those stupid glasses off,” Millie hissed in her most caustic voice. “I know who you are.”

  “It’s not you I’m hiding from,” he answered in a nervous whisper. “I didn’t think you’d be fooled.”

  “Why are you following us around?”

  He let out a deep, tormented sigh, then said, “You don’t have to like me. You don’t even have to know who I am — in fact, it’s better if you don’t. I’m here to tell you two things, then I want to get lost, quickly.

  “First, your friend Josh is in serious trouble. I mean serious . . . ”

  He held up his hand to stop her from interrupting.

  “Second, I’m risking my neck coming here. If Endorathlil finds out, she’ll kill me.”

  “Endo-who?” Millie huffed.

  “Lil, as in Lil’s Magic Emporium and Second Hand.”

  Ian told her what had happened at Lil’s two days earlier, how she had hexed Josh and taken the clippings and blood sample.

  “Why would she do that?” Millie wanted to know.

  Ian rolled his eyes and braced himself. “You’re not going to believe it when I tell you.”

  “Try me.”

  “She’s going to use the stuff for some kind of voodoo, and it’s going to happen on the night of the full moon, that’s all I know.”

  “Voodoo?”

  “Black magic, and we’re not talkin’ chocolates here.”

  “And what am I supposed to do?”

  “Warn him.”

  “About what?”

  Ian shrugged. “I wish I knew.”

  “This is crazy.”

  “Yeah. Kind of.”

  “Why don’t you warn him?”

  “Because they’re probably watching me and him. I sent a note to your friend. I warned him to stay away from Endorathlil. He didn’t listen. He almost tipped them off about me when he was at the shop, now they’re really suspicious. I’m warning him again — through you — for the last time.”

  “What’s this ‘voodoo’ you’re talking about going to do to him?”

  “Shhh,” Ian pleaded, glancing around the café. “I told you already, I don’t know for sure. I do know she can make bad things happen. Real bad.”

  “Then you believe in her . . . uhm . . . powers?”

  “Yes.”

  He said this with such conviction Millie felt she had to believe him — or at least try to.

  “What’s the good of warning him now?” she thought out loud. “This Endorathlil has what she needs, doesn’t she? How can Josh defend himself against . . . the unknown?”

  The question hung in the air. Millie heard the clatter of cups, the hiss of the espresso machine, the murmur of conversations all around her, but it was as if she were listening in on a foreign world. Café Java was a safe haven where the idea of magic might be discussed in theory; it wasn’t a place where the threat of magic actually became real.

  “There’s only one thing he can do,” Ian said, “and it’s risky.”

  Millie waited while he thought some more.

  “He’s got to challenge her,” he concluded.

  “What?”

  “Tell his parents what’s happened. Get them to tell the police. Make a big stink about it. If Endorathlil knows her dirty little secret is out, she might think twice about doing anything.”

  “Might?”

  “There’s no guarantee. What are the cops going to do? Arrest Endorathlil for practicing magic without a permit? They won’t be able to do anything, really. She’ll know that.”

  “But the publicity would put her off.” Millie hoped.

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” he shrugged.

  “What do you mean!”

  “Think about it,” he explained, leaning forward in his chair, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Endorathlil likes her rep. The meaner people think she is, the better, as far as she’s concerned. So is she going to be scared off by some bad PR, or is she going to think of it as free advertising?”

  “Jeez,” Millie blurted. “The way you people think scares me.”

  “The way you people don’t think scares the crap out of me,” Ian retorted.

  She blushed. She’d deserved that, so she bit her lip instead of shooting back.

  “I
’ve got to go,” Ian said, pushing his chair away from the table.

  “Just one thing,” Millie grabbed his arm. “You said this plan of yours would be risky.”

  Again, the mocking grin. “Not for your precious Josh. He’ll be okay . . . till the night of the full moon.”

  “Then you mean it will be risky for you?”

  “For me and some people very close to me. Tell him not to say anything that would tip Endorathlil off. She’ll figure it out anyway, but there’s no sense putting up a big, neon sign that says ‘IAN LYTLE RATTED’, is there?”

  “That’s your name?”

  “Yup.” He said this with deliberate pride.

  He stood there, waiting, until Millie realized she still gripped his arm. “One other thing,” he smirked when she let go. “Tell Dempster to find a safer place to snooze than Rogers Park.”

  By the time Millie figured out what he’d meant, Ian was already halfway to the door. “It was you!” she blazed, shaking with silent indignation. “You stole Josh’s things!”

  She had to smile, though. Angry as she was, she had to admire Ian Lytle’s audacity.

  14

  Josh looked terrible, even worse than the last time she’d visited.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  He continued drawing, his pen scratching at the sketchpad in short, angry strokes.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “I heard about your visit to Lil’s.”

  The nib stopped mid-stroke. He sat there, frozen, as if her remark had jammed something in his brain. “So,” he said at last. Then, “Who told you about that?”

  “The ‘friend’.We just finished a little tête-à-tête, he and I. Turns out he was the same guy who followed us to Café Java that day, the same guy who stole your backpack and skateboard.”

  Josh raised his eyebrows, but showed no other signs of interest.

  “Do you know what happened to you at Lil’s, Josh?” she probed.

  He nodded lethargically. “She tried a spell on me. I fainted.”

  “Yes,” Millie cried, “but do you know what happened while you were under.”

  “Nothing,” he said testily. “Lil had me moved to a cot in her back room. I came to. I came home. That’s it.”

  “Let me see your arm,” she demanded.

  “What for?”

  “Just let me look.”

  Reluctantly he held his left arm up for her. She examined it, stopping at the red puncture mark in the crook of his elbow. “She took a sample of your blood, Josh,” Millie announced.

  “That happened when her clumsy assistants grabbed me, Mil. Stop being ridiculous.”

  “Hands,” she demanded.

  “Huh?”

  She grabbed his hands, examining his fingernails. “Where did you get this manicure?” she teased, holding up his left ring finger. “And the trim!” She pointed at the jagged patch above his left ear.

  “Okay!” he exploded. “So she’s a lousy hairdresser.”

  “Not to mention surgeon, and manicurist,” Millie added.

  “Yeah, that too. So what!”

  “Do you know what Lil intends to do with that stuff?” Millie persisted.

  “No idea.”

  “Our friend thinks she’s going to use it to cast some kind of spell — ‘voodoo’ is the word he used for it. He says she’s going to do something on the night of the full moon, and that Endorathlil — that’s Lil’s real name — is bad business.”

  He waited, certain Millie had more to say.

  “And you know what,” she added after a long pause. “I believe him. In fact, I think she’s already done something to you, Josh. I mean, you look awful.”

  “Thanks,” he said gloomily. Then, looking at her, he smiled. “But, hey, since when did Millie Epp start believing in magic?”

  “I don’t necessarily believe in magic, Josh.”

  “What, then?”

  “Have you ever heard of hypnosis?”

  “Of course, but that can’t explain me getting sick, can it?”

  Millie shrugged. “It might,” she said. “I’m not sure.”

  “Besides, I started having dreams before Endorathlil pulled her little magic stunt.”

  Exasperated, Millie raised her arms in supplication, and then let them drop to her sides. “I don’t know what’s going on, Josh. All I know is, you’ve got to tell someone — your parents, the police, someone.”

  “But that’s the problem, Millie,” he objected. “What am I going to tell my folks — that some old lady tricked me out of some hair, some fingernail clippings, and a drop of blood? Or better yet, that the old bat is going to hex me on the night of the next full moon. They’d put me in the nut house, Millie. Don’t you see?”

  Josh put down his pen. Since Millie’s visit he’d been thinking how strange he’d become, how even his best friend looked at him as if he were a lunatic. She hadn’t said anything like that, of course. How could a friend tell you to your face that you were off your rocker? But what he’d seen in Millie’s eyes was something close to pity, and it shocked Josh to think he was so far gone. The sensation was like waking from a bad dream.

  “Thanks Mil,” he grumbled, half-annoyed.

  Was this his room? Josh surveyed what had become his hermit’s cave, not quite believing what he’d done. Some other kid had drawn the hundreds of sketches, which plastered every available surface. They’d been drawn in a trance, and now that Josh had snapped out of it he blushed. “Inspiration,” Millie had called it once. He’d been naive not to see through to her real meaning.

  The birdman leered at him, brazen and evil.

  “Murderer!” Josh growled. He hated this cartoon now. The image mocked him from every corner of his room, reminding him how he had betrayed the companions of King Carak and — somehow — Millie, too. Josh trembled with rage.

  “Enough!” he shouted.

  Springing from his seat, he attacked the drawings that covered his window first, ripping at them frantically, a drowning boy, clawing for air. Down! Down! Down! Every last one of them. “Bastard!” Josh muttered. “Fiend!”

  Torn sheets fluttered to the floor like wounded birds. They lay in heaps, which he trod underfoot and kicked. But his revenge was not spent even after the blizzard ended. Panting, hot with fury, he stood amid the rubble of his delirium and looked for more.

  “Endorathlil,” he thought. “She has done this to me, and now I must return the favour.”

  But how?

  “Tell my parents?” Josh snorted dismissively. They’d ground him. “Go to the police?” No way. They would just tell him to be a good little boy, and steer clear of nasty places like Lil’s. They wouldn’t understand.

  No, he had to do this himself, not with Mummy and Daddy’s help, not with a police escort. He had to go see Endorathlil alone.

  He remembered vaguely how she had subdued him with her spell. “Magic?” he sneered. “Not likely.” It had been some kind of trick — hypnosis, or a narcotic gas. What did he care if she’d taken bits of hair and drops of blood, and was prepared to perform some kind of perverse rite with these shavings.

  There was strength in hatred. Endorathlil would pay for what she had done, pay with something precious. He remembered her necklace, how she had concealed it when she noticed him looking at it. He remembered, too, the strange attraction he’d felt toward the unusual piece of jewelry, and her protectiveness. That was something precious, he thought. She would miss that if he could get his hands on it.

  “I need bait,” Josh muttered.

  He cast about his room. Nothing. Then a wicked thought took hold of him. On his mother’s dresser sat a jewelry box. As a child he used to play with the trinkets in there, pretending they were Long John Silver’s treasure. In that box were all kinds of baubles suitable for his plan, showy things that weren’t worth much.

  Sneaking downstairs, Josh listened for any signs of activity. The hallway and kitchen were deserted. His father was still at work, his mother
probably out in the yard pruning, or weeding, or doing whatever gardeners do. He darted into his parents’ room and made for the dresser. The jewelry box stood open, its felt-lined compartments brimming with earrings, broaches, pins, necklaces.

  “Very small,” Josh muttered.

  All the items looked too big. Endorathlil would be able to tell without close inspection that they were imitations. He dug down to the bottom of first one compartment, then another. At last he found what he was looking for, a ring that might have been gold, which was decorated with a tiny bit of glass that might have been a diamond. Josh pocketed it and hurried out of the room, his heart thumping.

  “Bye, Mom!” he shouted, clattering down the porch steps, headed for the street.

  “Where are you going, Josh?”

  “Just out. I’ve been cooped up all day.”

  Mrs. Dempster looked at him suspiciously. She had put on jeans and the frayed flannel shirt she wore when gardening. She swept a strand of hair from her face then sighed. “Be home for dinner, okay,” she said.

  “Okay,” he answered, trotting out of the yard before she could think of anything else.

  “And you be careful!” she called after him.

  “Yes Mom,” he replied in his stop-babying-me tone.

  Lil’s wasn’t shuttered up anymore. The blinds were raised and he could see inside, to where she sat, dozing at her counter. There didn’t seem to be anyone with her. “Good,” Josh thought. The last thing he needed was a bunch of Conky McDougal’s boys to deal with. If they were around, he’d have to call the mission off. As it was, his doubts had grown with every step on the way there. Stealing was not an activity Josh was accustomed to. He felt sick at heart.

  But she had stolen from him, hadn’t she? He had a right to get back what belonged to him. Josh’s resolve hardened. He would demand she give back the blood, hair, and nail clippings she had taken against his will, and if she refused — as she would — then he would carry out his plan.

  Striding forward, he pushed open the door. The crone bolted upright, then glared. When she recognized him, she contorted her face into a horrible grin, and said in her cracked voice, “Why Master Dempster! What a pleasant surprise.”