“That was the deal.” Adilene moved forward a step and held out her hand—the other one, without the wounded finger. “You said you would do whatever I wanted, and I kept my end of the bargain.”
Exhaling obnoxiously, Sasha opened another pocket in her satchel and pulled out a grocery bag, a vial of dark liquid, and a folded piece of paper.
Adilene moved closer and used the flashlight app on her phone to see better.
“This is the recipe for a basic Moholi Mixture.” Sasha passed the folded paper to Adilene. “I make it all the time. It’s one of the easiest potions to master. First-year Drams learn this on day one.” She emphasized her words as if trying to insult Adilene. Adilene ignored her. “Five ingredients. Seven simple steps. No special cauldron necessary. You can brew it in any metal pot, and it doesn’t require much heat.”
Adilene opened the paper, narrowing her eyes to try to read the recipe, but it was too dark and the words blurred together. Maybe she needed to get her vision checked.
“What does it do?” Adilene asked.
“Melts metal,” Sasha said. “Turns it into vapor.”
“Really?” Adilene caught herself from laughing. That sounded amazing. “Is it safe?”
“Totally safe. You could drink this whole vial and be fine,” Sasha said and then gave an annoyed sigh. “You’re probably naïve enough to do that, so don’t drink it. But yeah, it’s safe. It will only melt metal, nothing else, and just equal to the amount you pour out. A vial this size”—she held up the small bottle of potion—“could dissolve maybe a toaster or the handlebars of your bicycle. But it works instantly. If you accidentally spill it on the hood of your dad’s car, don’t come running to me, begging for a way to plug up the hole.”
“Wow.” Adilene eyed the vial of Moholi Mixture and smiled. What if she could somehow make something like that herself? The thought gave her goose bumps.
“Here are the ingredients.” Sasha plopped the grocery bag of supplies into Adilene’s arms. Next, she handed Adilene the vial of liquid. “I’m giving you the actual potion so you can see what it is supposed to look like when yours doesn’t work.” She grinned obnoxiously, and Adilene had to bite her tongue to keep from being baited into an argument.
“Thank you,” Adilene said.
Sasha shrugged. “Don’t thank me. You’re going to fail—and most likely in a miserable way. I know you think I’m saying that to hurt your feelings, that I’m some horrible monster who wants nothing more than to rub your face in the fact that Gordy and I can do things that you can only dream about, but I’m not. I’m trying to help you. You’re not a Dram, Adilene. You won’t become one. And the longer it takes for you to accept that fact, the more painful it will be for you in the end.”
Adilene hugged the bag in her arms. A stalk of some sort of vegetable—like celery but oddly fluorescent—poked out from the opening. She knew Sasha was right. Nothing had changed. She had failed at every attempt to brew an actual potion on her own. Sure, she had experienced some success while Gordy had been with her, but that didn’t count. He had only been using Adilene as an instrument, projecting his ability through her.
“Well, just so you know, I appreciate you giving me the recipe and the ingredients.” Adilene fought back tears. “I have to keep trying.”
Sasha tilted her head. “I don’t take any joy in proving you wrong. I hope you know that.”
“I know.” But she sensed obvious joy pouring out of Sasha whenever she put Adilene in her place.
Adilene dropped the recipe and the potion vial into the bag of ingredients and then tucked everything neatly into her backpack next to her notebook—the one containing her own notes of recipes and ingredients she had jotted down while brewing with Gordy. She turned to say goodbye, but Sasha was already halfway across the park, ducking beneath the branches of the wooded area behind it. She didn’t even acknowledge Adilene as she left.
Tobias’s preferred cookery was a hole-in-the-wall dive with three battered tables and a few splintery chairs scattered about the meager establishment. A single ceiling fan wobbled precariously overhead with cobwebs clinging from the blades, whirling in a circle like carousel swings at an amusement park. There was a bar with glass mugs on the countertop, a couple of jars of murky liquid crammed on the shelves behind them, and a window opening into a back kitchen area where a cloud of steam hindered almost all visibility. Gordy couldn’t see any employees behind the bar or in the kitchen. And as far as other customers were concerned, there was just one, and he was snoring loudly upon a table by the far wall.
Gordy had been to lots of restaurants with his family over the years, but this one was by far in the worst condition. His combat boots felt extra heavy as he attempted to walk into the room, his heels sticking to the floor.
“Ah, can you smell it?” Tobias asked, grinning blissfully and plopping into one of the chairs at the center table. The rotted wood nearly collapsed beneath his weight. “Creamed ham is a delicacy.”
Gordy cautiously took the seat next to him. Considering the state of the restaurant, the garlic phasmid eggs out on the street were starting to look far more appetizing than whatever entrée he might find here.
Something whistled from the kitchen, a sort of tinny, metallic shriek, like that of a raging teakettle, and the snoring customer shot up from his table. Gordy jumped as the man’s chair clattered to the floor and several insects scurried for cover.
“Fine, fine. Don’t trouble yourself one bit,” the man grumbled, yawning. An unhealthy number of joints in his back crackled as he stretched and shoved one loose end of his shirt beneath his belt. He appeared to be of Asian descent, with dark skin and long, unkempt hair as black as coal that fell about his shoulders in knots.
The man stumbled out of the eating area, nearly tripping over the leg of Gordy’s chair as he brushed past. Muttering incoherently and possibly in a foreign language, he meandered groggily toward the bar, and then, to Gordy’s surprise, nimbly leaped over the countertop before vanishing into the gathering steam. What followed next was a cacophony of glaring shouts of anguish, a few more unrecognizable words that Gordy assumed were unpleasantries, and the sound of clanging metal. The whistling teakettle ceased abruptly, and the cloud pouring from the kitchen cast the restaurant in a much deeper haze.
“That guy works here?” Gordy pointed to the kitchen.
Tobias nodded. “That’s Yosuke. Listen—he’s not to be trifled with. He’s irritable, insulting, and prone to violence.”
“What do you mean—prone to violence?” Gordy looked nervously toward the kitchen.
Tobias leaned closer. “How are you at defending yourself from say . . . a knife attack?”
“What?” Gordy croaked. Knife attack? Who would be wielding a knife?
Tobias held up a hand, trying to keep him calm. “Keep your voice down. Don’t make a scene. Nothing will happen—probably. Just be on guard. Yosuke and Scheel never got along well. Their last exchange ended in fisticuffs.”
Gordy stiffened and started to climb out of his seat. “Then we should leave.” There were plenty of other places to grab a bite to eat while they waited for his mom’s meeting to end.
“Too late.” Tobias clicked his tongue and gestured hastily at Gordy’s chair. “We’re paying customers now. If you try to leave, it won’t bode well for either of us.”
“Um, I don’t think I’m that hungry . . .” Gordy started to say but was cut short as something heavy thudded upon the table.
Yosuke loomed above him, glaring down in disgust. Somehow the man had vaulted back over the bar and covered the distance from the kitchen while balancing three wooden bowls of soup in the crooks of his elbows without making a sound. Gordy could see the pencil-thin wisp of a mustache twitching beneath the man’s pudgy nose. He looked much older than Gordy expected. The corners of his eyes bore deep creases, and a webwork of wrinkles was etched into his skin, along wit
h an ancient-looking scar that traveled down the length of his face. The old wound looked to have been crudely stitched back together at one time, and from a distance it made him appear even more menacing.
With a raspy exhale, Yosuke tossed two bowls on the table, one in Tobias’s direction and one in front of Gordy. The bowl wobbled, its contents sloshing sickeningly. Yosuke dragged over a chair and sat down to join them. No words were spoken as he divvied out spoons, and then he grunted, which apparently was code to start eating.
Tobias immediately began scarfing down his soup, hardly pausing to breathe.
Gordy stared down at his bowl. He was definitely hungry. His nervousness about his trip to the Swigs had prevented him from eating all day, but consuming anything creamed from that kitchen would most certainly land Gordy in the emergency room. Coming to this restaurant had been the worst idea ever.
“Very rude to turn away an offered meal,” Yosuke said, slurping a spoonful. Gordy couldn’t place his accent, but he didn’t think it was Chinese. “Where I come from, that could be taken as an offense.”
Gordy’s stomach folded upon itself as he eyed the pink glop. What if he threw up? Wouldn’t that be worse than not eating? Hand trembling, he raised his spoon and slid the warm mush into his mouth.
It took most of his strength to not gag, but then Gordy realized the soup didn’t taste all that bad. It was like a ham sandwich, only blended up with chunks of . . . What was that? Corn? Gordy hoped it was corn.
“What’s wrong?” Yosuke asked, eyes narrowing. “You don’t like it?”
Gordy swallowed. “No, no, it’s awes—” He coughed into his hand, creamed ham rising back up his throat. “So awesome. It’s my favorite!”
Yosuke produced a hissing sound in his throat and slammed his spoon down next to his bowl. “Just like the last time when you insulted my family!” Chair legs screeched against the floor as he shoved away from the table. He slipped his hand beneath his shirt, snagging hold of something out of view. Was he carrying a knife tucked into his waistband? “Then you have the nerve to come here and sit in my restaurant?”
“Look, sir, I honestly—” Gordy shot a panicked glance in Tobias’s direction, searching for help, but Tobias was devouring his own meal and not paying attention.
“I always repay my debts, Mr. Stitser. Always.” Yosuke whipped out his hand, and Gordy gasped.
There wasn’t time to be picky. Any potion would delay the attack, but as Gordy’s fingers fumbled with the zipper, his satchel fell from his lap.
A warm substance splattered against his cheeks. He shrieked, shielding his eyes. Yosuke had struck him with some kind of potion. Something that felt oddly like . . . water.
Gordy opened his eyes and saw that Yosuke was not holding a knife but instead a green, plastic water gun. The man was grinning.
“I should take a picture!” Tobias smacked the table, laughing. “There’s no way to recreate your expression right now.”
“What’s going on?” Gordy stared at Yosuke. “Wait—you called me Mr. Stitser. Not Scheel.”
“I did,” Yosuke admitted thoughtfully.
“You can see through my disguise?” First that strange lady and now this guy. If everyone in the Swigs could tell his identity, maybe Gordy’s Disfarcar Gel brewing skills were less effective than he thought.
Yosuke paused before shrugging. “What disguise?”
“My . . .” Gordy looked down, and to his shock, he no longer resembled the burly Scheel. Gone were the stiff black hair covering his arms and the rippling, corded muscles. Gordy cleared his throat and realized his voice had changed as well. He shot a look in Tobias’s direction, but the man didn’t seem worried.
“That Disfarcar Gel was worthless!” Gordy shouted.
“I’m sure it was a perfectly brewed dose,” Yosuke said. “But I may have slipped a little glowworm oil into your soup.”
Glowworm oil was odorless, tasteless, and instantly removed any potion-induced disguises.
“I hope you don’t mind, but you have no idea how difficult it is for me to have a heart-to-heart conversation when you look like Scheel.” Yosuke snorted, and Tobias erupted in laughter once more.
“It’s not funny,” Gordy said, but the two men were beside themselves with glee, which made it difficult to keep from smiling. Gordy thought he had been one second away from being stabbed by a lunatic. Puffing out his cheeks, exasperated, Gordy glared at Tobias. “Did you bring me here just to play a prank?”
“Of course not. Creamed ham is my all-time favorite dish, and I wanted to introduce you to my good friend, Yosuke.” Tobias gestured grandly to the man next to him. “The founder of the Swigs.”
Dipping his head in a humble bow, Yosuke pressed a hand against his chest. “In truth, I’m more like the custodian of the Swigs,” he said. “I keep the silver shining and sweep up the messes when required. Oh, and my apologies for our playful introduction. I am truly honored to meet the fabled son of Wanda Stitser. I’ve known about you for a long, long time.”
“If you’re really the founder of the Swigs, why don’t you have a better place?” Gordy felt embarrassed about asking, but he wasn’t sure he believed the man. This place had bugs and rats and who knew what else burrowing in the kitchen.
Yosuke raised an eyebrow. “Ah, judging a book by its cover? This is my home. My sanctuary. I have had many wonderful memories here. Far too many to count. Why would I give this up just so I can have cleaner floors and a kitchen that doesn’t breed mildew and mold?”
“Are you the one who changes the entrance to the Swigs?” Gordy asked.
Yosuke nodded. “There are miles and miles of underground passageways. Most are no longer in use, but I’m afraid we’ve become the world’s largest and peskiest termites.”
“Yosuke’s also the one who grants permission to new vendors,” Tobias added. “He revokes rights to all who break our rules. There’s not a transaction that transpires down here that he doesn’t know about.”
Gordy gnawed the inside of his cheek. “Then you know about my mom’s visit.”
“I do,” Yosuke answered.
“And you’re not stopping it?”
“Why would I? Your mother’s intentions are wholesome. She’s a good person.” Yosuke cleared his throat. “Besides, I am one of the Stained Squad’s benefactors. I have fully funded many of their missions, and before that”—his eyes twinkled—“I was a senior member of the Chamber of Directors.”
Gordy started in surprise. “B.R.E.W.’s Chamber?”
“Is there another?” Tobias asked through a mouthful of soup.
“When did you work for them?” A senior member of the Chamber was one of the highest-ranking officials for B.R.E.W., second only to the Chamber President, a title which, until recently, had been held by Talia Brexil.
Yosuke closed his eyes as if caught up in a nostalgic memory. “Many years ago. I worked my way up from the bottom and served for more than a decade in the Chamber.”
“But then you did something bad at B.R.E.W., and my mom uncovered it, and she had you kicked out, right?” That seemed to be a constant theme in the Swigs. Elixirists who had once been employed by B.R.E.W. who now had personal vendettas against Gordy’s mom.
“Not exactly,” Yosuke said. “One of my last official acts as a member of the Chamber was to pardon Wanda and Priscilla for their crimes against the Community.” He focused on Gordy. “I’m sure you’ve heard of what became of your grandfather, Mezzarix Rook.”
“Yes,” Gordy answered, feeling his cheeks surging with heat. “My mom Banished him to Greenland.” But he had never heard that his mom had needed to be pardoned by B.R.E.W. Pardoned for what?
“Only at the end of his reign.” A wry grin tugged at the corners of Yosuke’s lips. “Before that, Wanda was his follower, and one who succeeded in doing damage to our Community. There are Scourges
, and then there are Rooks. Volumes have been written about that family—your family.” He pointed a long finger at Gordy.
“Are you saying my mom was a criminal?” Aunt Priss frequently had trouble with B.R.E.W., but not his mother.
“Not a criminal. Just misguided. We took into consideration the impact her father made on her decisions. Mezzarix was gifted at brainwashing,” Yosuke reasoned. “If he could convince so many to adopt his ways, what chance did his own daughters have in refusing his wishes?”
Unable to hold back his anger any longer, Gordy leaped up from his seat, jarring his bowl of soup. “My mom was Lead Investigator!”
Tobias scowled at Gordy, but if Yosuke was outraged by the eruption, he masked it well.
“And she was good at it too,” Yosuke said calmly. “She knew what to expect from the Scourge attacks and where to find their hiding places. She knew how to think like one. Easy to do since she was almost one herself.”
“This is another one of your pranks, isn’t it?” Gordy whirled on Tobias. B.R.E.W. meant the world to his mom. She stood for justice and fought against evil. She was his hero, and he wasn’t about to let this stranger drag her reputation through the mud. “My mom is one of the good guys!”
“She is now!” Yosuke finally raised his voice. “But we all have a past, don’t we? Some are more complicated than others. In the end, when it truly mattered, Wanda made the right decision. Both she and Priscilla did. They put a stop to Mezzarix’s Manifesto and sought for mercy from the Chamber.”
“The what?” Gordy asked. There was so much running through his mind he didn’t know what to think anymore.
“Of course, you wouldn’t have heard of it before. The Manifesto went away with your grandfather’s Banishment. Mezzarix believed that in order to truly create greatness among the potion masters, there first had to be an elimination of prisons, governments, and secrets.” Yosuke’s eyes narrowed. “B.R.E.W. would be the first to crumble, and then everyone in the world would learn of our existence. There would be no need for rehabilitation or judgment from society anymore. Good intentions or ill, it made no difference to him. At that time, no one could match Mezzarix’s power and ability. Certainly not myself or anyone else at B.R.E.W.” Yosuke shook his head. “He would often say ‘Take whatever you can,’ because he knew he would be the ultimate taker. Allow the wicked to stake their claim on whatever they desired, and the cream would rise to the top. Your mother was once a firm supporter of that mentality.”
The Seeking Serum Page 7