The Power Potion

by Wendelin Van Draanen

  As he dug, spiders approached.

  Cautiously.

  Tarantulas are, for the record, speedy runners, but these were in the presence of other (cannibalistic) spiders and were a little uncertain as to how to negotiate this meal.

  “Ay chihuahua!” Sticky cried (because the hairy monsters were approaching plenty fast enough for him!).

  To ward them off, Sticky turned around and dug like a dog, spraying sand in their eight-eyed faces. This, of course, ticked off the tarantulas, causing some of them to rise up on their back legs and produce a hissing sound while showing their fangs.

  “Holy moly tacarole!” Sticky whimpered (as he peered at them between his legs).

  The situation was, in fact, so dire that Sticky had no time to open the treasure chest, even though he’d reached it. Instead, he escaped the hissing herd of hairy beasties by zippy-toeing around the (little fake) palm trees and scampering into the (little fake) ocean. “Get back, you freaky fieras!” he cried, and began scooping water at them.

  Well! If you’re ever on a desert island (little fake or otherwise) and you’re being attacked by a hungry herd of tarantulas, just spray them with water. They will retreat, and you will find your uncovered treasure chest (at least temporarily) unguarded.

  Sticky could not believe his luck and wasted no time in getting back to the chest.

  His heart was clacking like castanets as he pulled open the lid.

  His hopes were sky-high.

  But as he peered inside the chest, he discovered that it held only one item:

  The 1728 Spanish gold doubloon.

  “Ay caramba, no!” Sticky cried, for regardless of how cool and shiny a 1728 Spanish gold doubloon might be, it was not worth facing hairy, scary spiders to get to.

  But then he noticed a glow coming from around the inside edges of the treasure chest lid.

  There was a panel across the lid, and when he released it, he found himself face to face with a single notched coin.

  One that glowed brighter than any doubloon.

  One that shimmered like a pool of sunshine.

  One that had designs on it that were both foreign and mysterious.

  It was a single, solitary power ingot, but oh, what a power ingot!

  “The Buzzy Bee!” Sticky cried, snatching it up.

  Right behind him, however, a hungry tarantula was preparing to pounce.

  “Ay caramba!” Sticky cried, and did a three-legged dart away from the beast, leaping over another to get onto the glass side of the terrarium.

  All the spiders suddenly wanted in on the action, clamoring and climbing and (yes) clawing to get over one another to the lizard.

  But before they could reach him, Sticky clamped the ingot in his mouth and zippy-toed up the glass wall, across the mesh covering, and out the mesh window, escaping the terrifying tank of tarantulas.

  Unfortunately, before Sticky could spend even a moment catching his breath, he heard a sound more terrifying than the hiss of tarantulas.

  More frightening than the threat of fierce and fuzzy fangs.

  More horrific than a stampeding herd of hairy, scary spiders.

  It was the bone-chilling, heart-stopping, knee-knocking voice of Damien Black.

  Chapter 19

  THE INNER SANCTUM

  Sticky had no time to think, so he simply reacted. He dived from the terrarium lid to the bookcase, then turbo-toed inside a little tepee formed by a wooden box and a book.

  “You boneheaded bozos!” came Damien’s voice as he blasted into the room. “You meat-headed morons! You chowder-brained chumps! I can’t believe I’m having to do all this because you can’t read!”

  “Sorry, boss!” came Pablo’s crackly voice.

  Now, as you may have already deduced, the Bandito Brothers were not trailing along behind Damien.

  They (and their bucktoothed burro, Rosie) were waiting for him outside the mansion, near the bat cave (which was, in fact, a cave full of bats, as opposed to, say, another bat cave that might spring to mind). Damien Black was simply multi-tasking, retrieving some last-minute supplies as he continued his conversation with the Brothers through his walkie-talkie communicator. (The communicator was another Damien contraption, and it had, among other things, a long, spirally antenna, a grid-shaped doohickey, a fan-shaped thingamabob, lots of copper wires, glowing tubes, and lips.)

  It was because Damien was preoccupied with the communicator (and was in a frothy fury over the Brothers) that he stormed right past the (open) pirate chest and the (open) tarantula terrarium and (without even glancing over his shoulder) revealed the secret entry to his innermost sanctum.

  Not even Sticky knew of this cloak-and-dagger passageway or the secret room to which it led. The room was so hush-hush, in fact, that no one (and I mean no one) had ever been inside it.

  (Well, except for the ruthless villain himself, of course.)

  Granted, this was most likely due to visitors being a rare (and unwanted) thing at the Black mansion, because the cloak-and-dagger passageway was actually quite ordinary.

  Curiously conventional.

  Something any mystery reader would immediately point to and say, “Ah-ha! Secret passageway!”

  Still. Like so many things in the mansion, it was something Damien took childish delight in having. So (despite his frothy fury) it was with a great and satisfying whoosh-swoosh that he pushed through a revolving bookcase.

  A revolving bookcase that happened to have Sticky on board.

  Well! Sticky was most certainly thinking, “Holy guacamole!” but (for once) he managed to keep his little lizard lips zipped.

  (Well, as zipped as lips can be with a power ingot still clamped between them.)

  He held his breath and watched (with one sneaky-peeky eye) as Damien flicked on a light. (Something that was quite necessary, as there were no windows whatsoever in this inner sanctum.)

  Next, Damien slammed and bammed doors and drawers, stuffing items into the deep, dark pockets of his long black coat. And then, quite suddenly, he stopped slamming and bamming and held completely still.

  It was as though he’d heard something.

  Smelled something.

  Sensed something.

  Slowly, he turned toward the bookcase, his eyes dark, narrow slits, the pointy points of his mustache twitching.

  A devilish sneer smeared his face.

  But just as Sticky was about to shake into a thousand gecko pieces, Damien swooped down on his heavily carved (and astonishingly detailed) desk and snatched up the funkydoodle phone.

  One long, pointy finger pressed into a fossilized shark vertebra and dialed.

  Swish, click-click-click-click.

  Swish, click-click-click-click-clack!

  Damien dialed the number (which took some time, as the funkydoodle dial was, well, funkydoodle).

  Then Damien waited.

  One ringy-dingy.

  Two.

  His left eyebrow was arched high.

  His right was crouched low, as if ready to pounce.

  And then, out of the cheesy speaker, Sticky could hear, “Sastimos.”

  “Sastimos” is, in case you’re not already familiar, a Romany greeting. Its basic translation is “to your health,” but it can be used like “hello.”

  This word—this single word—caused a demented smile to cross Damien’s already dastardly face.

  He did not say hello in return.

  (Or, for that matter, wish the person on the other end good health.)

  Instead, he (very quietly) put the receiver down and muttered, “Double-dealing gypsy! You think you can pull a fast one on me? Well, I’m on my way to teach you a lesson!” His expression dropped to a mere scowl. “I should bring backup,” he muttered, “in case those buffoons botch things up.”

  He turned, and suddenly (with another whoosh-swoosh) he was in front of the bookcase.

  Sticky choked back an “Ay-ay-ay!” as Damien’s hand shot straight for the wooden-box part of his tepee and y
anked it from the shelf. The remaining book fell on Sticky, but as Damien whoosh-swooshed back to his desk, Sticky managed to pull himself to a new (and less painful) hiding place in time to see Damien snap open the wooden box.

  The box held a matching pair of percussion-lock dueling pistols (along with a powder flask, rods for cleaning and loading, percussion caps, and a bullet mold).

  It was a rare and valuable (not to mention stunning) set of weapons, with gilded muzzles, side plates, and hammers, and the grips were so beautifully carved that the guns looked more like swanky pirate movie props than actual weapons.

  They were, however, the real deal.

  They shot large, bone-shattering bullets.

  Little cannonballs, really.

  And although each pistol could fire but one bullet at a time, the guns were highly accurate and had outstanding muzzle velocity and (most importantly) smooth bores, which made the bullets they fired untraceable.

  And they were so much more spiffidy-doo-dah than modern handguns that their size and limitations were, to Damien’s mind, not an issue.

  He was, after all, a deadly and merciless shot.

  Damien lifted both pistols from their box, then hesitated. One had always sufficed in the past, and he did have a lot of other things to manage.

  But there was something about wearing a brace of pistols that made him feel fully loaded.

  Fueled for duel.

  So Damien cut the moment of hesitation short and proceeded to load and holster both pistols. And then, with another dramatic whoosh-swoosh, Damien clicked off the light and exited his inner sanctum through a second revolving bookcase, leaving Sticky trapped inside.

  Chapter 20

  TRAPPED!

  Clicking the light back on was not a problem for Sticky.

  Admitting he was trapped inside was.

  But there were no windows, no vents, no chimney or visible ductwork…and the revolving bookcases were much too heavy for him to push.

  “Freaky frijoles. Are you serious, man?” he muttered. “I’ve got the Buzzy Bee! I’ve got to get out of here!”

  Unfortunately, the Flying ingot (or, if you prefer, the Buzzy Bee) was of no use to Sticky. It was useless without the powerband, and the powerband was useless on Sticky. (Not only was it way too big, but it only seemed to work on humans.)

  Besides, what good would flying around a room do?

  There was still no way out.

  “If only I had the potion,” Sticky grumbled, “I could push through the turning books and vámonos!”

  Sticky may not have had the Moongaze potion, but there was a funkydoodle phone. He didn’t like the looks of it (as a bird claw, taxidermied or not, is a fierce and frightening thing to any lizard), but after realizing he was most definitely trapped, he climbed up Damien’s devilishly carved desk and approached the contraption.

  The Sanchezes, of course, had a phone in their apartment.

  A regular, plastic, push-button model.

  And (having lived inside the apartment awhile now, and having heard it repeated enough) Sticky did know the Sanchezes’ phone number.

  And (after witnessing Damien’s use of it) he recognized that this funkydoodle contraption on the villain’s desk was, indeed, a telephone.

  One that needed to be dialed.

  And so it was that Sticky wrestled the receiver off the cradle and began making his first phone call.

  It was a difficult process.

  One full of flubs and blubs and boo-boos.

  Time and again the dial got away from him, and time and again he had to start over. It was, indeed, a difficult process, but with each bobble, Sticky grew more determined.

  He had to get the Buzzy Bee to Dave.

  He just had to!

  Meanwhile, Dave (who was done with his afternoon deliveries) was coming home to an empty house.

  Now, by “empty,” I do not mean that all the furniture and dishes and appliances had been stolen.

  By “empty,” I mean lonely.

  There was no “Hey, señooooor!”

  No “Excelente picante! You’re home!”

  No “I’m out here, señor! Having a sizzly siesta.”

  Just quiet.

  Sad, lonely quiet.

  Dave parked his bike, dumped his backpack, and heaved a sigh. It had been a day even rougher than most. This was due, in part, to the sneers and jeers (and kitty-cat jokes) made by Lily and her sassy, saucy friends. But it was also because Dave now realized that his old friends had somehow drifted away. Regrouped. Left the kid with the strange habit of talking to himself behind.

  Not that Dave was actually talking to himself. He’d been talking to Sticky.

  Worrying about the powerband.

  Obsessing over Damien Black.

  But today, as he’d made a real effort to reconnect with some old friends, he’d discovered that they weren’t interested in reconnecting with him. Over the past few months, he’d become known as a dorky dude with spastic behaviors.

  Someone to avoid.

  So it was with a heavy heart that Dave returned home, and finding that Sticky had gone away (just as he’d commanded) made him even sadder.

  When the telephone rang, Dave almost didn’t answer it.

  Why bother?

  It was probably his mother or father wanting him to do some errand.

  But the phone continued to ring, and when Dave at last checked caller ID, he was puzzled.

  The readout was blank.

  Finally he punched the ON button and said a tentative “Hello?”

  “Señor! Is it you?”

  Dave did some rapid-fire blinking. “Sticky?”

  “Híjole! It is you!”

  “You’re…You know how to use a phone?”

  “It isn’t easy….”

  This, as you know, was an understatement. Sticky now had the funkydoodle phone on its side and was speaking into the ivory horn, then turning his head to hear what was snap-crackle-popping out of the cheesy speaker.

  “Where are you?” Dave asked.

  “Ay-ay-ay. You don’t want to know. But I have good news!”

  “You’re at that madman’s mansion, aren’t you?” Dave said, thinking way ahead of any possible good news.

  “Sí, señor, but that’s the bad news.”

  “Are you hurt? Why did you go there?”

  “I’m fine, señor. Although I did almost get munchy-crunched by big, ugly spiders.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. The bad news is I’m trapped.”

  “Trapped? Did Damien catch you? Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

  “I’m in his secret office, señor, but he doesn’t know it. I sneaky-toed up the dragon chimney—”

  “Wait. The dragon has a chimney?”

  “Sí, señor. It’s new. It goes up to a room next to a hall with spidery clouds—”

  “Spidery clouds?” Dave racked his brains. “You mean cobwebs?”

  “Sí! That’s what you call them. You go by a room with big white bones, and one with big, pointy knives on sticks, and one with big-handed candleholders, and then up some stairs…. They’re booby-trapped, though, so you have to use Gecko Power and go along the wall.” Sticky was quiet for a split second, then said, “Wear the powerband, okay, señor? We’re going to need it to help the potion man.”

  “Wait. What’s he got to do with this?”

  Sticky made a little clicking sound. “That evil hombre thinks he’s a dirty double-crosser.”

  Dave gasped. “Because of the potion?”

  “Sí, señor. I think so.”

  Dave stood in his kitchen, stunned. Why hadn’t he thought this might happen? “This is all my fault!” he cried.

  “It’s my fault, too, señor. I’m sorry.”

  “Do you know what Damien’s going to do?”

  “No, señor, but it has something to do with Pablo and Angelo. And he took two pistolas.”

  “Guns?”

  “Sí. But they’re
not six-shooters.” Sticky tried to shake off the memory of having seen them in action before. “They’re only one-shooters.”

  “They’re still guns!”

  “But I have something that will help us stop him. You just have to get me out of here!”

  Dave was thinking too fast to really hear what Sticky was saying. So instead of asking what Sticky had that would help them, he said, “But how am I ever going to find you? That place is crazy, and there are booby traps everywhere! And I can’t get in through the Komodo dragon den—that monster will rip me to shreds!”

  “Hmm,” Sticky said, and Dave could practically see him tapping his little gecko chin. “That loco lobo is gone, so just picture where the dragon cave is and climb in a window above it.”

  “But…I don’t even know if I know where it is! It was all twists and turns when we went down before.”

  “Oh, you can do it, señor. And once you’re inside, just walk around until you find the spider room.”

  “The spider room?”

  “Sí, señor. It has a big glass cage with giant, hairy spiders in it.”

  “Oh, great,” Dave said (his voice sounding rather squeaky).

  “When you’re in the spider room, push on the bookcase. It spins like a merry-go-round. I’m in the secret room on the other side.”

  “But…what if I can’t find it?”

  “Then I’ll have to find some other way to give you the Buzzy Bee.”

  “The Buzzy…? You found it? You’ve got Flying?”

  “Sí, señor. And it was pretty hairy-scary.”

  Dave understood immediately why Sticky had gone to the mansion. And he knew from experience that Sticky had risked life and limb to do this for him. “Aw, Sticky…”

  “Just ándale, okay, hombre? Put on the powerband and let’s go help the potion man.”

  A strange feeling came over Dave.

  One of strength.

  Determination.

  Sticky was his friend.

  From now on, nothing was going to change that.

  Dave nodded. “Hold on, little buddy. I’m on my way.”

  Chapter 21

  TRAIL OF TARANTULAS

  Damien Black’s mansion was so devilishly devised, so curiously convoluted, so horribly hodge-podged that it was, in fact, highly unlikely that Dave would ever find Sticky.