The Power Potion

by Wendelin Van Draanen

  Except for one small detail.

  A trail.

  Now, this trail was not made of bread crumbs.

  Oh no.

  It was a trail of hairy, scary spiders fleeing the mansion through an opening in a second-story window.

  “Holy smokes!” Dave gasped when he noticed the spiders. “He wasn’t joking!”

  Dave was in his Gecko getup—sunglasses, a ball cap (a bandanna at the ready), a plain black T-shirt, and jeans. Under his shirtsleeve, the Wall-Walker ingot was clicked inside the powerband.

  Dave watched the spiders a moment, then scaled the wall, avoiding the hairy beasts as he climbed in through the open window.

  Once inside, Dave simply moved against the stream of tarantulas. (It was a sparse stream, but speedy. And each time Dave thought he had run out of mad-dashing spiders, another one appeared, racing along the cobwebby corridor to catch up to the spider that had gotten away before it.)

  “The bone room!” Dave laughed when he came upon it. “I found the bone room!”

  (Never mind that there were real, fully formed skeletons on stands—Dave was just happy to be on the right path.)

  From there, it was easy. He passed by the spear room and the creepy candelabra room. He remembered to take the wall, bypassing the booby-trapped stairs, and then he hurried down the dark and dingy (and now also creepy-crawly) corridor until at last he reached the spider room.

  “Sticky!” he cried as he pushed through the revolving bookcase.

  Sticky quickly slapped down the disconnect lever on the funkydoodle phone. “Señor!”

  Despite how happy Dave was to see Sticky (and vice versa), he noticed that there was something fishy about Sticky’s reaction.

  “What is that?” Dave asked, pointing to the funkydoodle phone.

  “Uh…it’s that evil hombre’s ring-a-ling?”

  Dave eyed him suspiciously. “Why do you look so guilty?”

  Sticky’s eyes shifted to the left.

  They shifted to the right.

  Suddenly Dave’s eyes popped wide. “You were making crank calls?”

  Sticky gave a little gecko shrug. “I was bored, señor.”

  But then, lickety-split, the naughty lizard zippy-toed to a hiding place behind the desk and produced the Flying ingot. “But now that you’re here, we can use this!”

  Dave looked at the glowing ingot as it rested in his hand.

  His heart skipped a beat (or, really, several).

  His breathing went very shallow.

  Like Wall-Walker, the ingot had strange symbols all around it, but in the center of this one was a bumblebee in flight.

  Dave could barely believe it.

  He was going to fly.

  “How did you know where to find it?” Dave asked, his voice but a whisper.

  “Oh. Well. Señor. That is quite a story.”

  And so, in great (and sometimes exaggerated) detail, Sticky proceeded to tell him the hairy, scary tale of what he’d been through. When he was all done, he said, “But it was worth it, eh, señor? Look at you!”

  It was true. Dave had never looked happier.

  “So,” Sticky said, “are you ready to try it?”

  Dave nodded. Slowly at first, and then with growing determination.

  After all, they had work to do. And knowing Damien Black, he could be sure of one thing.

  There was no time to lose.

  Chapter 22

  ITCHY-YITCHY-YAH-YAH

  It was unfortunate for Damien Black that his cunning, clever, and crafty brain had been concentrating wholly and solely on revenge. Had he simply picked up his funkydoodle phone and told Yanko Purran that the potion hadn’t worked, the man would surely have brewed him another batch.

  Or returned the cash.

  The matter would have been resolved quite easily. (And, come to think of it, solved as well. Although a money-back guarantee had not been discussed, money-back guarantees usually require the return of unused portions.)

  (Or, in this case, potions.)

  Yanko would have recognized right away that there’d been some sort of switcheroo.

  Which then would have cascaded into trouble for Roadrunner Express.

  Which then would have led Damien Black within striking distance of one Dave Sanchez.

  Instead, Damien got mad and spent all his energies devising a diabolical way to get even.

  (With interest, of course.)

  It was also unfortunate for Damien Black that he had an irrational fear of curses. Just the thought of another gypsy curse gave him the itchy-yitchy-yah-yahs.

  Now, it’s a well-known fact that the power of the mind can be either a great healing force or, as in the case of a so-called curse, a self-destructive one. The worried mind will find a way to turn angry words into reality.

  Suddenly you become clumsy.

  Or sleepless.

  Or get the itchy-yitchy-yah-yahs.

  You see, a curse will work if you think it will.

  It is, in short, all in your head.

  So. It was the combination of irrational fear and unnecessary revenge that brought Damien Black and the Bandito Brothers to the edge of Gypsy Town.

  It was also the combination of irrational fear and unnecessary revenge that made Damien come up with this particularly elaborate and (quite frankly) outrageous plan.

  Damien had outfitted the Bandito Brothers as circus-style gypsies. The bigger two—Tito and Angelo—wore brightly colored knit skullcaps, bright, billowy blouses (Tito’s was turquoise, Angelo’s was golden), vests with bright (brass) buttons and lots of bric-a-brac, and broad belts that had drinking cups, rabbits’ feet, weapon sheaths, (rock-filled) coin bags, and various other clinky-clanky items hanging from them.

  Tito carried a hand drum.

  Angelo carried a lute.

  Pablo, on the other hand, carried a tambourine and was dressed (to his dismay) as a gypsy woman.

  “Do I have to, boss?” he’d asked Damien again and again, but it became clear that if he refused to put on the flowing skirt, headdress, jewelry, and scarves, he would be out of the running for the (ahem) promotion.

  Now, Damien had researched gypsy lore and had gone to great lengths to write a script for the Brothers. (They could not, after all, be trusted to enact his devilishly diabolical plan ad lib.) But because the Brothers could not read the script, Damien had been forced to rig Angelo with an earpiece through which he could feed the script (and also hiss instructions) via the walkie-talkie communicator.

  And (as if the three Brothers and their costumes weren’t enough) there was one other member of the (fake) gypsy entourage.

  It was Rosie, the Brothers’ bucktoothed burro.

  She, too, was dressed in a festive manner, with a wreath of flowers around her neck and colorful ribbons (and little, tinkly bells) tied to her tail.

  Now, why on earth would Damien want to have Rosie there?

  The answer is (yet again) quite simple: Tito and Angelo may have been sizeable men, but the two together were still not as strong as a single burro (bucktoothed or otherwise).

  Not when it came to pulling a wagon, anyway.

  You see, Damien had realized (with a joyful jolt) that Yanko Purran’s vardo was a rolling laboratory of potion-making materials.

  It had exotic ingredients.

  Oddly shaped flasks and a tangly tubed distillery!

  And the little cherry on the top of the nefarious plan that Damien had whipped up was that this vardo—this rolling potion wagon—came with its own resident alchemist.

  You see, Damien had it on good authority that Yanko Purran was a master potion maker, and Damien believed that the man had simply taken him for someone who could easily be suckered and had tried to pinch a few potion-making pennies.

  His payback, then, would be to haul Yanko Purran and his vardo up to Raven Ridge, where he would be kept in a secret (and secluded) cave beneath the mansion. Damien would then make the lousy swindler brew any potion he demanded.

>   Potions that would equip him with a mighty might.

  An awesome brawn!

  Potions that would rival the powers of the wristband.

  That would, in the end, help him get back the wristband.

  (Plus, he would never have to pay for potions again!)

  It was, undoubtedly, the plan of a madman.

  And it was, unfortunately, already well under way.

  Chapter 23

  AN UNEXPECTED PARADE

  While the Bandito gypsies put Damien’s elaborate (and cross-dressing) plan into motion, Damien took an alternate route to oversee (or, more accurately, undersee) the execution of his dirty work.

  Damien had no fear of being found (or chased) in these subterranean passageways (better known as the sewer system). And (according to the maps he’d consulted) the system ran under Gypsy Town in precisely the areas he needed it to.

  Aboveground, the Bandito Brothers simply walked along, taking left after left as they guided Rosie into the heart of Gypsy Town.

  Now, Damien had given his cohorts strict instructions to move along the streets of Gypsy Town in a lighthearted and casual manner and to sing a merry little song anytime they noticed people watching them. And since the Brothers liked to sing, they imagined people watching them, even when they weren’t.

  Tito hit the hand drum, Pablo rattled the tambourine, and Angelo played the lute (which, for the record, is not a flute missing its “f” but rather a stringed instrument similar to a guitar).

  And as they beat and jangled and strummed, they sang:

  Gypsy friends good fortune share.

  The honored king has sent us here.

  Let swallows sing and cleanse his eyes.

  Lift the curtain, see the skies.

  Damien (although not able to carry a tune himself) had written the song, using imagery he’d gleaned from his intense (although miserably mishmashed) research about Romany culture. It had taken him hours upon hours to write the lyrics and the melody (such as it was), and he was quite proud of the end result.

  The Brothers, however, thought it stank.

  “It doesn’t make sense!” Angelo had whispered to Pablo.

  “The melody is awful, and it doesn’t rhyme right!” Pablo had whispered to Angelo.

  “Can we go, ‘Ah-reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-ye-ye-ye-ye-yeeeeeeeeeeeeeee’?” Tito had asked.

  “Just sing it like I showed you!” Damien had shouted.

  But as the Brothers ambled through Gypsy Town, taking one left turn after another after another, they grew weary of singing the senseless words and decided to switch things up.

  Gypsy friends in underwear,

  Pick your noses, we won’t care!

  Swallow snot and cross your eyes,

  Clap your clappers in the sky!

  Ah-reeeeeeeeeeeeee-ye-ye-ye-yeeeeeeeeeeee!

  Now, while the Brothers merrily continued their journey, Damien navigated the inky, stinky sewer system and arrived at the manhole cover on Moongaze Place (which was right at the turnoff to Moongaze Court). He stuck the communicator’s antenna up through the crowbar hole and discovered that he was getting great reception. He soon realized, however, that the Brothers were butchering his song. And after listening for a horrified moment, he put his mouth up to the communicator and hissed, “That’s not how it goes! Sing it right, you fools!”

  “But, boss, the kids love it!” Angelo replied.

  Damien recoiled.

  “Kids?” he asked. “What kids?”

  And then (because Damien found it impossible to keep his long, pointy nose out of his own business) he pushed up the manhole cover ever so slightly and peeked out.

  There was a parade coming his way.

  A parade of kids and goats and chickens and dogs, led by his three moronic minions. And the Brothers and kids were all singing at the top of their lungs.

  About underwear.

  And nose picking!

  Like a simmering pot of sinister stew, Damien spittered and spattered and sputtered under the manhole cover. “You blockheads!” He screeched into the communicator. “What are you doing?”

  Now, it had been a long time since the Bandito Brothers had been shown any sort of love, let alone appreciation for a musical performance. So Tito and Angelo (and even Pablo, in his gypsy girl outfit) were eating up the attention.

  It reminded them of the parties they used to play in their mariachi days.

  The fun they used to have.

  So (for once) Angelo didn’t apologize or grovel. Instead, he said, “Lighten up, boss! We’ll get the job done!” and went on singing about nose picking and underwear.

  Well! Damien might have flown into another frothy fury, but as the parade approached, it occurred to him that (preposterous as it was) this might work out. After all, who would stop them if all the children in Gypsy Town were singing and dancing and laughing while the vardo heist was going on? People would assume it was just a friendly frolic. An innocent game. An after-school amusement.

  Yes, come to think of it, this tricky tactic would work even better!

  (It was, to Damien’s warped way of thinking, his genius that made it so. He was the one who had instructed the Brothers to be lighthearted and casual. He was the one who had written the merry tune [ruined as it was]. And he was the one who had dressed them in a way that made the whole parade possible!)

  “Repeat after me,” Damien hissed into the communicator. “We’ve come to take the white-eyed one…”

  “We’ve come to take the white-eyed one!” Angelo announced with a grand wave in the air.

  “To the great Romany healer!”

  “To the great Romany healer!”

  “He will be transformed!” Damien hissed.

  “He will be transformed!” Angelo repeated (in an accidentally hissy way).

  “Of all those who seek healing, he has been chosen!”

  “Of all those who seek healing,” Angelo said grandly, “he has been chosen!”

  Then Damien whispered, “Now. Have Pablo keep him inside—”

  “Now!” Angelo announced. “Have Pab—”

  “NO, YOU IDIOT!” Damien snapped.

  “NO, YOU—” Angelo suddenly caught on and whispered, “Right, right—sorry, boss.”

  Damien took a deep, angry breath through his long, pointy nose. “You’re almost there. Just follow the plan. Contain the blind man, connect the wagon, and move out as fast as you can.”

  “We’re on it, boss!”

  And with that, the Bandito Gypsies and their joyful entourage clomped right over the manhole cover and made their final left turn, onto Moongaze Court.

  Chapter 24

  BUZZY BEE POWER

  Meanwhile, in a secluded clearing outside Damien’s mansion, Dave was learning to fly.

  Or, at least, wobble in the air.

  He’d discovered that flying required a running start and a leap into the air, and that once you were airborne, concentrating on going up (or down) and leaning (left or right) controlled the elevation and direction.

  However, after the initial rush of being airborne, Dave quickly became frustrated because, try as he might, he was most definitely not darting, or diving, or zooming through space.

  And he could only get about five feet off the ground.

  “What am I doing wrong?” Dave wailed.

  Sticky shook his little gecko head and said, “It’s a Buzzy Bee, señor, not a fierce falcon.”

  “Meaning?”

  Sticky gave a little shrug. “This is how a buzzy bee flies?”

  Now, it’s a well-known fact that when someone makes a beeline, they move lickety-split and get there quick. And although honeybees have been clocked at up to twenty-two miles per hour, bumblebees can only do about ten (and that’s when they’re in a hurry).

  Normally, bumblebees are not in a hurry.

  Normally, they’re hovering around like fuzzy-tummied zeppelins, taking a pinch of pollen here and a nip of nectar there.

  Normally, t
hey look like they could very easily fall right out of the sky.

  “Are you kidding me?” Dave cried. “This is it?”

  “I know that evil hombre liked flying, but I never saw him do it.” Sticky shrugged again. “Maybe flap your arms?”

  “Flap my arms? I’ve got to flap?”

  “I don’t know, señor. I’m just saying, maybe you could try?”

  So Dave (feeling totally and terminally ridiculous) flapped.

  Things did not improve.

  “Maybe it just takes time to learn?” Sticky suggested when Dave stopped flapping.

  Dave wobbled around in the air a bit longer, willing himself to go higher. Faster. But nothing changed. “I could go faster on my bike!” he said at last.

  “This is true, señor.”

  “My whole life, I’ve dreamt about flying…but not like this!”

  “You’ll get better at it, señor. But, uh, right now shouldn’t we be getting down to help the potion man?”

  “Like this?” Dave asked.

  “Hmm,” Sticky said, tapping his chin with a finger. “It might be zippier to take the bike.”

  Dave landed awkwardly and removed the Flying ingot. “No kidding,” he grumbled.

  So Dave and Sticky relied on old-fashioned pedal power to leave Raven Ridge. But right before they reached the Moongaze Boulevard turnoff, Dave hid his bike behind some shrubs along Jackaroo Avenue and said, “I have an idea.”

  “Does it use Flying?”

  Dave clicked an ingot into the powerband. “First it uses Wall-Walker.”

  “See?” Sticky said with a very satisfied look. “Gecko Power is asombroso!”

  Dave gave him a little smile and then got down to business. “The potion guy lives in a circus trailer in the middle of Gypsy Town. You have to go left, left, left about a hundred times to find it. I’m thinking if I go diagonal, I can sneak up to it quick and see what’s going on. If anything.”

  “Oh, something’s going on, señor,” Sticky said sagely.

  So Dave entered Gypsy Town, zippy-toed up the side of one house, traversed the roof (diagonally), and switched to the Flying ingot. Then he took a running jump (and a leap of faith) from the rooftop and flew like a bony-bodied bumblebee to a neighboring rooftop, where he landed, ran (diagonally) across, and then flew to the next rooftop.