The Transparency Tonic

by Frank L. Cole

  “That’s right,” Gordy said. “Do you want to know what your worst mistake was?” Esmeralda didn’t answer. “You should’ve never brought me to your hideout.” Gordy suddenly stood up. The bindings trapping him to the chair fluttered to the floor like discarded snakeskins.

  Burke growled and reached for the boy, but before he could lay his hands upon him, Gordy doused him in the face with an orange syrup from a plastic pipette. Then Burke started spinning. He resembled a ballerina at first, whirling, twirling, hands daintily raised above his head, but then the spinning transformed into a cyclone, and the dead pile of mosquitoes were sucked up into the human tornado. Burke retched, and all around him, the others stared in horror as his body blurred and his feet rose from the ground, taking flight. He crashed through the brick wall like a rogue top sent on its destructive path. Mercifully, the spinning halted abruptly, but Burke could do nothing but lie on the floor, covered in insect carcasses, and groan.

  Bawdry swatted a clawed finger at Gordy, but the boy dispatched him with a blue bauble of frosty liquid. The mummy froze in place, enveloped in a thick layer of ice.

  “Ice ball!” Bawdry screamed. The whole scene had taken on a familiar tone.

  Priscilla Rook and Zelda Morphata suddenly appeared in the doorway, flinging vials in every direction. It took less than thirty seconds to subdue everyone in the room. The rabble of Scourges lay in heaps of vines and spiderwebs. Only Bawdry seemed capable of talking, ice covering all but his gnarled lips.

  “Oh, how I hate you, Gordy!” Bawdry hissed in Esmeralda’s voice.

  “You see, that was your second mistake,” Gordy said, clasping a vial of tonic in one hand, as he circled the room. “You keep calling me Gordy.” Then the effects of the Disfarcar Gel finally wore off, and Wanda Stitser stood in the room.

  The real Gordy Stitser was several miles away, standing in the family lab. Bolter had picked him up early from school, long before Yeltzin and Burke had even arrived.

  Irene the guinea pig squawked in discomfort and leaped from the counter onto the back of the swivel chair, a distance of about two feet. Gordy swallowed in surprise, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as the rodent chattered angrily, and several polka-dotted feathers started sprouting from its pale pink skin.

  “That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Gordy muttered, craning his neck to look over Adilene’s shoulder at the recipe.

  Adilene worriedly gnawed her thumbnail. “I didn’t think so, but I wasn’t sure because you said there might be a mild explosion.” Adilene’s tone grew anxious. “Are those feathers? ¡Ay ay ay! Why are there feathers? She’s not hurt, is she?”

  Gordy crinkled his eyebrows. “They’re not real feathers.” At least, he hoped they weren’t real. His lips moved silently as he read off the ingredients.

  1 pint of alpaca milk poured into a cobalt cauldron on low heat.

  2 sprigs ginseng ground into powder and sprinkled haphazardly into mixture.

  1 acorn cap placed upside down in cauldron so it resembles a storm-swept boat caught at sea.

  Heat to a sweltering boil, then remove while imagining a set of toothless gums grinning in an elderly person’s mouth.

  Amber Wick lit for 3 seconds then blown out into the cauldron.

  The potion wasn’t a difficult one to perform; Gordy had mixed the recipe at least a dozen times before.

  Adilene gasped. “There are seventeen feathers!” Her voice lowered to an excited whisper. “I think they’re still growing!”

  A knock pounded against the laboratory door. “Why did you lock it?” Max’s muffled voice sounded from the other side. “I was coming back. I just had to go to the bathroom.” He jiggled the knob and then bumped his shoulder against the sturdy oak door. The door didn’t budge, and Gordy heard Max grunt in pain.

  “Hold on for a second,” Gordy said. “I’ll let you in as soon as I figure out what happened.”

  “What do you mean what happened?” Max asked. “What did I miss?”

  Adilene’s eyes glistened in the glow of the dimly lit Bunsen burner. “Will she always look like that?”

  The disgruntled guinea pig snorted and then attacked a cluster of feathers on her shoulder. They looked pretty real to Gordy, which could be a big problem.

  Max thudded against the door again. “Come on! Open up. I don’t like standing out here in the hallway all by myself. I keep remembering when Bawdry was walking around your old house. Creeps me out.”

  Adilene frowned. “All I wanted was for Irene to stop biting everyone. She thinks everything’s a carrot, but it’s not worth it if she has feathers! You need to fix her.”

  “I will,” Gordy insisted.

  It was supposed to be a mild form of Peruvian Dentadura Draught, which kept teething babies from biting. If performed correctly, the mixture would turn silver and smooth. Gordy peered down at the agitated coppery concoction. At some point while brewing, he must have added something else. Something not part of the original recipe.

  Gordy opened the door, and Max tramped in. “What did you make?” He grabbed for the cobalt cauldron.

  Adilene slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch anything! Gordy needs everything in order to reverse what he’s done.”

  Max caught sight of Irene and instantly doubled over with laughter, his freckled face turning maroon. “She looks like a mix between a parrot and Coach Garabaldi!”

  “How do we fix it?” Adilene whispered.

  “We can’t,” Gordy said, trying to ignore Max’s guffaws. Adilene squealed in despair, but Gordy held up a hand to calm her. “I meant we can’t make Dentadura Draught out of this mixture, but I think I can reverse the effects.”

  He immediately went to work, bringing the contents to a boil and grabbing a tube with a rubber bauble at one end. It always reminded him of a turkey baster.

  “Can we talk about tomorrow night?” Max sat with one fist crammed under his chin, balancing on a teal-colored exercise ball.

  Gordy remained at the workstation but offered Max a sideways glance. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he said. “I’m not going.”

  “Why wouldn’t you go?” Adilene asked. “Sasha’s a Dram, right? And it’s a potion-making party. I’d want to go. I’ve seen the houses on Harper Hood Lane. They’re so beautiful.”

  “I don’t trust Sasha yet,” Gordy said. “Plus, her dad’s the principal.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Max said. “You’re going, and so am I.”

  Gordy sighed. “You weren’t invited, so you won’t be able to come. Sasha’s home will be filled with so many protective wards, the moment you try to enter her house without permission, you’ll wake up miles away without a clue how you got there.”

  Max chuckled. “That would be awesome.”

  At precisely the right moment, Gordy sprinkled in several graphite-colored flakes from a container marked “Cannonball Lead.” He had seen his mom do this before on a number of occasions, and just as he had hoped, the potion slowed its tumbling motion, coppery bubbles filling with air but refusing to pop. He turned down the heat from the Bunsen burner, and the mixture began to steam. Gordy directed the oscillating fan toward the cauldron, and the low flow of air sent the wispy fumes out of harm’s way. He then placed the end of the turkey baster on top of the gloppy potion and gently squeezed the bauble, filling the tube with the extracted fluid.

  “Irene,” he whispered, holding out his hand as if he were a doctor asking for a scalpel. Adilene carefully placed the agitated guinea pig into his palm. As Gordy pressed the tube to her back, Irene produced a tittering sound and then went as still as a statue, her black eyes narrowing. Adilene clenched her hands into fists, and out of the corner of his eye, Gordy could see Max’s face stretching into a gleeful, almost hopeful, smile.

  When he finished, Gordy removed the baster and stepped back. One by one, each of Irene’s seventeen fe
athers dissolved and vanished. As her color changed back to normal, the guinea pig promptly charged across the table and bit Max’s thumb.

  “Stupid rat!” Max shouted.

  From downstairs the garage door opened, followed by several voices talking in the kitchen. They were carrying on about something, and though Gordy couldn’t make out the conversation, they sounded as though they were having a riotous time. Silverware clattered on the counter, and Gordy heard the sound of several chairs scooching across the hardwood floors.

  “Is your mom having a dinner party?” Adilene whispered, cradling Irene close to her chest.

  “Did she invite over some of her”—Max’s eyes grew large—“Elixirist friends?” He started for the exit, but Gordy snagged his arm and pulled him back.

  “Let me check it out first.” Gordy opened the lab door and stuck his head through the opening, listening.

  There had been a few instances in the past when Gordy’s mom had invited guests over for dinner, but it wasn’t a common event. The group downstairs suddenly erupted with laughter. Gordy heard the buttons of the microwave beep, the refrigerator door open and close, and then what sounded like a jar full of marbles being dropped on the floor.

  “What in the world?” Gordy stepped into the hallway and pulled the door to the lab closed.

  As he tiptoed toward the stairs, he heard a floorboard squeak behind him and felt his heart leap into his throat. Before he could turn around to face the intruder, a hand clamped over his mouth.

  “Don’t scream,” a familiar voice instructed him. The intruder released Gordy, and his shoulders relaxed.

  Standing behind him was Gordy’s Aunt Priss. He blinked once, just to make sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him, and then hugged her. Aunt Priss squeezed him back.

  “I fooled you good this time, didn’t I?” she asked.

  “I thought Esmeralda had come back to finish us off,” he admitted, his heart still beating at a rapid rate.

  Aunt Priss clicked her tongue. “Well, she definitely tried.”

  “What do you mean ‘tried’?” Gordy had meant it as a joke. “What are you doing here?” He was thrilled to see Priss—she’d been away for several months—but the mystery of her sudden appearance made him suspicious. “Where have you been?”

  “On a secret mission.” She smiled and whipped a sharp glare at the door leading into the Stitsers’ lab. “I’ve told your mother at least a hundred times, a potion laboratory has no business above ground. There are too many ways for things to go wrong up here.”

  “It’s not that bad. And I like being so close.” Gordy’s own bedroom was at the end of the hall. In their previous home, the Stitsers had brewed all of their potions downstairs. Most ingredients preferred the cold, damp temperatures often found within the confines of a basement.

  “There’s a window in there, is there not?” Priss probed.

  “Yeah, but Mom boarded it up.”

  “Just give the whole army of Scourges access to your potion inventory, why don’t you?” Her words might have come across as venomous had Aunt Priss not softened their impact with her most pleasant smile. “Oh, Gordy, I’m not mad at you, of course. Though Wanda needs to listen—to you especially now that you’ve proven your worth in the Community. There are still dangers out there.”

  “Something bad happened, didn’t it?” Gordy asked.

  Priss straightened. “Hush now. I’m not at liberty to discuss business while prying ears listen in.” Her eyes flashed back to the door, where the muffled sound of a whispered argument carried on between Max and Adilene.

  “You can come out now, guys,” Gordy said.

  The door dragged against the carpet, and Adilene’s timid face appeared in the opening. “Hello, Ms. Rook,” she said. “How are things?”

  “Not well, if you insist on calling me by my dead mother’s name,” Priss responded.

  Max squeezed passed Adilene and into the hallway. “What’s up, Aunt Priss? What’s all this talk about secret missions? You can tell me, you know. I’m practically a member of B.R.E.W.”

  Aunt Priss’s nose twitched, and she winked at Gordy. “Well, I am not a member of B.R.E.W. Therefore, my mission doesn’t pertain to them or, unfortunately, to you. Now, don’t the two of you have somewhere to go? Gordy and I need to chat before his mother gets home from her meeting.”

  “Gets back?” Max smirked. “Isn’t she already downstairs?”

  “Yeah, with all those people?” Gordy added.

  Priss narrowed her eyes in confusion. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “All your friends.” Gordy nodded toward the stairs.

  She lowered her head and strained to listen. “What friends?”

  “Those . . .” Gordy paused, frowning. The sounds from downstairs—the voices and the heavy footfalls on the kitchen floor—had mysteriously vanished. An eerie silence had filled the house.

  Aunt Priss lightly pinched Gordy’s cheek. From the satchel dangling below her shoulder, she pulled out a glass jar filled with a substance that looked like strawberry jam.

  “It’s my new Cacophonous Compound,” she said, pursing her lips and grunting as she twisted off the red lid.

  All at once the sounds returned, echoing downstairs. The sudden noise forced Gordy to cover his ears in surprise, as once again the slew of voices began clambering over each other, though never quite forming any coherent words. Gordy could hear the distinct sloshing of a dishwasher, as well as what might have been the hiss of an air compressor and who knew what other appliances whirring to life.

  Priss’s eyes twinkled, and she suppressed a giggle as she glanced at Gordy, Max, and Adilene before returning the lid to the container, which immediately silenced the commotion.

  Gordy gawked at the jar in awe. “That’s my new favorite potion.”

  “Mine too!” Priss agreed. “It’s the perfect way to cause just enough distraction to sneak by enemies unnoticed. Took me weeks to perfect the recipe.”

  “Have you had to sneak by a lot of enemies lately?” Gordy asked.

  She curled her lip and glanced away. “Perhaps.”

  “May I?” Gordy held out his hand, and Aunt Priss plopped the jam jar into his palm.

  “Don’t I always come bearing gifts?” she asked. “Though, I recommend you let it settle for a good hour or so. I have found that after opening the jar a few times, it agitates the mixture to a level that can make the sounds a tad inappropriate. I’d hate for your mom to come home to hear a profanity-laced tirade in her kitchen.”

  Max rubbed his hands together and grinned mischievously at Gordy. “You have to bring that to school on Monday!”

  Gordy sat at the kitchen table, a bowl of chips and salsa lying between him and Aunt Priss. Max and Adilene had gone home for the afternoon, and Priss had just filled Gordy in on the successful raid that had taken down Yeltzin and his gang.

  “I can’t believe Bawdry’s still around,” Gordy said. He felt severely let down for not being involved. “So, is he buried now?” What could you do with the mummified remains of a dead king once they were no longer being used as a proxy body?

  “Not exactly,” Aunt Priss answered. “Your Ice Ball potion worked a little too well. Not only did it freeze Bawdry, but it temporarily trapped Esmeralda inside. Your mother thought it best to turn everything over to B.R.E.W. That’s where Wanda’s at now.”

  Gordy shook his head in disbelief. “How did you know Esmeralda and Yeltzin were going to try to kidnap me?”

  “We’ll get to that,” she said. “But first, we don’t have much time before your mother comes home and our cover’s blown. What do you have to offer me?”

  Gordy cocked his head and shrugged. Offer her? He didn’t know she was expecting payment.

  “Oh, come on, don’t play daft! You know what I’m talking about. As much as I enjoy a good salsa,
I have better things to do with my time.” She slapped the table, and Gordy shrunk in his seat, still confused. “I gave you a brand-new jar of Cacophonous Compound. Don’t tell me you didn’t make a single potion while I’ve been gone all these months. I granted you permission to concoct, and I want to trade!”

  The light went on in Gordy’s brain, and he bolted up the stairs. After tearing into his closet where he stored the good stuff, he raced back to the kitchen with a carton of clinking vials.

  When they had finished trading, Gordy had another new potion for his collection to go along with Aunt Priss’s Cacophonous Compound.

  “It’s not to be carried in your satchel,” Priss explained. “This is a special potion with a special container. It’s to be worn.” She handed him a thin-banded silver ring.

  “Worn?” Gordy looked confused. He didn’t think he was cool enough to pull off wearing jewelry at school, but he changed his tune when Priss described how the potion worked. When the Sloop Solution was dropped directly into a body of water, the ring transformed into a malleable syrup that expanded and solidified into a durable surfboard. The Sloop could then be used as a small raft for a short period of time. Gordy didn’t have a clue when he would ever need such a potion, but he nevertheless slipped the ring onto his pinkie finger. And though it would take some getting used to, the ring seemed hardly noticeable.

  “What if I get it wet, like in the shower?” Gordy asked. He could just imagine suddenly being ejected from the bathtub by a spongy piece of board.

  “As long as it stays on your finger, the ring remains intact,” Aunt Priss said. She held up the potion Gordy had exchanged with her. “This—what did you call it?—Trapper Keeper? I’m not so sure why you call it that.”

  “I don’t really like the name either, but Max came up with it.”

  “I figured as much. You say it will make actual quicksand?” She held the glass container close to the kitchen chandelier, examining the vibrant purple liquid in the light.

  Gordy nodded enthusiastically. “Fast-moving quicksand. Your target has less than a second before they sink and then the ground becomes solid around them.”