Max responded by grabbing the vine. “Just don’t let go.”
“What about Mezzarix?” Gordy caught Priss by the arm.
“You saw somebody else. Your grandfather is in Greenland,” she said through gritted teeth. “He’s been banished.”
“And yet here I stand.”
They turned to see Mezzarix standing in the doorway, looking mostly how Gordy remembered him when they had met nine months ago—an unruly mane of gray hair, a black tuxedo, gnarled bare feet—but there was something distinctly different about his appearance. Mezzarix looked older and frail, his lips were white, and dark circles shadowed his eyes.
“Hello, grandson.” He winked at Gordy, his voice strained and quavering. “You’ve grown.”
Priss caught her breath, flinching in astonishment. “You can’t . . .” she started, but then she stopped and hurled a bottle at her father.
Bluish liquid splattered over Mezzarix’s body. The potion should have sent him crashing to the floor, stiff as a board, but he remained standing, blinking away the liquid as though it had been nothing more than colored water. Then he gasped, clutching his stomach in pain. But that wasn’t a result of Priss’s potion. He was obviously feeling something else.
“Good to see you too,” Mezzarix wheezed. “Torpor Tonic antidotes are easier to brew when I’m not trapped in my cave.”
Priss dug in her bag and withdrew a Spinnerak Net, like the one she had used against Walsh. But instead of throwing it, she held out the bottle as a warning. “Stay back from us!” she wailed, her chest heaving.
“I’m not going to hurt my family,” Mezzarix said, sweat dripping from his ragged face. “You know I live by that rule. But this is quite a mess we find ourselves in. Do you know where they’ve hidden it?”
Priss’s eyes flashed toward Gordy. “Go! Now!”
Holding the vine, Gordy climbed onto the windowsill and tested his weight against the slack. The desk moved another few inches but seemed to hold. With his eyes glued to his grandfather, Gordy stepped out through the melted window. Down below, on the lawn, amid the scores of battling Elixirists, good and bad, Gordy saw another familiar face emerge.
For the first time since Gordy had met Bolter, the man was wearing his goggles properly over his eyes. Bolter waved his fingerless hands at Gordy, motioning for him to hurry down.
Mezzarix leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb, puckering his lips to one side. “You’re liable to seriously injure yourself, Gordy. Your aunt is choosing poorly on your behalf.”
“Eat snot, you old turkey!” Max yelled.
Mezzarix scowled and raised an eyebrow at Max. “And you are?”
“None of your beeswax.” Max grabbed the next section of vine. “You coming?” he asked Priss.
The appearance of her father had seemed to rattle Priss to the core. “You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into,” she muttered. “This new Chamber President is not like the ones in the past.”
“I hear she’s vicious.” Mezzarix licked his lips, clamping his eyes shut for a moment.
Priss’s eyes narrowed. “She ExSponges her prisoners. She’s already passed judgment on dozens of people she’s captured. Esmeralda Faustus. Cuffington Polark. That Willows fellow from Conrad. They’ve all suffered her wrath. You will too.”
Mezzarix stepped into the room and produced a bauble of black potion. “Enough of this charade. I need to have a word with my grandson. I need his help, and you’re going to get those boys killed.”
Gordy tried to move as fast as he could down the vine ladder, but he knew that Mezzarix would be upon them in no time. He looked to his aunt for direction, but her shoulders sagged, and she released a labored breath. As Mezzarix’s bottle hurtled through the air toward her, Priss yelled something out the window to Bolter and slashed the knife through the vine, sending the two boys falling to the ground below.
Gordy hit the ground and bounced. He took in a gasping gulp of air, but it hadn’t been a bone-breaking fall. He had expected to at least have the wind knocked out of him. Two floors down from that window was easily twenty feet, but from what he could tell, neither he nor Max had sustained any injuries.
Max bellowed, “She cut the vine on purpose! Your crazy aunt just tried to kill us!”
“No, she didn’t.” Gordy directed Max’s attention down. “Look!”
They had hit the ground, but the grass, mulch, and a corner of the sidewalk had been changed into a springy surface, much like that of a trampoline.
“Ha! How was that?” Bolter exclaimed, rushing over to help them off the unusual wedge of ground. “Jondy Finau’s a genius. That’s his batch, you know. He calls it a Ke’oki Cordial. It’s Hawaiian. Priss didn’t give me much of a warning though. I almost overshot my throw. Up we go!”
Gordy was having trouble processing Bolter’s words, but he more or less caught the gist of it. Following Priss’s command, Bolter had thrown a potion that had prevented Gordy and Max from splattering on the ground. None of the rest of the conversation mattered.
Max grumbled as he checked his arms and knees for scrapes. “I could have whiplash,” he said, massaging his neck. “I feel a kink.”
Bolter giggled. “Such a funny boy, Maxwell. You should be a comedian.”
Bodies of the unconscious lay everywhere, most of which were draped in security guard uniforms. They were still breathing, but no one moved.
“Should we help them?” Gordy asked, though he didn’t know what they could do for either the fallen Elixirists or the guards.
“There’s no time for that,” Bolter said, his focus glued to the shattered wall that had once been the main entryway into B.R.E.W. Bits of drywall and wood rained down from above. “I’ve been given specific instructions from your mother to ferry you two boys to safety, and that’s what I intend to do. There’s a warrant out for Gordy’s arrest, I’m afraid.”
“Yeah, we heard,” Max grunted. “Tell us something we don’t know.”
“Okay.” Bolter blinked. “Slovakian Bulva Torts can make you permanently cross-eyed,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Max threw his arms up in exasperation. “I was joking.”
“What about Aunt Priss?” Gordy asked. “She’s still up there.”
“Yeah, and that cookie crisp of a woman—Zelda?” Max added.
“They can handle themselves.” Bolter dug in his satchel. “Believe me. Most of the Scourges you see lying about here are the result of Priss’s masterful skill. And I’m almost disappointed that the building hasn’t caught on fire yet, what with Zelda on the warpath.”
“Mezzarix is up there,” Gordy said. The words sounded strange on his lips. Mezzarix. Not Grandpa.
“Yes, and Mezzarix is up there— Wait . . . what?” Bolter dropped his satchel. “The Mezzarix? As in your grandfather, Mezzarix Rook?”
“And he’s cornered Priss.” Gordy nodded toward the second-floor window. The melted glass had left long streaks on the side of the building.
There was an awful cracking sound, followed by an explosion of colored light, orange and neon greens. Then the eastern wing of B.R.E.W. Headquarters dropped an entire level. Smoke billowed out from shattered windows, blotting out the sky. Gordy shielded his eyes and then hurtled himself toward the building.
“Aunt Priss!” he shouted. She and Mezzarix had been on the second floor just moments before the collapse.
Bolter grabbed Gordy, flinging his arms around his chest and holding him back. “There’s nothing that can be done! You’ll just get yourself killed running in there now.” Bolter puffed out his cheeks and forced air through his lips with a whistle. “I’m sure Priss will be fine. Like I said before, she can handle herself, trust me. This way.”
Gordy didn’t want to leave her, but like Bolter said, he knew she could handle herself. It was his grandfat
her who had him worried. Mezzarix was old and feeble and currently looked to be in a state of excruciating pain. Gordy fought against Bolter’s arms, trying to run back to the building.
“You will only be helping the Scourges by getting yourself caught right now,” Bolter said, his voice even and somber. “And I made a promise to your mom to get you out. Don’t make me drag you.”
“Come on, man, we’ve got to go!” Max pleaded.
Gordy’s resistance fizzled, and he nodded. What other choice did he have?
Creeping low to the ground, Bolter beckoned Gordy and Max to follow him. “We just have to get to—”
Sinister laughter cut him off midsentence as a group of two men and two women, clutching an assortment of frothy vials, surrounded the three of them. More Scourges. Ones that Priss had failed to incapacitate. Gordy had never seen such unusual criminals. Under different circumstances, Esmeralda Faustus might have been a pleasant woman to be around, and at least Yeltzin had cared somewhat about personal hygiene. These four had ratted hair clumped with mud and rags for clothing. What rock had they crawled out from under?
“You’re on the wrong side, sir,” said a gnarly woman with blackened teeth and a patch covering her left eye. “We’ll be taking that one with us.” She pointed a curled, gunk-filled fingernail at Gordy.
“Blast these cave people!” Max demanded. “Hit them with something!”
Bolter tsked. “Unfortunately, I didn’t come prepared with enough potions to battle any Scourges today. My job was search-and-rescue only.”
Max’s lower lip curled down in a pout. He looked at Gordy for help, but Gordy didn’t know what to do. He had no potions in his pockets, and he had no shoes, which made running away a problem.
“However . . .” Bolter wiggled his nose and cleared his throat. “I did come prepared with Estelle.”
Like a megaphoned trumpet blaring a single, earsplitting note, the orange Buick suddenly screamed onto the lawn, sending a spray of grass, dirt, and rocks from all four tires. Estelle performed an impressive donut, shattering several more windows on the first floor of B.R.E.W. with an onslaught of debris, and then she circled the Scourges, engine growling, horn blaring like a siren. All four of the dark Elixirists dropped to the ground, cowering in the wake of the car’s violent majesty.
Gordy pumped his fist in the air, victorious. He never thought he would live to see the day when he actually wanted to hitch a ride in Estelle.
“Impeccable timing, as always,” Bolter proclaimed over the roaring automobile. “Fasten seat belts and . . . here, put these in.” He tossed Gordy and Max each a pair of earplugs.
“What are these for?” Max asked.
“Um . . .” Bolter winced. “You’ll see.”
He swung the driver’s-side door open, and pure nauseating noise vomited out. Like an amplified symphony of giant grasshoppers, the sound issuing from inside Estelle’s cab made the Scourges lying on the ground wriggle in agony.
Gordy couldn’t get his earplugs inserted quickly enough. Instant dizziness almost overtook him. Max ended up on his knees, tears pouring from his clamped-shut eyes, as he fumbled the spongy plugs in his pudgy fingers. Bolter appeared unfazed by the buffeting sound as he took up position behind the steering wheel and fastened his seat belt.
“Hurry up and get in!” Bolter shouted.
Gordy didn’t actually hear the words, but he could read Bolter’s lips. Fighting the sensation to pass out, Gordy grabbed Max’s arm and helped him into the car.
“What’s wrong with Estelle?” Gordy screamed once they were inside, the earplugs only slightly dulling the noise.
Bolter waved a hand by his ear and then snapped open the glove compartment before handing the two boys an Auditory Tablet. The pill would allow the three of them to carry on a conversation without having to raise their voices and despite the wild noise filling the car.
“I said, what’s wrong with Estelle?” Gordy repeated after having swallowed the tablet. The effect instantly quieted the car’s racket, though he could still hear the noises carrying on in the background.
“I don’t know,” Bolter said. “I was working on her earlier today when this happened. And now I can’t get it to stop.”
“Is it the radio?” Max still had both hands cupping his ears.
“Could be.” Bolter shrugged. “But it could also be an endless array of other possibilities. This car is no longer what you would call a standard-issue automobile, if you know what I mean.”
Just then, the engine revved, and the gearshift plunked from park into drive all on its own.
Bolter blinked. “I’ll figure it out eventually. Just a hiccup.”
The female Scourge with the eye patch sprung up from the ground, wobbling as she fought off the disorienting racket of the Buick. She succeeded in stabilizing her balance and pitched a potion at Estelle.
Gordy ducked as the glass vial shattered and splashed murky liquid across the hood. Two other Scourges also launched their weapons with surprising accuracy. Bolter gritted his teeth, cowering in anticipation of what might happen, but in response to the attack, Estelle only accelerated and plowed through a square of perimeter fence, leaving the grounds of B.R.E.W.
“Ah, well then,” Bolter said, relaxing. “My ol’ girl weathered that onslaught better than expected.”
Gordy wasn’t so sure. Flaring his nostrils, he inhaled the fumes of the various tinctures seeping through Estelle’s hood and onto the engine. He sensed snakeroot and belladonna, but also a faint smidgeon of barium. Gordy glanced sidelong at Bolter, who stroked the steering wheel lovingly, the car purring in response.
Over the next few minutes, Estelle negotiated the busy streets while Bolter rummaged around in his satchel, never once glancing up to see the road they traveled upon. Gordy, on the other hand, was watching the road, cringing as drivers sped off to either side like matadors as Estelle bulled her way through.
“We’re going the wrong way,” he said, taking note of their northerly direction. “My house is back there.”
“As will be the police and B.R.E.W.’s Lead Investigators—not to mention an army of Scourges, eventually,” Bolter said. “No, my boy, that would be the wrong way. Your father and siblings are with Wanda driving north as we speak. They’ve packed some essentials and will meet us near the border.”
“Border?” Max blurted out. “Of Canada?”
Bolter’s head perked up from his rummaging, and he squinted at Max. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would we go there?”
Estelle took flight through an intersection. Two of her hubcaps dislodged and spiraled through the air, careening off the hood of a poor, unsuspecting minivan.
Gordy flinched. “Then where?”
“To the only place B.R.E.W. doesn’t have any jurisdiction. To the Swigs, of course,” Bolter said. “It’s the only safe place to go, now that you’re a member of a wanted family.”
Max groaned and smeared his cheeks with his splayed fingers. “Why isn’t any of this making sense?”
Bolter responded with a cackle.
The Swigs. They were heading to one of the most dangerous places in the country.
One hundred miles north of B.R.E.W., the excruciating symphony coming from Estelle came to a sudden stop.
Gordy opened his eyes. He had been trying to doze in the passenger seat, plugs still wedged in his ears. The effects of the Auditory Tablet had worn off half an hour earlier, ending any chance of a conversation, but sleep had been an impossibility with the persistent noise. Gordy looked at Bolter, who was also blinking open his eyes and lowering his feet from the dashboard. Bolter jiggled his right earplug free and looked around. Estelle tutted along a winding back road, flanked on either side by a heavily wooded forest.
Max bolted up from sleeping. He gasped and slapped at the air as though fighting an invisible foe. “What happened? Where are w
e?”
“It would seem we’re close to Cheerbick, which would make that Harcourt Lake.” Bolter gestured out the window to the large dark-green lake spreading out like a massive mirror. “Beautiful.”
“How come your car’s no longer blasting my ears off?” Max asked.
“’Tis a mystery, that’s for certain, but what a pleasant surprise!” Bolter exclaimed.
Just then, Estelle’s hood ejected. The square sheet of metal catapulted end over end like a gigantic Frisbee, glinting in the setting sunlight, as three tentacles uncoiled from around the engine.
Gordy and Max screamed.
Grasping the steering wheel, Bolter slammed both feet down on the brake pedal, but Estelle wouldn’t respond. As the lower half of an enormous octopus struck violently against the windshield, the Buick suddenly veered off the road, slashing through trees and underbrush without any sign of stopping.
“We’re going to have to evacuate!” Bolter shouted.
One of the tentacles, more than a foot in circumference, reared back and penetrated the glass. Gordy shielded his eyes as shards rained down upon him. The tentacle slapped around, trying to find something to grip with its suction-cup feelers.
“This has been the worst day of my life!” Max shouted.
“Out! Get out!” Bolter swatted the tentacle with a rolled-up automotive magazine over and over, but it simply snatched the periodical like an elephant’s trunk and tossed it out the window.
Max tried to yank open the car door, but the latch wouldn’t budge. “Do something! Hit it with a potion!”
Bolter blinked at Max for a second and then wrenched open his satchel in search of a weapon. Estelle, never slowing, continued her maddening descent through the trees, somehow managing to miss any massive trunks that would’ve ripped the Buick in half.
Gordy pulled open the glove compartment, but only an owner’s manual and a tire gauge dropped out. For being an Elixirist’s car, Bolter certainly hadn’t equipped it with anything useful.
Estelle’s radio kicked on again, screeching. Gordy clamped his hands over his ears, earplugs all but useless, trying to drown out the hideous sound, as another grotesque tentacle, smelling of brine and fish, punched a second hole through the windshield and latched onto the top of Bolter’s head.
The Transparency Tonic Page 18
