Seven steps. Five ingredients. Just as Sasha had promised. If it worked, the potion would end up being rose-colored and glisten with a metallic shimmer.
“Here goes nothing,” Adilene muttered, rubbing her fingers together.
The first three steps only took Adilene ten minutes to complete. Dicing the fennel proved tricky, but her triangles ended up geometrically sound, like tiny pyramids waiting to be dunked into the cauldron. Step four took longer. Adilene struggled to keep a steady beat in her mind. She kept rereading Sasha’s comment on daydreaming about Gordy, and her rhythm broke every time.
Why did she have to put that in the notes? Adilene didn’t daydream about Gordy. Grinding her teeth, she tried to concentrate. After another couple of minutes of scraping, the potion became as thick as maple syrup.
She dropped in the aluminum foil and the flower petals and then lit the Amber Wick, letting it burn for exactly six seconds. Blowing it out, she began to count silently to one hundred and fifty, not even moving her lips. Her excitement grew as she sped through the numbers, watching the potion settling in the pot. Would the mixture actually do what Sasha said it would? Would it melt metal? And if so, would this prove to everyone that Adilene was indeed a Dram?
Though dark outside save for the reddish glow of the camping stove beneath the cooking pot, Adilene still noticed a shadow pass over her workstation. Cold air gathered around her as the crunching of footsteps arose a few feet away from the porch. Hastily stopping her count at one hundred and thirty-six, Adilene looked up, blinking away the light. Blobs of unfocused darkness clouded her vision, but when they dispersed, she saw a figure standing in front of her.
Adilene screamed as the figure lunged for her, the pot of what might have become a batch of Moholi Mixture overturning. Of course, that no longer mattered because a skeletal hand clamped over her mouth. Adilene’s heartbeat throbbed in her ears, and her stomach churned, forcing her dinner back up into her throat.
This couldn’t be happening. How could there be a skeleton in her backyard? Because that’s what it was, or at least what it looked like. Felt like. Maybe the potion she had been brewing had unleashed some sort of mind-altering vapor. Was she hallucinating? No, this vision had definite substance. The creature’s knobby legs pinned her to the ground. Adilene desperately tried to claw her way backward, but the skeleton held firm. Its clammy fingers pressed against her lips.
She braced herself, waiting for the creature to strike, but it only stared back at her, never speaking or hissing or doing whatever skeletons did right before they attacked. The skeleton held up a skinless finger, and Adilene squealed, the sound muffled beneath the pressure of its palm. The thin finger tapped against its mouth, as if telling her to keep quiet. Then it removed its hand from her mouth.
Adilene opened her mouth to scream for help but stopped short. There was something about the skeleton’s eyes. They were nothing but . . . no, wait! They weren’t actually eyes at all. There weren’t even sockets where the eyes should have been. Instead of a nose hole and chattering teeth, the skeleton had a crudely drawn face on a head made from a large, egg-shaped stone.
“You’re Doll, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice shaking.
The skeleton nodded.
“Are you going to hurt me?”
Doll shook his head, a random joint making a hollow-sounding pop.
“Then can you get off me, please?” Adilene felt her courage returning.
Doll scanned the ground at his knees, his shoulders noticeably slumping. Then he climbed off and sidestepped a few feet away. Adilene stood up and brushed the dirt from her jeans. She saw the coagulating mess of goop on the ground and moaned in disappointment.
Another cool breeze licked at her skin, and she hugged her arms. “Look, I have to go inside. If my parents see you . . .” Adilene puffed out her cheeks and laughed nervously. “So maybe you could tell me what you want and then leave.” The sooner the better, she thought to herself.
Doll’s face creeped her out. Adilene dropped her gaze and stared at his chest. When she realized she could see the outline of her tire swing in the gap between his ribs, she glanced away entirely, but not before seeing Doll reach for something over his shoulder. She flinched, fearing it was a weapon, but then Doll grasped the object in his hand and offered it to Adilene.
“Is that for me?” Adilene asked. The object looked like a stick, or maybe a tent spike, the pointed end glowing with a soft light.
Doll nodded.
“What is it?” She approached Doll, and he gently dropped the stick into her hands.
The edge of a piece of paper tied with string around the object crinkled in the breeze. Instructions, maybe, or perhaps a message. But from whom? The symbols etched into the wood suddenly grew warm, energy radiating from the item.
Adilene untied the thread fastening the message to the wooden rod. Quite a bit had been penned upon the musty paper with long, flowing strokes, but she couldn’t read it. Not in the dark, and certainly not with her crummy eyesight. However, as she squinted, straining to decipher anything, she did manage to make out three words.
My Dearest Gordy,
This gift wasn’t for her. It was meant for Gordy! “So, what am I supposed to . . .” Adilene’s words hung in the air.
Doll no longer stood in front of her. The skeleton had moved halfway across the lawn, his bony feet crackling as he lumbered away.
“Hey, wait!” she called out, but he never looked back, and before she could muster up the courage to race after him, he was gone.
“Crazy, creepy . . . monster,” Adilene muttered. Though relieved to be rid of the skeleton, she was puzzled by the creature’s strange gift.
Adilene gazed down at the overturned cauldron, the potion seeping into the soil. She looked inside the bowl, noting that a decent amount of the liquid remained. Using a spoon, Adilene carefully extracted the syrupy substance and poured it into an empty test tube. Wedging a piece of cork into the opening, she held the vial next to Sasha’s actual dose of perfectly brewed Moholi Mixture.
The two potions looked nothing alike. Sasha’s was pink with a metallic sheen; Adilene’s was auburn-colored and gave off absolutely no sparkle. Adilene had wanted so badly to succeed. Maybe Gordy could help her work out the kinks. Cushioning the test tube in soft cloth, Adilene slipped her potion into her front pocket and checked the time on her phone. It was way past her bedtime, and if her parents found out where she was, Adilene would be grounded for sure.
She sighed heavily. Adilene doubted Doll’s late-night visit could mean anything good for her—and certainly not for Gordy.
The fragrant scents of cranberry bushes permeated the air as Estelle pulled onto Maddux Avenue. Gordy kept his head down, trying his best to look inconspicuous, though the neighborhood seemed empty and quiet.
“Good girl.” Gordy patted the console. “Pull up over there.”
After swooshing up the driveway, Estelle skidded to a halt on the edge of the Pinkermans’ backyard. The engine died to a soft putter, and Gordy climbed down from the seat. Then Estelle started purring again. At least that’s what the hum sounded like. The cushion trembled as Estelle nestled up next to Gordy’s leg, digging a handlebar sharply into his thigh. Gordy winced but patted her affectionately, and after about a dozen vibrations, the purring stopped.
“I need you to stay out here and lie low.” Gordy’s eyes darted to Max’s bedroom window. Estelle’s single headlight dimmed slightly, and the handlebars tilted at an angle. As he started to walk away, her front tire clipped his heels, nearly tripping him.
“No, Estelle. Wait. Here.” Gordy jabbed his finger at the driveway. The handlebars tilted to the opposite angle as though she were confused. “Do you understand what I’m saying? Stay outside and keep an eye out for enemies. Please!”
The headlight suddenly brightened, and Estelle’s handlebars swiveled from left t
o right as though searching for danger.
“Exactly!” Gordy nodded. He didn’t dare pet her in case it caused another purring eruption.
Estelle reversed into the shadows beneath the Pinkermans’ massive pine tree and dimmed her headlight.
Crouching beneath Max’s window, Gordy opened his satchel. The Pinkermans owned a really dumb dog named Corn Chip; Max had named her, of course. Once Corn Chip started barking, it was nearly impossible to shut her up, so knocking on the front door was out of the question.
Gordy uncorked a caramel-colored vial of Certe Syrup and drizzled the liquid along the windowsill. The wood produced a pop as wisps of steam rose from the crack. He opened the window with hardly any effort and hoisted his body up, dropping catlike through the opening with a muted thud.
Max lounged in his pajamas in a black leather gaming chair facing the television in the corner of his room. A flurry of images flashed across the screen, but the only sound was the wild clacking of Max’s fingers on his controller.
“Take cover in that bush and wait for me,” Max hissed into his gaming headset. “You’re going to get us all killed!”
The images on the television were of armed soldiers stalking the perimeter of a building. Max’s video game handle, Stinkerman0909, was displayed above his character.
“That’s how it’s done, son!” Max whooped, pumping a jubilant fist in the air. “Oh, yeah, you think you can hide over there in those boxes? Not!” His character tossed a grenade into the corner of an underground parking lot, and the boxes exploded.
Gordy knew Max’s bedtime was ten o’clock during the school year and eleven on the weekends. Max’s bedside alarm clock displayed the current time of 1:15 a.m. There was no way his mom would’ve permitted him to be playing video games this far past midnight.
Carefully approaching Max from the rear, Gordy scanned the room in search of Corn Chip. With no sign of the dog, he reached out and tapped Max on the shoulder.
Max flew out of his chair, screaming. His headphones pulled free from the gaming console, and the blaring sounds of machine-gun fire filled the room. Several cans of soda dropped from the television stand, covering the floor with dark liquid. Gordy covered his ears. The volume on the game had been turned all the way up. Corn Chip attacked from outside Max’s door, barking like a shrieking banshee.
Still screaming, Max spun around, eyes wide as dinner plates.
“Whoa, calm down! Max, it’s me.” Gordy tried to keep his voice at a whisper, but there wasn’t any need. His plan to avoid waking Max’s parents had failed spectacularly.
Grabbing the television remote from a puddle of soda on the floor, Max muted the cacophony of sound. “Gordy? What the heck, man?” He puffed out his cheeks and collapsed back into his chair. “Do you even realize how close I came to choking you out?”
Gordy shrugged apologetically. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Yeah, well, how did you get past Corn Chip? She hates you.” Max glanced at the door. Corn Chip’s shrieking barks had quieted, but Gordy could still see the tips of her paws tearing at the carpet beneath the door.
“I came through your window.” Gordy pointed to the smoke still hanging in the air around the opening.
Max’s alarmed expression turned to curiosity. “Potion?”
“Certe Syrup,” Gordy answered. “Popped the window free from the latch.”
“Wicked.” He nodded, scratching the edge of one of his nostrils. “Stupid name, but effective. And you came here tonight because . . .”
“I needed a place to stay,” Gordy started to explain. “And I was hoping that . . . Hey, where are your parents?” He realized that aside from Corn Chip snuffling beyond the door, the rest of the house was silent. The eruption most certainly would have woken them, but neither Max’s mom or dad had charged into the bedroom demanding an explanation.
“Gone,” Max answered casually. “Their marriage counselor suggested they take a trip to work out some of their differences.” He made air quotes with his fingers. “They headed out yesterday afternoon. My mom wants to do a couples’ massage, but I’m pretty sure my dad bought tickets to the Twisted Sister concert in Bixby. Anyway, they won’t be back until tomorrow night.” Max rubbed his hands together. “This is perfect, dude! We’re going to have the most epic sleepover ever! First things first, we’re going to need a crowbar and some safety goggles. My dad locked down the kitchen before he left, and my snack stash is getting dangerously low.”
Max’s father was a locksmith by trade and loved junk food as much as his son did. If he didn’t secure the pantry after bedtime, Max would sneak out and hoard cupcakes and sugary treats all night. An enormous bag of potato chips lay crumpled next to Max’s chair, and discarded candy-bar wrappers littered the floor. How his best friend had managed to live this long without weighing a thousand pounds was a miracle.
“You can use my beanbag chair. I’m sorry if it smells like sardines.” Max snagged an extra game controller from the television stand and offered it to Gordy. “These losers I keep getting paired up with have no finesse when it comes to dominating in battle.”
“Max, I can’t play this,” Gordy said, staring down at the sticky controller.
“Sure you can. You know the drill. Just stay hidden until I need you to flank someone, and make sure you feed me all your heavy ammo.”
Gordy placed the controller on Max’s bed. “You don’t understand. I didn’t come here for a sleepover. I was attacked.”
The air seemed to fizzle out of Max’s lungs. “What do you mean ‘attacked’?”
It took awhile for Gordy to bring Max up to speed on everything that had happened. The meeting in the Swigs with Yosuke while his mom met with the leader of the Stained Squad. The showdown with the mud people at Tobias’s farmhouse. Knowing how Max felt about bugs, he opted to leave out the part about the giant centipede.
He wasn’t sure how Max was handling all the information. Throughout the story, his best friend hardly made more than a grunt and never asked any questions. Max rarely had the ability to keep quiet, so his strange silence was worrisome.
“Do you see why we can’t play games right now?” Gordy asked, warily studying Max’s impassive expression. “We need to be on our guard, just in case.”
It took a moment for the words to elicit a response. Then spit blubbered from Max’s lips as he blew an exasperated raspberry. “Just in case of what?”
“I don’t know. Just in case someone shows up.”
“Here?” Max’s eyes widened in panic. “Were you followed?”
Gordy retreated a step. “I don’t think so.” He felt confident he had escaped the Scourges, but there was a possibility one might have followed him.
“Have you lost your mind?” Max bellowed. “Of all the nights to get yourself mixed up with the nutters, you choose tonight? My parents are gone! We don’t own a weapon, unless you count my mom’s glue gun.” He dragged his fingers down his face, stretching his lower eyelids until all Gordy could see were the whites of his eyes.
“It’s going to be all right. I mean, we’re probably fine. I just need to use your phone.”
“My phone?” Max blinked. “Check under the . . .” He sputtered, his face turning pale as he pointed at the window. “What is that?”
Gordy followed his finger and reared back, shielding his eyes as the whole room filled with light.
“We’re under attack!” Max shouted.
Gordy realized what he was seeing. A glass bulb. Handlebars. A silver-and-orange metal console. “That’s Estelle,” he explained. “She’s, uh . . . she’s my ride.”
Max backed into the wall so abruptly that one of his two participation medals from little league soccer dislodged from its hooks and jangled to the floor. “What do you mean ‘she’? Who’s driving that thing?”
Estelle must have been leaning up on her back
wheel in order to peer through the window. The headlight blinked, the light flicking on and off in a feverish pattern, almost like Morse code.
“What is it, girl?” Gordy asked, approaching the window.
“Dude.” Max covered his eyes with his palm. “You’ve finally snapped.”
“I hear voices,” Gordy whispered.
“Yeah, you hear voices,” Max agreed.
“No, actual voices,” Gordy explained. “Estelle, get down! Lights off!”
The scooter instantly dimmed her headlight and vanished from the opening. Gordy heard the soft whir of her tires as she zipped to the backyard and out of sight.
“How are you doing that?” Max asked. “Is it like artificial intelligence?”
“Be quiet!” Gordy hissed.
Max clamped his mouth shut, and the two of them strained to listen. Someone was approaching the driveway, and Gordy could hear the low grumble of discussion. The voices grew louder, closer, until he could make out some of their argument.
“That’s not my problem,” one of the voices said. She sounded annoyed and wasn’t trying to keep her voice low.
Max scrunched his face up and mouthed “Sasha.”
“What’s she doing here?” Gordy asked. The Brexils lived out on Harper Hood Lane, which was pretty far from Max’s home.
“But it almost worked,” the other voice said. “I brewed everything as the recipe said, but then I was interrupted. I just need more ingredients. I’ll pay for them!”
That was Adilene, which meant something was definitely wrong. Sasha may have been a rule breaker, but not Adilene. If her parents instituted a curfew, she followed it precisely.
“Again, not my problem,” Sasha replied. “I never said you brewed the potion incorrectly. On the contrary, you’re the type of person who would never miss a step. But like I’ve said a million times before, it doesn’t matter. You’re not a Dram, and you never will be.”
The Seeking Serum Page 11
