The Seeking Serum

by Frank L. Cole

  Mezzarix’s servants returned to report how they had searched the corridors but hadn’t been able to find Carlisle anywhere. Maybe Carlisle had gotten away, or maybe the old man had vanished, just like his mother.

  The news of Carlisle’s vanishing troubled Gordy, and then he caught a whiff of something strange in the air. Though nearly masked by the countless other smells saturating the room, Gordy detected the faintest scent of black cohosh. The feathery herb had a fetid, bitter tang to it, like raw sewage.

  Black cohosh, otherwise known as snakeroot, was the primary ingredient in Blotching potions. That meant the object placing the Atramenti under Mezzarix’s control was in the atrium, and it was close by.

  “Show me where you looked,” Mezzarix commanded. Taking the flask with him, he followed the servants back toward the corridor. “Keep your hands on my grandson,” he ordered the remaining Atramenti, “but don’t bruise him. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Once Mezzarix had left, the Atramenti remained silent, hopelessly entranced. They paid Gordy no attention as he frantically scanned the room, sniffing the air. Gordy smelled passionflower and ant pheromones, tungsten shavings, and sulphured molasses. All the scents mixed together in his nostrils, distorting the air like heat waves.

  Gordy saw an opal-colored container resting on the stone table in the center of the room and knew he had found the Tainted object. That bowl was the source of their Blotching. If he could somehow get to it and snap the spell with a disruption potion, he could set the Atramenti free. But without his satchel, he’d need something else—some kind of distraction.

  Luckily, Gordy’s best friend was somewhat known for his legendary distractions.

  A sudden shattering from across the atrium, followed by liquid hissing as it struck the floor, caused all eyes in the room to whip around.

  Gordy grinned to see Maxwell Pinkerman ripping the Vessel free from the glass tubing and hefting it off the table.

  Max nearly tripped, but Adilene and Sasha steadied him from behind. A variety of cauldrons and mixing utensils—copper spoons and pewter ladles—clattered to the floor. The Vessel still had the pressurized lid on it, which was good, otherwise the potion would have ended up everywhere.

  “Zombie horde!” Max screamed, stumbling away from the table as the Atramenti sucked in a collective breath and took off after him. “Zombie horde!”

  Max took off for one of the openings. Sasha’s eyes widened, and she followed after him. Then, as some of the Atramenti drew closer, she started pummeling them with . . . with . . .

  What on earth? Gordy wondered in disbelief.

  Sasha’s hands had turned into medicine balls, and she walloped an old woman in the chest, sending her sprawling. Gordy couldn’t figure out what potion she had ingested to make her hands so solid, but that wasn’t important. The Atramenti were too old to be bashed around, and it wasn’t their fault anyway.

  “Don’t hurt them!” Gordy called out quickly. “They can’t help themselves!”

  Rolling her eyes, Sasha held back from slugging another assailant, opting instead to knock more of Mezzarix’s diffusing equipment onto the floor.

  “Well, come on!” Sasha shouted. “We’re getting out of here!”

  Adilene ducked as a man with a crooked back made a grab for her. Narrowly avoiding capture, she ran across the room, sliding on the floor and up next to Gordy.

  “Where is your grandfather?” Adilene asked breathlessly.

  But Gordy barely heard the question. His thoughts were elsewhere. Max had the Vessel, which meant he had stalled the Dissolvement Draught. If he and Adilene ran after Max and Sasha to the beach, they might even make it off the island without getting caught. There was a chance that with his mom’s help and other members of B.R.E.W., they could restore what had been destroyed.

  But Mezzarix would still be free. He would find Carlisle’s stash of Silt, and with the Atramenti at his disposal, he would eventually attack again.

  Scrambling to his feet, Gordy snatched up the Decocting Wand and handed it to Adilene. “Careful,” he warned. “It doesn’t work against Mezzarix.”

  “Why not?” she asked, staring down at the rod, which hummed with energy.

  Gordy grabbed his satchel and pulled out a handful of vials on his way to the stone table. Some of the Atramenti had turned back, hobbling toward them with a distant but determined gleam in their eyes. They were like a zombie horde, and Gordy’s arm hair stood on end. With no time to brew a proper potion, Gordy had to improvise, but that had always been what he did best.

  Careful not to touch any part of the Tainted object, Gordy uncorked vials and poured both a Fire Rocket and a Dunka Draught directly onto the bowl. He shielded his eyes as the volatile potions immediately ignited into flame in the opal bowl. The corrosive smells of black cohosh, tungsten, and burning molasses filled the room, and as the bowl melted into a molten puddle, the throng of Atramenti, including the ones closing in on Gordy and Adilene, came to an abrupt stop.

  Gazing around the atrium in a stupor, some of the Atramenti mumbled incoherently to each other. Their trance broken, they dispersed, wandering away in different directions.

  Gordy heard footsteps from the corridor as the door burst open and Mezzarix emerged. Though slightly annoyed, his grandfather appeared unfazed. He called out for his servants to return, but they paid him no attention. Still Mezzarix smiled, until his focus fell upon the table and the missing centerpiece.

  He gave an aggravated sigh. “That Dissolvement Draught took me a week and a half to concoct. Why do you insist on causing me grief?”

  Stepping in front of Adilene, Gordy fished a Torpor Tonic from his satchel and heaved it toward Mezzarix. The bottle struck him directly in the thigh, the aquamarine liquid dousing his tuxedo. But instead of toppling to the floor, unconscious, the Scourge of Nations merely looked down at his damp clothing and sneered.

  “I could train you how to resist Torpor Tonics,” he said, stepping forward. “It takes practice and tight-jawed determination, but you could learn. I have so many secrets I could share with you.”

  Gordy fired a Vintreet Trap next.

  Vines enveloped his grandfather, constricting like coiling pythons around his chest. But within seconds the vibrant-green vines withered, disintegrating like ash.

  “Those too.” Mezzarix brushed away the flakes of crumpled vines from his sleeves. “And Dunka Draughts and Fire Rockets and Booming Balls and Ragaszto Ragouts. I’ve spent my years in captivity developing an immunity to a plethora of standard concoctions, and my access to the Vessel these precious few weeks has enhanced my abilities. Unless you’ve stashed away a Mangle potion deep within your satchel—something I highly doubt—there’s nothing you can throw at me that will—”

  Gordy struck Mezzarix with another potion, but this time his grandfather stumbled back a step, blinking in surprise as he found himself suddenly encased in glass.

  “That’s a new one,” Gordy said. “It’s called the Aladdiner.” At least until he could think of a better name.

  Max’s screams rose up from outside as he came charging back up the stairs, still holding the Vessel, though it was tipped precariously to one side. “Birds!” he gasped, his face shiny with sweat. “The whole beach is covered in birds. And some lunatic has captured Sasha!”

  The sky turned black behind Max as Gordy and Adilene ran to him, relieving him of the Vessel. The potion sloshed beneath the lid, but the Vessel seemed to still be filled to the brim, giving Gordy hope.

  Wind began to thrash against the building as a flock of fifty warbling pigeons careened into the room. They swarmed clumsily, hovering above Gordy’s head, and then dove all at once, striking with sharp beaks. All three friends hit the deck, covering their heads as the pigeons swooped away and regrouped near the ceiling, readying for a second pass.

  When they attacked again, Gordy tossed an Ice Ball i
nto the center of the swarm. Almost all the pigeons dropped to the ground, encapsulated in a block of blue ice.

  “Impressive,” Mezzarix called out from within his bottle. “You are full of tricks, aren’t you? Just like a Rook.” He rapped on the glass with his knuckles. “I like this one, Gordy. It feels poetic. As though you consider me an explosive potion worthy of bottling.”

  Slipping his hand into his pocket, Mezzarix pulled out a tiny ampoule of opaque liquid and poured the contents down his throat. Slender, bladelike claws began to grow from his fingertips. Gordy watched in horror as his grandfather tapped the glass and then cut through the side of the bottle with his sharpened fingers.

  “What else can you show me?” Stepping through the hole, Mezzarix dragged a Wolverine-like claw through his thick hair.

  Gordy checked the contents of his satchel. He had six or seven other concoctions ready to go. Ones that could cause Mezzarix to violently throw up or sink into the floor. Gordy had Blind Batched a potion that could make a target sprout an enormous beaver tail, though he hadn’t tested it out yet. But he feared none of them would truly work. His grandfather always seemed to be several steps ahead.

  The atrium filled with the cawing of more birds, much bigger ones than the pigeons, by the sound of them. The blackened sky seemed to bulge and billow overhead, the beginnings of a funnel cloud peeking out from a gaping eye in the clouds. Ravian McFarland was having too much fun.

  Looking at Max and Adilene, Gordy made a decision. “I need you to distract him.” He plopped his satchel in Max’s arms and patted him on the shoulder.

  “Who?” Max gaped down at the leather bag in shock.

  “Mezzarix.”

  “With what?”

  “Anything you want.” Gordy unzipped the inside pockets where more bottles clinked together. “Take your pick. Go nuts.”

  One corner of Max’s mouth poked up in a half smile. He looked both terrified and delighted.

  “How can I help?” Adilene asked.

  Gordy pried the lid from the Vessel, revealing the lustrous liquid swirling within. “Just make sure Mezzarix stays occupied and Max doesn’t get killed.” He swallowed. “And . . . um . . . try not to freak out.”

  “Freak out?” Adilene sucked in a breath as Gordy plunged his hands into the Vessel and his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

  The potion shivered beneath his touch, recoiling as though threatened by an intruder’s presence. Gordy could feel it shifting to the sides of the chalice, trying to avoid his fingers. After a moment, it surged back, lashing out with a stinging sensation that traveled through Gordy’s fingertips. He could feel a hundred different ingredients eddying up beneath his skin. Antarctic dragon-skin ice. Purwaceng milk. Edelweiss flower. Black rhinoceros tongue. He tasted wolf-spider venom and foxglove seeds. Countless other ingredients without names and scents swirled about in a liquid that alternated between scorching heat and subzero temperatures.

  When Gordy thought he could handle no more, something warm and soft pressed against him. His eyesight cleared, and he glanced down to see Adilene’s hand squeezing his forearm. She still held the Decocting Wand in her free hand, but she had never left his side.

  “What can I do?” Adilene whispered. How could she sound so calm when the island seemed to be primed to explode?

  Gordy saw more pelicans and cranes circling above. Their beaks looked capable of skewering any one of them. Ravian McFarland stood on the stairs, shouting commands into the rising steam from a golden cauldron. Max was desperately trying to evade a flock of storks, flinging bottle after bottle over his shoulder. A Torpor Tonic shattered against the lead bird; it crashed headlong into a wall, and Max’s Vintreet Trap tied up the rest of the birds in a net. He was surprisingly accurate with his tossing when he wasn’t looking. He also seemed to have grown a beaver tail at some point during the battle.

  Mezzarix, stuck halfway in the floor from a Trapper Keeper potion, sliced at the marble with his razor claws, trying to get closer to Gordy.

  Withdrawing his hands from the chalice, Gordy took the Decocting Wand from Adilene. Fingers soaked with the primordial goop of the Vessel, he could feel the wand pulsing as though alive.

  Mezzarix managed to break free from the floor, and he clambered out of the hole.

  Max had another potion ready to toss, but the Scourge of Nations struck first, smashing a tube of salmon-colored cream at Max’s feet. A gargantuan chewing-gum bubble formed around Max. It lifted him off the ground and sent him flying to the top of the marbled ceiling.

  Mezzarix immediately poured the contents of another bottle into his opened palms. Rubbing his hands together, he slathered the liquid over his elongated fingers.

  The screeching birds fell silent. They bolted through the entryways with the sound of flapping wings.

  Mezzarix shot his hand upward, and a bolt of lightning struck the domed ceiling, shattering the marble into huge chunks that crashed against the floor. Ravian’s own storm dimmed as the electricity from Mezzarix’s lightning gathered into a glowing orb. His potion-coated hand began to shimmer as the lightning illuminated his face, his eyes wide with fury.

  “Enough!” Mezzarix bellowed. He whirled on Gordy. “Bonus points for effort, my boy, but this has got to stop. I don’t wish ill on any of you, especially my own grandson, but you will surrender the Vessel to me at once, or I shall not stay my hand!”

  Gordy gaped at his grandfather, watching the ball of lightning pulsing above his fingertips.

  Ravian dropped his cauldron, the contents spilling on the floor, and limped to Mezzarix’s side, his left leg dragging behind him.

  “What happened to you?” Mezzarix asked, hardly sounding concerned.

  “Could’ve warned me about the Brexil brat’s metal hands, you know?” Ravian grimaced.

  “Where is she now?” Mezzarix asked.

  “Neck-deep in sand,” Ravian replied, picking at his teeth with his thumbnail. “And I do believe the tide is coming in.”

  “This will not end well for your friends,” Mezzarix said to Gordy. “It is up to you how this plays out.”

  Bowing his head in defeat, Gordy gazed down upon the Decocting Wand. The glowing tip had gone dark and no longer hummed with energy. “Just come and take it from me,” he muttered.

  “What was that?” Ravian held a hand up to his ear.

  “You heard me.” Gordy’s eyes burned with tears.

  “We can’t give it to him,” Adilene whispered.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Gordy said. “They won’t stop. Max and Sasha—we have to think about them too.”

  Max, still encased in his bubble, hovered near the ceiling as his balloon drifted toward the hole in the roof. Should it reach the opening, Gordy feared his friend might float away. And somewhere down on the beach, Sasha was buried in the sand. Gordy didn’t know how much time she had left before the waves drowned her, but he couldn’t risk waiting any longer.

  Raising it up by its base, Gordy held the Vessel toward his grandfather. “Take it.”

  The lightning continued to radiate energy from Mezzarix’s fingers. It swirled and sparked, primed to launch across the room upon his command. Then he lowered his hand, the lightning sparking out, and nodded at Ravian.

  Ravian looked reluctant to comply. “If he hurts my good leg . . .”

  “He won’t,” Mezzarix insisted. “Bring it to me, and we will put an end to this.”

  Ravian’s eyes darted everywhere, watching for a surprise attack, as he moved closer to Gordy and Adilene. He reached out for the Vessel. Gordy didn’t fight it and allowed Ravian to take it.

  “Well, that seemed anticlimactic, didn’t it?” Ravian chuckled as he cautiously backed away. He raised the Vessel, and Mezzarix took hold of the handles.

  “This was not a defeat, Gordy,” Mezzarix said. “More like a test. And you passed brilliantly.�
�� He nodded at Ravian. “Bring down Max and then rescue that poor girl from the beach.”

  But Ravian wasn’t listening. The feathery-haired McFarland stared at his fingers, eyes widening. His chest began to heave great breaths of air as though he might collapse from a heart attack.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Mezzarix demanded. But then his expression contorted into one of shock. He gasped for air, letting go of the Vessel, as the color drained from his face. The metal chalice thudded against the floor, but the potion remained within, not a single drop spilling over the edge.

  Looking desperately at Gordy, Mezzarix shook his head as his grandson rose unsteadily to his feet and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

  “This cannot be,” Mezzarix said. “It cannot!”

  Of all the terrible things Gordy had ever witnessed, this was the worst. He had dreaded this moment but knew it was the only way to save the world from chaos, to save it from an evil so great as Mezzarix. But it didn’t make it any easier to do.

  “I’m sorry, Grandpa,” Gordy sniffled, gazing upon the man once known as the Scourge of Nations. “But you’ve been ExSponged.”

  Roseanne’s thunderous cries filled the air as she banked west, turbines revving to full strength. The island of the Atramenti had vanished the moment the gargantuan flying machine cleared the treetops. Now, only dark ocean shimmering in the moonlight stirred beneath her.

  Gordy sat on the floor next to his friends while Bolter fussed over the controls. No one spoke, not even Max. For once, Gordy’s best friend appeared to understand the gravity of what had happened, at least for the time being. Even Bolter had hardly said a word to anyone after his impressive landing on the beach. Gordy wasn’t sure if he was still discombobulated from having eaten an entire jar of Tainted mayonnaise, or maybe he was just in awe from the presence of the Vessel cradled in Gordy’s lap.

  A believer from the beginning, Bolter had often said that Gordy would one day do great things. Still, defeating Mezzarix and rescuing the Vessel was a tall order for anyone to digest. Even for someone as faithful as Bolter.