Josh and the Magic Vial (10 page)

Ian clamped his teeth shut. He couldn't afford a spat with the Conk just then. Things were too strained. Conky had fired a warning shot across Ian's bow already that day — Adele wasn't safe. That was the message that had been delivered earlier. That's what Conky had meant by “How's your sister?”

“I'm on my way,” Ian said, feigning affability.

The line went dead.

He could feel the screws turning tighter, and tighter. Fight or run, that's where things were headed. He'd seen it all before. Fight — which meant taking on the whole Street Level mob; or run — which meant trying to hide out from them, when they were prowling every street and alley in the neighbourhood. Conky would turn the screws until Ian couldn't stand it any more. That's the way it worked.

Were they already onto him? Ian didn't think so. He'd only told Millie Epp about Endorathlil's strange little theft the day before, not enough time for her to have told the kid, and the kid to have confronted Endorathlil, and Endorathlil to have figured out who had tipped the kid off. Ian figured he had at least one more day.

16

D
arkness had gathered in the corners of the lane by the time Ian arrived at Endorathlil's. It pooled behind dumpsters and under stairs, it lurked in doorways and windows. It was long past closing time, so he didn't even bother going to the front of the shop. Instead he rapped at the stockroom door.

He was uneasy. Where was everyone? If they were having a meeting, like Conky said, the back door should have been open and there should have been bikes parked all over the place — unless it was a private meeting between just him, Conky and Endorathlil. That might turn nasty, but Ian was pretty sure he could handle himself. He wouldn't be letting Endorathlil lull him into any kind of trance; as for Conky, now might be as good a time as any to settle their score, if it came to that.

The shuffle of Endorathlil's feet approached, a bolt shot open, then the door swung inward. “Master Lytle!” she cried, as if his coming had been a surprise. “I'm so glad you could join us. Enter! Enter!”

“Where is everyone?” he hesitated.

“Oh!” she looked astonished. “Didn't Conky tell you? This is a special meeting between just the three of us — an opportunity to sort things out. There's been altogether too much tension in the air lately, don't you think?”

He eyed her warily, and then peered past her into the stockroom.

“Come, come,” she admonished. “This is no way to begin our peace talks.”

Ian hesitated a second longer. Endorathlil's invitation was probably a trap. But if he refused to play along, he would alarm the old witch, and endanger Adele. He needed to get his sister safely away. One more day, that was all he needed, then he could join the game in earnest. Cautiously, Ian entered Lil's.

Conky sat at a wobbly, old kitchen table just inside the door.

“Hi Lytle,” he grinned.

Nodding, Ian sat in a chair opposite.

“Glad you could make it,” Conky said, barely concealing his sarcasm.

They waited while Endorathlil locked the door then joined them. “Now isn't this cozy,” she wheezed, taking a seat at the table. “I'm sure we shall be able to resolve any outstanding issues between us with a good, old-fashioned chin wag, eh?”

“I think we're wasting time,” Conky sneered.

“Conky!” Endorathlil reprimanded. “You mustn't jump to conclusions. Patience, please. After all, there may be a perfectly good explanation for what happened this afternoon, and Ian probably had nothing to do with it.”

The room lurched, a sudden faintness overwhelming Ian. He steadied himself, though, trying not to show any signs of shock.

“What happened this afternoon?” he asked.

“Well,” Endorathlil hesitated. “We had a visit from our friend Josh Dempster. Now, I think it was just coincidence, but Conky, he thinks someone must have told Master Dempster a few things because the lad knew all about the blood, hair, and fingernail parings that we borrowed.”

Ian said nothing, staring from Endorathlil, to Conky, then back again.

She continued. “I said,‘Don't be silly, Conky. Our Ian wouldn't betray our trust.'But you know what Conky's like. He gets an idea in his head and it's very hard to dislodge. Now tell him: it wasn't you who informed Master Dempster about the blood and clippings, was it?”

Shaking his head, Ian said no, which — strictly speaking — was true.

“There, you see,” Endorathlil tutted. “I told you Conky.”

The leader of the Street Level Gang scowled.

“What!” the witch cried. “Still not satisfied? You are a hard one to convince, Conky McDougal,” she sighed. “Is it because there were only three of us in the room — only three who knew what happened to Master Dempster while he was unconscious? Is that what makes you suspicious?”

Ian crouched forward, balling his fists in his lap. He would go for Conky first, disable him if he could, then ward off Endorathlil if he had to. Trying for the back door would be hopeless, unless he could buy some time. Endorathlil had locked it. Conky would be on him before he could get it opened. He still might have the element of surprise though. Conky was
too
cocky. He thought Ian wouldn't dare strike first. The leader of the Street Level Gang wanted to tease his prey the same way a cat would toy with a mouse.

“Now!” Ian's instincts told him. “Now!”

Endorathlil droned on about how she had lost something precious, because someone must have told the Dempster kid about her twisted little ceremony.

“There will be others,” Ian figured. They wouldn't have set their trap without planting some heavies inside the shop. Still, if he acted first, he might be able to elude them, or to kick, punch, and claw his way to the front door and through the glass. Or! Suddenly a plan came to him. A desperate, last ditch kind of plan, but . . .

Now!
he panted.

“We've had to take precautions,” Endorathlil was saying.

“Just in case it
was
you . . . ”

Ian gathered all his strength, crouching on the edge of his seat. Suddenly, he uncoiled like a powerful spring, lunging forward, hooking the edge of the table in his arms, and ramming it into Conky. The fearless leader of the Street Level Gang didn't have time for anything other than a startled look and a surprised “Awk!” as he went under. Ian then tipped the table and tumbled it toward the passageway into the shop.

“Get him! Get him!” Endorathlil shrieked.

Twisting round, Ian made for the door.
Home! Adele! Hide!
A staccato of thoughts punctuated his swift movements. His fingers were on the knob, he'd twisted open the deadbolt . . .

A fist crashed into his neck, sending him reeling sideways. Ian spun in time to avoid a second blow and to grab Conky by the throat. No escape. There would be no escape. Squeezing as hard as he could, he uncoiled again, forcing Conky backwards and down. For an instant he savoured the panic in Conky's eyes. He squeezed even harder. “I'll kill you,” he growled.

Then the melee he had anticipated struck full force. Someone grabbed his hair and pulled him back. A fist connected with his cheek, a boot with his ribs. Still, he choked Conky McDougal, funneled all his strength into his strangling grip. “Kill you!” he yelled. Then a shattering blow knocked him over and the world slewed into slow motion.

The last thing he heard was Endorathlil screeching at his assailants. “Stop!” she hollered. “Stop! We need him alive, you fools!”

But Conky's thugs were in no mood to listen.

17

T
his is the dumbest stunt you've ever pulled,” Millie groaned.

Josh moped. She was right, of course. When was Millie Epp ever
not right
? Still, he didn't feel an ounce of regret. “I didn't steal it,” he reminded himself. “I rescued it.”

Having discovered some of the vial's properties, he was more convinced than ever that he had been right to take it. “I'm not going to give it back, if that's what you're thinking,” he said, sounding more defiant than he'd intended.

“You won't have to,” Millie shot back, shaking with anger. “Because they'll come and get it. Did you ever think of
that
?”

The two of them were perched on the railing on opposite sides of his postage stamp balcony. North, across False Creek, the office towers of Vancouver glittered. The leaves of the big, old chestnut tree on Tenth Avenue rattled in the evening breeze, cars whisked by anonymously. Everything seemed normal, but somehow changed.

“It's stealing, Josh,” Millie insisted.

Through her he heard his mother and father — and perhaps all the mothers and fathers that had ever been. “Two wrongs don't make a right, son.” Or, “If you don't respect other people's rights, how can you expect them to respect yours?” Or, “You can't take the law into your own hands.” Millie could have been their ambassador. Maybe he shouldn't have called her. There were some things Millie just couldn't deal with.

“This is different,” he argued.

“How?”

“I can't explain it Mil. I know it sounds crazy, but I need this vial to save myself from Endorathlil.”

“Um, I'm sorry but that
does
sound crazy Josh.”

He dangled the vial between them, pinching it by the neck.

“Put it away!” Millie hissed. “What if somebody sees?”

“Look at it Mil. I want to prove to you I'm not nuts.”

“Josh!” she pleaded.

“Look!”

Rolling her eyes, Millie forced herself to obey. In the gathering dusk the vial pulsed with colour. Greens, reds, blues, swirled round, a minute storm inside the glass. Transfixed, Millie stared.

“Should I give you back to Endorathlil?” Josh asked.

Millie glanced at him, frowning. He gestured toward the vial.

“Watch.”

At first nothing happened, then the spectrum of light whirling within began to shift farther and farther toward the red. After a few seconds, it glowed like a stoplight in Josh's palm.

“Red means no,” Josh interpreted.

Dumbfounded, Millie stared with her mouth opened, but her tongue paralyzed.

“It knows what we're saying,” Josh explained. “I figured it out by accident, really. I was talking to myself, and whenever I asked a question, it seemed to change colours: red for ‘no'; green for ‘yes'; yellow for ‘I don't know'.”

“It's responding to the heat in your hand,” Millie sniffed.

“It's a chemical reaction. You might be able to market it as a lie detector.”

Josh laughed. He hadn't thought of that.

“Let's test your theory,” he said, placing the vial on the railing and stepping back.

“Should I open you up?” he inquired.

In a flash the bottle changed colour from red, to yellow, then to green.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Millie jeered.

“‘Yes, but be careful.' That's why it stopped at yellow for a second.”

Agitated, Millie hopped down from her rail. She wanted to pace, but couldn't in the tight enclosure. Instead she shifted her weight from one foot to another, staring at him. “How did you do that?” she demanded.

Josh shrugged. He didn't know. “You ask it something, Mil,” he suggested.

“This is crazy,” she exploded. “I don't want to ask a stupid, old bottle any questions.” Like a squirrel in a cage, she shifted back and forth. “How can you expect me to believe this, Josh? It's got to be a trick.”

“It's no trick Millie.” he assured her.

“It's got to be!” she shouted, glaring at him and at the vial. “And I'm going to kill you when I find out how it works. This isn't funny.”

“I'm not laughing,” he wailed. “I'm trying to get you to believe the truth, Millie, because I need
someone
to believe me.”

Her eyes turned three shades darker, from pale to emerald green, and her wild mop of hair seemed to double in size. “Step away from the vial,” she ordered.

“Jeez, Mil, you sound like a New York cop.”

She gave him a look that said he would have been dead if she'd had a Colt 45 in her hands. “Just move,” Millie said.

He didn't like to leave the bottle sitting unguarded. What if the railing shook, and it toppled off? But the way Millie glared left him no choice. Josh backed away.

For a long time she stared at the vial, watching its silent pyrotechnics. Then she cleared her throat. “Is Josh in danger?” she asked.

The bottle glowed green.

“Green means . . . ”

“Shut up!” Millie snapped.

“Should we take you to the police?”

Red.

“Will she come after you?”

Brilliant green.

“Can you help us?”

Still green, but with flashes of yellow.

“This can't be,” Millie scowled.

Suddenly she bolted into his room. For a terrible moment Josh thought she was going to leave entirely — that Millie would clump right on out the door, down the stairs, and up the street, leaving him alone. She didn't though. Instead, she paced frantically, trying to understand what she had just experienced, muttering and raking her fingers through her thick mane.

Josh pocketed the vial and — when he thought it safe — followed her in.

“I still can't believe it,” she complained. “But I can't deny it either. This makes nonsense of everything that's normal.”

“But you know it's not a trick?”

“It's not a trick,” she admitted.

“And you
will
help me?”

“What a stupid question,” she sighed. “But just because I
am
going to help, doesn't mean I like what you've done Josh Dempster.”

“But?” he coaxed.

She rolled her eyes. “But now that we know what we do about it, we can't give the vial back. No.”