The Power Potion (8 page)

She sniggered as she looked around. “I can see how
that’s
workin’ for ya.”

“The lizard’s not the problem, your cat is! She’s possessed!”

“Oh,
really
?” Lily said, then hurried out of the apartment, only to return a minute later with one very droopy-looking Topaz. “You think this cat is possessed? You think she tore through your house and gouged up your
ceiling
?”

Topaz did seem like nothing more than a helpless, hapless furry blob. (One that might have a propensity for ramming walls with her face, but catapulting eight feet to sink her claws into a ceiling? Not likely.)

Still, Dave held his ground. “Yes!”

Dave and Lily locked eyes for a moment. “Well,” Lily said (in her sassy, saucy way), “you’re crazy.” She eyed the ceiling. “There’s no way
any
cat can get up that high.” She shrugged. “Besides, Topaz has been sacked out since I got home.”

“Oh yeah?” Dave challenged, but something about what she’d said gave him pause. “Uh, when
did
you get home?”

She shrugged again. “A while ago.”

Dave simply stood there, thinking and blinking.

Now, the truth was that Lily had not been home that long, but she’d been home long enough to blow Sticky’s story wide open. And after she left with a “See ya, delivery dork,” Dave took a deep breath and said, “Stickyyyyyyy?”

The little gecko peeked out from his hiding place inside Dave’s sweatshirt and looked at Dave with extreme innocence.
“Sí, señor?”
But as Dave studied him, the lying gecko started to feel the heat.

His eyes went a little shifty.

His face went a little twitchy.

And as Dave’s eyes narrowed, Sticky knew he was busted.

“Ay-ay-ay,” Sticky moaned. “I gave that evil
gata
some of the potion, okay?”

Dave’s eyes flew open. “You WHAT?”

“It was just a drop. How was I supposed to know it would make her as strong as an ox?”

“That’s the whole point!” Dave shouted. “You didn’t know! What if it had
killed
her?”

Sticky looked off to the side and gave a little shrug.

“Sticky!”

“Hey! She’s been trying to kill
me
for weeks and you didn’t care about that!”

“So you
were
trying to kill her?”

“No!”

Dave spittered and spattered and sputtered until at last he gave up trying to figure out what to say to Sticky and got busy putting the family room in order.

When he’d done as much as he could, his head
was at least clear enough to form a question. “So,” he asked, “where’s the potion?”

“Ay-ay-ay,” Sticky replied.

Dave stopped in his tracks. “What? Where is it? What happened to it?”

And so the story came out about the monkey and the potion and Sticky’s efforts to recover the powerful liquid. “I tried,
señor
, but that monkey was jumping all over the place, throwing things around…. You should see your room! And he stole your grill!”

“I don’t care about that stupid grill!” Dave snapped as he hurried toward his room. “It wasn’t even mine!
You
stole it from someone else!”

And then Dave saw his room.

“I can’t
believe
this!” he wailed.

But as he staggered through the mess, the thing that dealt the final blow was his social studies project.

It was, without question, destroyed.

(It was also, without exception, due the next day.)

And between the missing potion, the chaos throughout the house, and the lies (and yes, the mutilated school project), Dave had had enough. “You quit going to school with me, you hang out with criminals, you steal stuff, and you give cats potions that could kill them. Plus, you made me look like a total
idiot
in front of Lily!” He shook his head. “That’s it. I used to think you were a good gecko with a bad habit, but I was wrong.”

He opened his bedroom window and placed Sticky on the wall outside. “Enough is enough.” And with that, he closed the window, shutting Sticky out of the apartment.

That night, Sticky tried to talk to Dave through the bedroom window. “Psst,
señor
! I know you’re one steamed tamale, but don’t forget who gave you the wristband.”

“Leave me alone!” Dave whispered through the pane.

“But someday we’ll get the Buzzy Bee and the Half-a-Man from that evil
hombre
. Someday you’ll—”

“I don’t care about flying or being invisible. I don’t care about any of it! It’s brought me nothing but trouble.
You’ve
brought me nothing but trouble!”

“You cut me to the quick,
señor
!” Sticky cried,
and this time there was only hurt in the little gecko’s voice.

Dave sighed and dropped the blinds. “Just go away!”

It was at this point that Dave’s mother entered his room. “
Mi’jo?
Are you all right?” she asked.

“Uh…yeah,” Dave replied. “I’m just, uh, practicing my lines for drama.”

Mrs. Sanchez was concerned (as Dave had acted anxious throughout dinner and, despite his explanation, seemed very keyed up now). But she didn’t press him. He was, after all, thirteen, and she remembered all too well what that was like. Instead, she simply said, “Let me know if there’s anything I can help you with.” She looked around the room, which was still quite messy. “This weekend, let’s get this cleaned up, okay,
mi’jo
?”

Dave nodded, wondering what his parents would do when they finally noticed the damage to the family room wall and ceiling.

However, whether because of their exhaustion or having to deal with more pressing matters (like paying bills), they didn’t seem to see it. And as evening turned into night, then ticked toward bedtime and beyond, Dave’s frayed nerves seemed to weave themselves back together. At midnight, he declared his social studies project to be done enough and went to bed.

As Dave drifted off to sleep, he did have a brief relapse of panic over the missing potion, but he pushed it aside. What did it matter? If the monkey had it, he wouldn’t actually
eat
it. It smelled terrible! And if anyone found it, they would take one whiff and throw it away.

No, instead of worrying about the potion, he thought about what a relief it was that he was done being the Gecko. He took off the powerband and hid it under his pillow. He hadn’t gotten to do anything
super
with it, anyway. Not really. All it had done was attract the wrath of Damien Black.

So, despite the traumas of the day, Dave slept well, and after the usual morning rush, he headed off to school, balancing his project on his bike.

That same night, however, Sticky did not sleep a wink.

He knew that the things Dave had said were true, and he felt terrible. And as he clung to Dave’s bedroom window hoping that Dave would have a change of heart, he wondered what in the world he could do to make it up to Dave.

How could he get him to forgive him?

How could he prove that he
was
a good gecko?

How could he convince Dave that he couldn’t quit being the Gecko? Didn’t he know that Damien Black was a menace not just to them but to everyone in the city? Didn’t he know by now that Damien Black wasn’t someone you could turn your back on?

That doing so would mean death?

Despite the trouble Sticky had caused, they had intercepted a potion that Damien was planning to use for…well, Sticky didn’t know, exactly…but it was undoubtedly evil. And keeping it from Damien was a good thing!
They
were a good thing, and Sticky was part of that “they.”

By sunrise Sticky had convinced himself that there was one sure way to get Dave to both forgive him
and
want to be the Gecko again.

It meant going up to Damien Black’s monstrous mansion.

It meant risking his life.

Still. Being caught and captured (or killed) was better than this.

Anything was better than this.

And so it was that Sticky began the long journey up to Raven Ridge.

This time, alone.

While Sticky was clinging to the wall outside Dave’s room and Dave was inside sleeping soundly, the Bandito Brothers were also outside, shivering and quivering in the dark and dangerous forest.

I’m sure you’ve heard of “circling the wagons.” This is something the American pioneers did with their covered wagons for protection against attack in the wild western plains and to corral their livestock when setting up camp.

They weren’t, however, the first to do this. Gypsies, too, circled their vardos for protection, shelter, and community as they traveled across foreign (and often hostile) lands.

Unfortunately for the Bandito Brothers, they had no wagons—covered, vardo, or otherwise.

(Well, Tito did, back home, but it was a little red one, so never mind.)

And having no wagons to circle, the Brothers circled themselves instead. They sat face out, leaning their backs against the trunk of a large, gnarled pine tree, remaining wide-eyed as they shivered through the snarls and moans, howls and groans of the long, dark night.

At last, daybreak arrived. (It was, in fact, close to noon, but because of the dark density of that part of the forest, the sun was only able to break through when it was almost directly overhead.)

The forest was still full of frightening sounds, but instead of snarls and moans, howls and groans, the Brothers now heard rustling.

Rustling that seemed to be coming from every direction.

“Wolves!” Angelo gasped. “I think we’re surrounded by wolves!”

Pablo, being both smaller and rattier than the hairy-armed Angelo, hid behind the second Brother, thinking that there was plenty enough Angelo for a whole pack of wolves.

But Tito had his simple mind on something more pressing than a potential pack of wolves.

He really, really, really needed to find some toilet paper.

“HELP!” he shouted into the air. “WE’RE LOST! HELP!”

Before the other two Brothers could tell him how stupid he was, there was a response from overhead.

“Bwa-ha-caw! Bwa-ha-caw!”

“Boss?” Pablo asked, his ratty face darting around.

“Bwa-ha-caw!” came the response, only this time it was a loud, dissonant chorus of bwa-ha-cawing.

“Aaaah!” Angelo cried, covering his ears against the nightmare of hideous laughter.

Suddenly the Brothers were surrounded by ravens.

(Or, more accurately, oversized crows.)

“Aaaaah!” Pablo cried (and again, he cowered behind Angelo).

Tito, however, was
really
desperate now and simply shouted, “I NEED A POTTY!” as he charged through the forest.

Apparently, the bwa-ha-cawing crows wanted the Brothers out of their forest as much as the Brothers wanted to get out, because the crows chased after them, guiding the Brothers along with angry pecks and bwa-ha-cawing head swooshes.

The Brothers crashed and thundered through the forest for what seemed like an eternity, and just as Tito was thinking he would never, ever make it, the trees thinned and the mansion appeared ahead.

“I’ve got dibs on the potty!” Tito cried, and
charged into the house and straight for the bathroom.

Unfortunately, someone else had been skipping to the loo all night, and the only nearby facility was currently occupied.

“Where have you bozos been?” Damien shouted through the bathroom door.

“Lost!” Tito cried, then squirmed and squiggled and held tight to his gut. “Mr. Black! I’ve really got to GO!”

“Use the one in your quarters!” the angry treasure hunter shouted back.

“I’ll never make it!” Tito wailed. “Please, Mr. Black. I’M GONNA EXPLODE!”

Perhaps Damien Black took pity on the poor Brother.

Perhaps he felt his pain.

Or, more likely, he was about done anyway.

But
most
likely, Damien didn’t want an explosion (of any sort, but especially not of
that
sort) in
his house. So, with uncharacteristic acquiescence, he whooshed open the door and allowed Tito access to his (extremely pee-yoo’d) loo.