Josh and the Magic Vial Read Free Page A

Hand was a narrow shop in a squat, brick building on the corner of Seventh and Main. Rumour had it Lil was indeed a witch, whose twisted family tree was rooted in evil. Word was also out that she traded in stolen goods, if she could get away with it. In fact, Lil’s had become the headquarters of Conky McDougal and the Street Level Gang, an unsavoury crew, notorious throughout Mount Pleasant as bike thieves and petty thugs. Even Josh knew better than to become a frequent shopper at Lil’s.
    Besides, her merchandise left something to be desired, unless you could find some earthly use for: sticks of crooked driftwood, advertised as magic wands; fat, dog-eared books with titles like The Dark Side: Magic Through the Ages ; enchanted stones for laying out mystic circles; strands from a hangman’s noose; and so on. Normally Josh would have skated on by without so much as a glance at the dusty artifacts in her display window. But that day, something caught his eye.
    Drawings!
    He wrenched his skateboard into a wheel chattering stop, almost pitching headlong onto the pavement.
    â€œI didn’t know she sold art,” he said.
    On closer inspection, he revised his assessment. “Awful!” Josh muttered. In one a winged demon flapped through a bleak underworld. In another the same malignant being sat on a throne, surrounded by hordes of cowering goblins. But the drawings were crude.
    â€œI could do better,” Josh thought.
    And if he could do better, why shouldn’t Lil sell his work instead of the junk she had on display. She would make more money; he would get some exposure, and a share of the sales.
    But Lil’s? Was that the kind of venue he wanted?
    â€œWell,” Josh answered, “everybody’s got to start somewhere. Can’t hurt to have a look round.”
    That said, he picked up his board, and entered Lil’s Magic Emporium. He found himself staring down a narrow canyon, piled high on either side with tottering heaps of junk. Lil’s “merchandise” had been tossed onto benches and tables with no semblance of order. Old vacuums had landed next to record players; blankets were draped over lawn mower handles; chairs were occupied by sewing machines. And in all those heaps, Josh didn’t see a single item that wasn’t broken, tattered, or soiled beyond redemption.
    â€œJeez!” he croaked, gagging on the mingled smells of dust, engine oil, and decay. “What a dump!”
    He was about to turn and leave, when a scratchy, old voice startled him from behind. “Can I help you, young man?” Lil cawed.
    Josh spun round. She had been watching him from her perch behind a display case at the front of the store. Lil was a wizened old crow, hunched with age. Her gray hair hung down in cords. Her crooked old nose almost touched her chin. She sized him up with greedy, dark eyes.
    â€œN-no,” he said. “Wrong store. I’ll just be on my way.”
    â€œYou seemed interested in the drawings.” She jerked her head in the direction of the display window.
    â€œYes, uhm, very interesting, but I can’t afford one right now.”
    â€œThey’re not for sale, so you needn’t worry.” Lil chuckled. “They are the work of one of my students. I like to show off their accomplishments.”
    â€œYes, very nice. The technique needs a little work, but . . . ”
    Lil hooted. “You don’t imagine I’m a teacher of art, do you?” she wheezed, shaking her head. “No, no. Why would I waste my time dabbling with paints and brushes, when I can create absolutely splendid illusions with this?” She held up a gnarled stick he supposed was a wand. “The student I speak of was attempting to recreate his vision of the underworld, but you can’t set down a vision on paper, can you?”
    â€œA good artist can,” Josh argued.
    â€œAnd are you a good artist?”
    He rummaged through his backpack and