Josh and the Magic Vial Read Free Page B

pulled out his sketchpad. Lil looked at the drawings, but seemed more interested in him. Her rheumy eyes kept straying from the pages to his face. Whenever he caught her staring, she offered a sweet, repulsive smile.
    â€œThey’re very good,” she allowed. “But what land is this, and who are these people?”
    â€œIt’s the realm of King Carak in the Valley of Hador. This is Gorp the Hurler, that’s Hazard, and that’s Prince Boniface.”
    â€œNever heard of any of them.”
    â€œWell, no one has, really,” Josh explained. “But they will be famous some day.”
    â€œYou mean you’ve made this up?”
    â€œYes. It’s fantasy.”
    Lil gazed upon him thoughtfully. “Did you ever think your imaginary realm might be real in some sense?” she asked.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œWhy, this make-believe of yours might be the shadows of a real kingdom that exists in another dimension. Perhaps you have a vague memory of such a place. Maybe your art is a way of seeking.”
    Josh laughed nervously, and stuffed his sketchpad back in his pack.
    â€œYou came in here to ask me something, didn’t you?”
    He edged toward the door.
    â€œSomething about the drawings, eh?”
    â€œI’ve got to be going,” Josh said.
    She fixed him with a paralyzing gaze. He had to break free. Straining against her, he twisted the doorknob and tumbled out into the street.
    â€œWe will meet again, my friend,” her voice trailed after him.
    Josh banged the door shut. He sucked in a breath of fresh air. “Not if I can help it you crazy old bird!” he gasped, jumping onto his skateboard and pushing off.
    Clack-clack, clack-clack. He was glad to put some distance between himself and Lil’s Emporium. If he had looked over his shoulder, though, he would have spotted a slight, ragged figure loping along behind him. It skimmed close to parked cars and vacant doorways, never more than an instant away from hiding. Its baggy army fatigues and gray T-shirt blended with the drab surroundings. A black baseball cap hooded its eyes.

3
    I an Lytle couldn’t believe his luck. The skater never looked back once.
    â€œGoof,” he snorted.
    A guy should always be on the lookout. Even in nice, upscale neighbourhoods like Kerrisdale and Shaughnessey there were creeps around.
    He followed Josh to Rogers Park, waiting for an opening. His quarry crossed the field and climbed halfway up the slope toward Sixth Avenue, then sat down and pulled what looked like a notebook out of his pack. For half an hour or so he scribbled away, deep in thought. Ian watched and waited. “Come on,” he grumbled from his hideaway behind a cedar hedge next to the park attendant’s bungalow. “I ain’t got all day.” But the kid wasn’t in any hurry. He doodled, then thought, then doodled some more. At last he shoved his stuff into his pack. “Good,” Ian muttered. All he wanted was to follow the kid home and report back to Endorathlil. If the kid looked away for a second and left his pack unattended, Ian would go for it; if the mark didn’t get too careless, well, tough luck to the old hag. Just so long as he could get this job over with.
    But still the kid didn’t leave. Instead, he lay back against the slope, hands locked under his head, watching the clouds drift by. “Rich kids!” Ian snorted. “They’ve got more time than sense.” He watched and waited. Then came his chance. First the kid’s eyes fluttered shut, then his limbs relaxed, and finally his head lolled to the side. He’d fallen asleep. “The old bat must have put a spell on the guy,” Ian chuckled. “How else could you explain that kind of luck?”
    He waited a few minutes, then moved into the open, jogging across the field. His plan was simple: if the kid showed signs of waking, Ian would simply walk on by; if the kid really