Free The Power Potion by Wendelin Van Draanen Page B

revealed the secret entry to his innermost sanctum.
    Not even Sticky knew of this cloak-and-daggerpassageway or the secret room to which it led. The room was so hush-hush, in fact, that no one (and I mean no one) had ever been inside it.
    (Well, except for the ruthless villain himself, of course.)
    Granted, this was most likely due to visitors being a rare (and unwanted) thing at the Black mansion, because the cloak-and-dagger passageway was actually quite ordinary.
    Curiously conventional.
    Something any mystery reader would immediately point to and say, “Ah-ha! Secret passageway!”
    Still. Like so many things in the mansion, it was something Damien took childish delight in having. So (despite his frothy fury) it was with a great and satisfying
whoosh-swoosh
that he pushed through a revolving bookcase.
    A revolving bookcase that happened to have Sticky on board.
    Well! Sticky was most certainly thinking, “Holy guacamole!” but (for once) he managed to keep his little lizard lips zipped.
    (Well, as zipped as lips can be with a power ingot still clamped between them.)
    He held his breath and watched (with one sneaky-peeky eye) as Damien flicked on a light. (Something that was quite necessary, as there were no windows whatsoever in this inner sanctum.)
    Next, Damien slammed and bammed doors and drawers, stuffing items into the deep, dark pockets of his long black coat. And then, quite suddenly, he stopped slamming and bamming and held completely still.
    It was as though he’d heard something.
    Smelled something.
    Sensed
something.
    Slowly, he turned toward the bookcase, his eyes dark, narrow slits, the pointy points of his mustache twitching.
    A devilish sneer smeared his face.
    But just as Sticky was about to shake into a thousand gecko pieces, Damien swooped down on his heavily carved (and astonishingly detailed) desk and snatched up the funkydoodle phone.
    One long, pointy finger pressed into a fossilized shark vertebra and dialed.
    Swish, click-click-click-click
.
    Swish, click-click-click-click-clack!
    Damien dialed the number (which took some time, as the funkydoodle dial was, well, funkydoodle).
    Then Damien waited.
    One ringy-dingy.
    Two.
    His left eyebrow was arched high.
    His right was crouched low, as if ready to pounce.
    And then, out of the cheesy speaker, Sticky could hear,
“Sastimos.”
    “Sastimos”
is, in case you’re not already familiar, a Romany greeting. Its basic translation is “to your health,” but it can be used like “hello.”
    This word—this single word—caused a demented smile to cross Damien’s already dastardly face.
    He did not say hello in return.
    (Or, for that matter, wish the person on the other end good health.)
    Instead, he (very quietly) put the receiver down and muttered, “Double-dealing gypsy! You think you can pull a fast one on
me
? Well, I’m on my way to teach you a lesson!” His expression dropped to a mere scowl. “I should bring backup,” he muttered, “in case those buffoons botch things up.”
    He turned, and suddenly (with another
whoosh-swoosh
) he was in front of the bookcase.
    Sticky choked back an “Ay-ay-ay!” as Damien’s hand shot straight for the wooden-box part of his tepee and yanked it from the shelf. Theremaining book fell on Sticky, but as Damien whoosh-swooshed back to his desk, Sticky managed to pull himself to a new (and less painful) hiding place in time to see Damien snap open the wooden box.
    The box held a matching pair of percussion-lock dueling pistols (along with a powder flask, rods for cleaning and loading, percussion caps, and a bullet mold).
    It was a rare and valuable (not to mention stunning) set of weapons, with gilded muzzles, side plates, and hammers, and the grips were so beautifully carved that the guns looked more like swanky pirate movie props than actual weapons.
    They were, however, the real deal.
    They shot large, bone-shattering bullets.
    Little cannonballs, really.
    And although each pistol could fire but one