Heroes of the Dustbin Page 9

  In one cluster of bubbles, Spencer saw a location he recognized. It was the main building of New Forest Academy, somewhere right above them. Students were making their way through the hallways, carrying books on their way to class.

  “No way,” Spencer whispered, as he realized what he was looking at. It was a security system. The soapsuds were like tiny cameras scattered all around, relaying live video to the corresponding suds in the Witches’ sink. No wonder the old hags never had to leave their lair. The Witches could keep an eye on the entire world from their living room!

  Spencer watched the cluster of soapsuds that monitored the Academy. There was at least one tiny bubble displaying every room. Several of the larger areas were being observed from multiple angles.

  His curiosity piqued, Spencer reached out and touched one of the bubbles. It stuck to his finger as he pulled it away from the other suds. Gently, he held it between his index finger and thumb. When he moved his fingers apart, the bubble grew until he could read the titles of the textbooks in the Academy students’ hands. Then he pinched his fingers together again and the bubble shrank back to its miniature size.

  Spencer shook his head in utter amazement at what the Witches had created. He wondered what other locations were under surveillance. Welcher? The landfill?

  Daisy entered the room, a hairbrush in her hand. “I found a . . .” she started to say. But Daisy paused when she saw the sudsy sink. “What’s that?”

  “This is crazy,” Spencer said, pulling the dust mask down around his neck again. He stuck out his finger and replaced the tiny soapsud into its cluster of bubbles. “These are all cameras, Daisy.” She stepped up to the opposite side of the sink as Spencer continued scanning. “The Witches have been watching everything.”

  “Bernard!” Daisy cried. Spencer hurried around the sink as Daisy carefully extracted a bubble. She zoomed in by spreading her fingers the same way Spencer had done.

  The soapsud showed a dim room with a single cot in the corner. The Rebel garbologist, Dr. Bernard Weizmann, sat on the floor, his aviator cap clutched in both hands and his expression worn.

  “Where is he?” Daisy asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Spencer, “but he looks like a prisoner.”

  Daisy’s spirits seemed to fall. “They got Bernard, too. . . .”

  “Which part of the sink did you get that soapsud from?” Spencer asked.

  Daisy answered by shrinking the bubble back to its minuscule size and setting it back into the cluster where she’d found it.

  Spencer leaned closer to the group of soapsuds surrounding Bernard, using his body to shield what he was seeing from Daisy. If her parents could be seen in the soapsuds, Spencer wanted to make sure Daisy didn’t know about it. She moved around to scan the other side of the sink.

  Each camera showed a simple jail cell with a different occupant. They were Rebels—all of them. Spencer couldn’t count them all. There must have been hundreds, some cells housing multiple prisoners.

  He saw Earl Dodge, the cowboy janitor who had helped them in Colorado. He saw so many faces he didn’t know. Then he saw Daisy’s parents. Mr. and Mrs. Gates were seated side by side on the wobbly cot in their scant cell. They looked tired and afraid, thrown so suddenly into the world they had tried to avoid.

  Spencer didn’t pause there. He kept searching the soapsuds, desperate to find his own family. At last, he saw the faces he was hoping for. Snatching up the bubble, he expanded it between his fingers. His mom was seated on one of the cots, Max asleep in her arms. His dad was crouched, talking to Spencer’s other siblings, who sat in a frightened huddle.

  Spencer shrank the soapsud and returned it to its place. He couldn’t bear to watch any longer. And he couldn’t afford to let Daisy search the suds. This would not be a good time for her to discover that her parents had been taken too.

  Spencer grimaced. Their families were imprisoned and he didn’t even know where they were. Somewhere in that cluster of soapsuds there had to be a clue to the location of the prison. But there simply wasn’t time to scrutinize every bubble.

  Spencer had an idea. He didn’t know how long the soapsuds could exist apart from the Witches’ sink, but it was worth a shot. He found an empty jar on the floor, a bit of red liquid dried on the side. Mustering his strength against the germs, Spencer picked it up and returned to the sink.

  Cupping his hand, he scooped up the entire cluster of soapsuds that displayed the Rebel prisoners. Trying not to pop any, he slipped the shimmering suds into the jar and twisted the lid on. The soapy bubbles ran down the inside of the jar, pooling in a fluffy mound at the bottom.

  “Did you find a hair?” Spencer asked, remembering what they had come for.

  She held up a pink hairbrush, clogged with gnarly black hairs. “More than one,” she answered, tucking the brush into her belt.

  “I don’t know how you picked that thing up.” Spencer shuddered. “You’re braver than I am.”

  “I’m sterilizing myself when we get back,” Daisy said. She cast one last glance at the sink of soapsuds and froze.

  “What is it?” Spencer said, taking a step toward her. Wordlessly, Daisy pointed into the shimmering camera lenses.

  It was a cluster of suds displaying Welcher Elementary School. Spencer saw multiple angles of the gym and cafeteria. He saw Mrs. Natcher in her classroom, still hunched over her desk even though school had been out for nearly an hour.

  Then he saw the drinking fountain—the source of all Glop. The garbage sack that had covered it was ripped away, and the caution tape and out-of-order sign were crumpled on the hallway floor.

  Spencer plucked out the soapsud and zoomed in by expanding his fingers. Standing before the source were the Founding Witches and Dez Rylie. They stared into the gurgling mess of Glop, the fake bronze nails still clutched in Belzora’s hand.

  “They haven’t done it yet,” Spencer muttered, wondering what kind of delay Dez had provided them.

  “Make it bigger,” Daisy said. Spencer couldn’t stretch his fingers any farther. Daisy reached out with both hands and gently took the soapsud from him. The sudsy bubble clung to both of her palms, and when she spread her arms, the image grew with it.

  The display was so large now that Spencer could see a bead of sweat on Dez’s forehead. He saw a tuft of whiskers jutting from Holga’s chin and a mat of spiderweb in Ninfa’s hair.

  “The time has come at last,” Belzora said.

  Daisy jumped at the sound of the Witch’s voice. It sounded hollow and far away, but at this magnitude, the soapsud seemed capable of relaying sound.

  Belzora lowered her head, arm extended to drop the nails into the Glop source. Her voice was low in recitation.

  What mighty power was in these nails

  Shall be for stories and for tales.

  For hither comes the greater power,

  With wands we’ll shape this final hour.

  The Witch took a deep breath.

  “I like that poem,” Ninfa said.

  Holga nodded in agreement. “It rhymes.”

  Belzora dropped the bronze nails into the fountain.

  Chapter 14

  “You know what’s for dinner?”

  The bronze nails landed with three distinct plops in the gurgling Glop source. Far away, in the Witches’ lair, Spencer held his breath and Daisy, still holding the soapsud, did a nervous shuffle.

  Things were about to get very bad for Dez Rylie.

  “What’s happening?” Holga pushed forward to peer into the Glop fountain. “Why’s it taking so long?”

  “Patience, dear ones,” Belzora said, though Spencer could see that she too was growing anxious.

  The Glop went still for a moment, and then the fountain began to hiss. All at once, there was a burst of light and fire. The Glop source erupted as three items rose from its depth.

  “Ah, yes,” Belzora said, reaching down and withdrawing the first item. “There we are.”

  It was a wand!

&n
bsp; Spencer felt a rush of cold fear wash over him. A combined sense of helplessness, loss, and betrayal struck him all at once. He glanced at Daisy, but she was frozen, her mouth wide in shock.

  Belzora held the wand aloft. It was made of bronze, weathered and worn like the nail that had preceded it. It was twisted and tapered, just over a foot long.

  By the time Spencer’s shock had worn off, Ninfa and Holga had also retrieved their wands from the Glop source, which was now back to gurgling in its usual fashion.

  “Feels right in the hand, doesn’t it?” Ninfa asked, flexing her fingers around the bronze piece. Hers was straight like a thin pipe, with rings that formed ridges down its sides.

  “It’s been too long,” said Holga. Her wand was the shortest and thickest. Grooves had been forged into one end, perfectly formed to her fingers.

  It was over now. The Witches had their wands. Spencer was shaking his head, a sick feeling in his stomach. How had this happened?

  “Boy!” Belzora shrieked, turning to face Dez. He stood as rooted as a tree in the hallway. She began to cackle. “You have earned a place at our side!” Belzora pulled Dez into a tight embrace.

  “Yeah,” Dez said, once she let him go. “I told you the nails were real.”

  “No,” Daisy muttered, barely hanging on to the large soapsud. “What have you done, Dez?”

  Spencer gritted his teeth in anger. “We never should have trusted him! I knew it!”

  “What now?” Dez said, giving Holga a high five.

  “The surviving Rebels will be squashed beneath the power of our wands!” Ninfa cried. “We must return to the Academy at once. Summon General Clean and his Sweepers.”

  “You know what’s for dinner?” Holga asked.

  “Pizza?” Dez guessed.

  Holga shook her head. “War.”

  Daisy’s trembling hands closed, popping the surveillance bubble. The soapy film splattered across the room, shattering the image of defeat and betrayal.

  “He tricked us,” Daisy mumbled. “Dez is a bad guy.”

  “He must have switched the fake nails for the real ones sometime during the night,” Spencer said, recalling how Dez hadn’t slept at all. Spencer sighed hopelessly. How Dez had managed the deception wasn’t important right now. If the Witches were coming back to New Forest Academy, then it was definitely time to leave.

  “Come on, Daisy.” Tucking his stolen jar of soapsuds under one arm, Spencer crossed the room and pulled open the metal door. He stepped down to the parking garage pavement, cautious of all the snake ropes still littered about. The knots seemed to be holding; the ropes were lifeless and nonthreatening.

  Spencer drew his Windex and misted the wall next to the spot where Belzora had made her entrance to Welcher. It turned to glass as he took his squeegee from the belt.

  “Dez must have dropped this,” Daisy said, picking up the bottle of bleach that had become visible.

  “Not like he needed it,” Spencer said bitterly. He swiped the squeegee across the glass surface, waiting for Rho to complete the portal and welcome them back to the safety of the landfill.

  They waited for only a few seconds before the stripe of sizzling magic transformed into a doorway. Spencer peered through the portal.

  “That’s not the landfill,” Daisy pointed out, looking over his shoulder.

  “That’s the Academy,” Spencer said, backing away from the portal. “That’s the main building right above us!”

  “What do we do?” Daisy said.

  A familiar face peeked into view, long white hair swishing as she whispered. “Quickly!” V said. “We don’t have much time.”

  “Why are you at the Academy?” Spencer asked.

  “There’s been a slight problem,” V answered.

  “Where’s Rho?” added Daisy.

  “Long story. She’s been injured,” explained V. “The squeegee was stolen. But I got it back . . . sort of.”

  Spencer drew a pushbroom and stepped through the portal. He recognized the location better now. It was Director Garcia’s old office. If he remembered correctly, they weren’t far from the front door of the main building. It would be a straight run across campus, a quick flight over the Academy wall, and down the road until they reached the garbage truck.

  Daisy followed him through the portal as V brought the squeegee handle around and shattered the glass. “Don’t want anyone following us,” she muttered, discarding the squeegee as Spencer moved toward the office door.

  “Wait,” V hissed. “There are Sweepers out there!”

  Spencer took a moment to slide his jar of soapsuds into his largest belt pouch. It was a tight fit at first, but the pouches were bigger on the inside. Once the bottle was stowed, he gripped his pushbroom with both hands, ready to burst into combat.

  “Where’s Dez?” V asked, fumbling with a handle on her own janitorial belt.

  “He tricked us,” Daisy said. “He gave the Witches the real nails.”

  “What?” she gasped.

  “It’s bad,” Spencer said. “The Witches have their wands.”

  V shook her head. “Well, that really backfired on us.” She drew a new squeegee from her belt. “This should take us back to the landfill.” She crossed to a tall vanity mirror and swiped the squeegee downward, opening a fizzing, shimmering exit.

  The new portal was completed, filling up the mirror across the office. But again, the view through the gateway was not the landfill they were expecting. It was Welcher Elementary School!

  Professor Dustin DeFleur stepped away from the threshold, a squeegee in his hand. In a heartbeat, the Witches were there, standing face to face with Spencer, Daisy, and V, in Director Garcia’s old office.

  “Hello again, dearie!” Ninfa gave a false smile when she saw Spencer. “I suppose it’s a waste of breath to ask you what you’re doing here. We’ve learned everything we needed to know from our little helper.”

  Belzora stepped aside, and Dez appeared through the portal. Spencer felt a swell of rage building inside him.

  “How could you?” he yelled. Spencer hurled his pushbroom like a spear, hoping to knock Dez clear back into Idaho.

  It was sailing through the air, on a direct course for the Sweeper boy’s chest, when Belzora’s wand flashed out of the concealment of her black robe. A stream of dark dust spewed from the tip of the bronze wand, catching the pushbroom midflight and reducing it to harmless particles. Then the cloud of dust vanished, leaving only a musty smell in the air.

  “Oh,” Belzora said. “You’re surprised to see what our wands can do? You haven’t seen the half of it.”

  Ninfa’s wand spewed a gritty streamer, the magic dust instantly closing the portal to Welcher and leaving nothing but Spencer’s frightened expression in the tall vanity mirror.

  Belzora put a hand on Dez’s shoulder. “Go quickly and summon General Clean.” She flicked a channel of dust from her wand. It struck the office door and obliterated it. The dust hung in the doorway like a curtain as Dez stepped toward it. Spencer didn’t want him to escape. It wasn’t fair that Dez got away without punishment.

  “Sorry, guys,” the bully muttered. Then he stepped through the veil of dust and into the hallway. Spencer saw the open door as an opportunity. He would rather face the Sweepers out there than the Witches in the office.

  Spencer grabbed Daisy’s sleeve and sprinted for the exit, V jumping after them. He was just feeling like they might make it when his head suddenly slammed into a solid piece of wood.

  Spencer fell back, dazed to see that the door was in its place once more. The lingering dust from Belzora’s wand had re-formed the door exactly as it had been. Spencer only remembered seeing that kind of creation power once before, but it wouldn’t be possible on earth.

  “How did she do that?” Daisy asked.

  Spencer mumbled in disbelief. “Dust.”

  “I think you’re catching on,” Belzora said. She twirled her wand between her thin hands, the bangle bracelets on her right wrist jing
ling. “Our wands are linked to a place of dust and raw magic. You’ve been there before. You call it the Dustbin.”

  “That means we can un-imagine anything we don’t like,” Ninfa said. Dust issued from her wand, decimating Director Garcia’s desk.

  “And imagine anything we do like,” added Holga. Her wand flicked around, a small spiral of dust leaking out and forming into a cheese pizza. It landed with a splat on the office floor.

  “The wands magnify the effect,” Belzora said. “The magic is ours to bend and to shape. We are the rulers of the dust, more powerful here than we ever were in the Dustbin.”

  “You were down there?” Spencer said. “You were in the Dustbin that whole time?”

  Belzora nodded. “In fact, I believe you met some of our creations.” She raised her wand. “Let me refresh your memory.”

  The magic dust swirled and a humanoid shape appeared. It was made entirely out of quilted toilet paper, with two rolls for hands and a vacant gap for a mouth.

  “You will come with me for questioning.” Its voice was whispery and threatening. One of the rolls flicked out, releasing a streamer of toilet paper that lashed around Spencer’s chest.

  “I don’t think so!” Daisy said. Her razorblade flashed, severing the toilet paper from her friend. Spencer followed up with a second blow, his blade slicing the TP mummy down the center and reducing it to dust.

  “This can’t be true,” Spencer muttered as the pieces started falling into place.

  “The TPs belong to the Instigators,” Daisy said.

  “Don’t you get it?” V said. Spencer and Daisy turned in surprise as V strode over to stand beside the three women.

  “The Witches are the Instigators.”

  Chapter 15

  “That would ruin everything!”

  It was a horrible revelation, adding to the list of lies and deceit. The Instigators were the ones who had created Toxites. They had captured the Dark Aurans and performed experiments on them. . . . Spencer couldn’t believe it was true, but at the same time it began to make sense. Had the Witches been evil from the very beginning?