“We’ll need someone to stay here and keep the squeegee portal open,” Alan said.
“I’ll do it,” Spencer volunteered. He wasn’t in any hurry to go back into New Forest Academy.
“We’ll need you with us,” Walter explained. “We’ll be counting on your Auran abilities to locate Director Garcia.”
Tracking the warlocks was one thing Spencer had grown very good at. But he knew he could do much more. Spencer looked down at his hands, one imbued with power to Glopify, the other with power to de-Glopify. When would he get the chance to try out his full powers?
Daisy raised her hand. “Fine, I’ll do it again.”
“Again?” Penny asked.
“We practiced with the squeegees yesterday,” Alan cut in with a lie. “Wanted to make the kids feel prepared for tonight.”
Once more, Daisy opened her mouth to say something. This time it was a soft nudge from Spencer’s elbow that got her to close it. They couldn’t tell Penny about last night’s mission to get the translated Manualis Custodem.
Spencer glanced around the janitorial closet for the old book. He didn’t see the Manualis Custodem anywhere, but he glimpsed the blue binder that held the translation. It was closed, lying on the table with several strips of duct tape sealing the binder shut. More tape secured the binder to the tabletop so no one could even pick it up. It looked as secure as it could be for the time being.
“All right,” Walter mumbled, nervously checking his watch. “Any moment now.” He took a Glopified spray bottle from the table and misted the Windex across an empty wall on the far side of the Rebel closet. As it turned to glass, Spencer was suddenly struck with an obvious question.
“Who’s got the other squeegee?” he asked. In order for the portal to work, someone at New Forest Academy would have to swipe the other squeegee.
“We have an inside man at the Academy,” Walter whispered.
“Who is it?” Spencer asked.
Walter took his squeegee and dragged it across the glassy surface of the wall. The portal opened instantly, shimmering green along the border. The narrow view opened into a dim room, one that Spencer didn’t recognize from the Academy.
Someone stocky stepped into view, beefy hands gripping the squeegee that had opened the way. His buzzed hair had grown into a short Mohawk, but there was no mistaking that broad face and sneering grin.
“Hey, Doofus! Long time no see!”
It was Dez.
Chapter 7
“I don’t even have a whistle.”
Spencer stepped back, his heart thumping. Had the plan gone wrong already? What was Dez Rylie doing with the squeegee?
“Hello, Dez,” Walter whispered, handing his squeegee off to Daisy and stepping through the portal.
The realization dawned on Spencer and he didn’t like it one bit. “Dez?” he muttered. “Dez is our inside man?”
“Inside man?” Daisy said. “That’s not even possible. He’s only twelve. He’d have to be the inside boy.”
“More like inside traitor!” Spencer said.
“Oh, please,” Dez moaned. “That was like, so five months ago. I’m good now.” Even his voice made Spencer’s skin crawl.
Spencer turned to his dad. “I can’t believe we’re trusting him.”
“We’ve been in touch with Dez for several weeks now.” Alan stepped through the portal. “He’s been quite helpful.”
“Yeah,” Spencer said sarcastically. “If you need help slamming your head against the wall.”
Dez scratched his stomach and glanced around the room. “Are you guys coming, or what?”
Penny stepped out of the Rebel closet and into New Forest Academy. Spencer paused beside Daisy in the doorway.
Dez beckoned. “We don’t have all night.”
“How long do we have?” Spencer asked. “How long until you blow the whistle and Garcia comes running in here with a bunch of Pluggers to capture us?”
“Psh!” Dez rolled his eyes. “I don’t even have a whistle.”
“Check him for a kazoo,” Daisy whispered in Spencer’s ear.
“Where are we, anyway?” Spencer pushed his head through the portal and glanced around. Dez had opened the way into a large room with chairs and music stands arranged in tidy rows.
“It’s the band room,” Dez said. “In the Arts Building.”
Spencer hadn’t been there before, and the idea of following Dez into a mysterious room didn’t sound like a good one.
“How did you get in here in the middle of the night?” Spencer continued to interrogate. “How’d you sneak out of the dorms?”
“Chill,” Dez said. “I didn’t have to sneak out. Ever since Garcia caught me making a spit-wad smiley face on the ceiling, he’s made me do cleaning duty.”
“You mean detention?”
“Whatever.” Dez shrugged. “Point is . . . I got these.” He jingled a ring of keys in his hand.
“They gave you keys to New Forest Academy?” Daisy asked.
Dez made a face. “No way. I swiped them from Slick’s old office. It’s not like he’s going to need them.” Dez tucked the ring of keys into his jean shorts. “These should help us get to Director Garcia.”
“Not until after we locate his bronze nail,” Alan said. They would need the warlock hammer to pull out the nail, but it would help to know exactly where it was so they didn’t waste any time after taking Holga from Garcia.
“Duh,” said Dez. “Why do you think I brought you here?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small flashlight. As soon as the bulb flickered on, Spencer knew it was Glopified. The light was pitifully dull until it shone on a magical item.
Dez turned around and directed his flashlight at the back wall of the band room. Instantly, the white light shot outward like a beacon, glinting between two timpani drums and honing onto a small spot on the wall.
“Come on,” Penny said. Dez moved away from the portal, and the Rebels followed him. Spencer raised his eyebrows at Daisy, telegraphing his disbelief that they were trusting Dez. She lifted her squeegee, ready to swipe the portal if it started to close.
Then Spencer stepped out of the janitorial closet at Welcher Elementary School and into the band room of New Forest Academy.
By the time Spencer caught up, the others were hunkered around a tiny glint of metal in the far wall.
“It looks like the real thing,” Walter said, running his thumb over it.
Spencer looked at Dez, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How did you know the nail was here?”
Dez looked around as if it were obvious. “I spend a lot of time in this room,” he said.
“This is the band room,” Spencer reminded him. “You always thought musical instruments were dumb.”
“That was before I started playing the tuba,” Dez said.
“You play the tuba?” Daisy called from the portal.
“Don’t make fun,” Dez said. “When Mr. Hylton heard how loud I could burp, he told me I should play the tuba.”
“Since when do you listen to what the teachers say?” Spencer said.
“I don’t,” answered Dez. “But the tuba rocks! Every note sounds like a fart!”
“I hate to break up such an educated conversation,” Penny said, “but we really need Spencer to tell us where to go.”
“If you touch the bronze nail, it should be enough to give you a fix on Director Garcia’s location,” Walter said.
Spencer took a knee next to the wall. He’d gotten swift and accurate at these bronze visions. It was easy now to pick which warlock to spy on, and he was able to maintain the link for long periods of time without fainting.
Spencer stretched out his index finger and pressed it against the smooth head of the nail. The dim band room fizzed into speckles of white. Then his vision cleared, and he was looking through Director Garcia’s eyes.
The Latino man had a hand on a doorknob. He looked over his shoulder, and Spencer gasped to see half a dozen Pluggers mounted on over
grown Extension Toxites. Orange cords connected rider to beast, allowing the humans to control the gigantic, armored Toxites.
It happened so fast. Spencer saw the Pluggers and sensed Garcia’s exact location. But before he could pull his finger off the nail, the director threw open the door and charged into the band room. Through Garcia’s eyes, Spencer saw the Rebels hunkered behind the timpani, watching Spencer make his connection to the bronze nail.
Spencer willed the vision to end, plucking his finger away from the nail in the wall. The room went white again, and he felt himself falling backward, his head bumping against the kettledrum. By the time he adjusted to seeing through his own eyes, a number of bad things had happened.
Mop strings lassoed Daisy around the middle and pulled her through the portal as the bludgeoning tail of an Extension Filth shattered the glass. In a heartbeat, the portal back to Welcher was gone. Daisy fell among the glass shards, facedown on the band room floor, the squeegee still in her grasp.
The Pluggers were spreading across the room, blocking any chance of escape. Extension Grimes clung to the walls, giant Filths bowled past chairs and music stands, while overgrown Rubbishes rose near the ceiling, the riders held in by the magical rug saddles.
In the center of the chaos stood Director Garcia, adjusting the cufflinks on his pressed shirt. His hair, perfectly styled, whisked away from his olive forehead, and there was a look of excitement on his smooth face.
Dez stood beside him, wearing an aloof expression as Director Garcia put a congratulatory hand on the boy’s shoulder.
Spencer felt a rush of anger rise all the way from his toes. He knew it! They never should have trusted Dez!
Director Garcia flashed a white smile and gestured around the band room to the Pluggers awaiting his command to attack. When he spoke, his voice was touched with that familiar Spanish accent.
“Welcome back to New Forest Academy.”
Chapter 8
“Can I have it now?”
Spencer took a hasty step backward, his shoulder bumping the band room wall. He saw Daisy push herself up, but a nearby Extension Grime had already overpowered her with its distracting breath.
“I feel like a princess!” Daisy shouted. “I’m lying on a bed of diamonds!” She might have started making snow angels in the shards of glass around her, but the Plugger reached down from the Toxite’s saddle and pulled Daisy away from the mess.
Penny released a heavy stream of vanilla air freshener into the band room. Spencer felt the Filth fatigue leave him as Daisy suddenly seemed to realize that she’d been captured. As the freshener wafted outward, Dez’s head perked up. The bored and apathetic expression faded from his face, and he turned to look at Director Garcia.
“Can I have it now?” he mumbled.
Garcia looked momentarily annoyed. Spencer knew how he felt; Dez was always annoying. “Later, Dezmond,” he said. “I told you I would give it to you later.”
“No,” Dez said, a stubborn edge to his voice. “You said you’d give it to me once you had them.” He pointed at the cornered Rebels.
Garcia sighed, his patience clearly worn thin by Dez’s behavior. “Have it your way,” he muttered. Then he snapped a finger at a Plugger whose giant Rubbish had just perched across several music stands.
“Nicholson!” Garcia called. “Take Dezmond to get his reward.” He paused, then spouted something in Spanish.
The Plugger on the Rubbish’s back nodded in understanding, and his beast spread its leathery wings toward the doorway.
“Hey!” Dez grabbed Garcia’s sleeve. “What did you say to him?” Garcia pulled away, shrugging. “What was that Spanish?”
“It sounded kind of like Dora,” chimed Daisy. “You know, the Explorer.”
The Plugger leaned back into the room, his bird hopping impatiently in the hallway. “Do you want the vial or not, kid?”
Without so much as a backward glance at the Rebels, Dez dashed across the band room and out of sight.
“Vial of what?” Alan asked. “What are you giving him?”
Director Garcia looked over his shoulder to make sure the band room door had clicked shut. “He’s not getting what he thinks, I can assure you that much.” He smiled.
“You’d better not hurt him,” Walter threatened. Spencer’s feelings toward Dez were anything but fond. But even Spencer felt a sting of worry for the bully. Dez was mixed up with the wrong people.
“Relax,” Garcia said, his voice smooth. “He’ll receive little more than a treatment of Rubbish breath. Not that he can be dumbed down much more than he already is . . .” He glanced at his manicured fingernails. “I’m not in the business of harming people. I leave the dirty work to the man who calls the shots.” He glanced up from his nails without lifting his chin.
“Mr. Clean,” Spencer muttered.
Garcia grinned, but it seemed forced and unnatural this time. Spencer could almost see a thread of nervousness in the director’s eyes. “Yes, he goes by that name. And a few others.”
“Reginald McClean,” Walter said.
Director Garcia nodded. “That’s what we call him at the BEM headquarters. On official business, he’s Reginald McClean, president of the Bureau of Educational Maintenance. But when he’s dealing with Rebel scum, he is the ruthless Mr. Clean.”
“I call him a coward,” Alan said.
“A bold statement,” Director Garcia said. “One you might not be so quick to make when he arrives.”
“Mr. Clean is coming here?” Daisy asked.
Director Garcia nodded. “After I dispose of Alan Zumbro.” Spencer shuddered when Garcia’s dark eyes locked onto his dad. “Mr. Clean will deal with the rest of you.”
“You don’t know how dangerous he is,” Spencer blurted. “There’s something wrong with Mr. Clean—he’s transformed.”
“Yes,” Garcia said. “He’s a Sweeper now.” The director reached inside his suit coat. “And I must become one too.”
Spencer squinted at the small object in Director Garcia’s hand. It was a tiny glass bottle, just like the one Mr. Clean had used in the library. The contents of the vial let off a dull grayish glow.
A Sweeper potion.
Garcia’s hand was trembling ever so slightly. Spencer knew what he was going to do. He’d seen Mr. Clean swallow a similar Glop formula, transforming himself into a terrible human-Toxite hybrid. A Sweeper.
The idea was horrifying, and Director Garcia didn’t seem keen on it either. “You don’t have to do this,” Spencer said, noticing the man’s hesitation.
Garcia paused, his left hand gripping the tiny cork. “I have little choice.” He took a deep breath. “Clean will be here any moment.”
Spencer remembered what a pawn Garcia was. Mr. Clean was always the one calling the shots from the sidelines. It didn’t matter that Carlos Garcia was a warlock. It didn’t matter that he was director of New Forest Academy. Clean was the man in charge. Spencer wondered what threats and lies had turned Garcia into such a loyal puppet.
Spencer had just opened his mouth to say something more when the band room door flew open. Garcia whirled around, and Spencer stepped around the kettledrums to see who had arrived.
Dez stood in the doorway, a broken-handled pushbroom in his grasp. His face was twisted with anger and darkened by the shadows of the hallway.
“You liar!” he shouted, pointing the pushbroom directly at Garcia.
Director Garcia relaxed when he realized it was only the boy in the doorway. “Dezmond, what are you doing here? Nicholson was taking you to get the—”
“Shut up!” Dez yelled. “It’s in your hand! Give it to me!”
Garcia looked at the small vial of Glop formula in his hand. “I simply cannot do that. This Sweeper potion is meant for me.”
“I don’t care if it’s meant for your old granny!” Dez took an intimidating step forward. “You said I could have it if I brought you the Rebels!”
Garcia shook his head. “I don’t have time for this. Whe
re is Nicholson?”
“The chump you sent to lock me up?” Dez said. “I unplugged his Rubbish when he started acting like a jerk. Then I busted my pushbroom over his back. He might wake up in an hour or two.” Dez was trudging forward, his broad face red.
Garcia held out a hand. “Not another step, Dezmond,” he warned. “Think about which side you want to be on when Mr. Clean gets here.”
“That’s a no-brainer,” Dez said. “I’m on my own side.” Then he hurled the broken pushbroom like a javelin.
Chapter 9
“I’m not even in the band!”
The bristles of Dez’s pushbroom caught Director Garcia full across the chest. His polished wingtip shoes left the carpeted floor, and the small vial of Glop formula fell from his hand.
The band room quickly erupted into chaos. Director Garcia soared over the Rebels’ heads and crashed high upon the wall, gasping for air from the solid impact. Penny’s twin mops streamed out and entangled the nearest Filth Plugger. Alan and Walter both sprang toward the Grime Plugger that held Daisy hostage.
Spencer threw himself down, his hand closing over the little vial of Sweeper potion. Dez was on him in a flash, wrestling Spencer sideways and toppling into the nearest music stands.
“Give it to me, Doofus!” Dez grabbed Spencer’s wrist. Unless something serious had changed in Dez’s personal hygiene, Spencer knew the big kid never washed his hands. That alone was almost enough to make him give up the vial of Glop formula.
But there was too much at stake. If Dez got his filthy fingers on that potion, he would definitely try to use it. Ordinary Dez was bad enough—Sweeper Dez would be far worse. If he could even survive the transformation . . .
“It’s mine!” Dez grunted. “My potion!” He sounded like such a big baby! Dez swung a fist into Spencer’s stomach. Spencer braced for the pain, but it never came. His Glopified jumpsuit had magically reduced the impact, rendering Dez’s fists useless. Spencer rolled hard to the side, smashing one of Dez’s hands against a chair.