[Janitors 03] Curse of the Broomstaff (11 page)

A moment later, Spencer was seated in the principal’s office. She drummed her fingers against the table, and Spencer wondered if that was standard procedure for all principals.

“Whose class are you in, Spencer?” the principal finally asked.

Spencer shrugged. It looked insubordinate, but he didn’t know how to answer.

The principal pursed her lips. “Okay, so you want to play the hard way.” She grabbed the computer mouse, clicked twice, and typed his name into the system.

Spencer braced himself. He knew what would happen once she discovered that he wasn’t actually a Triton student. The police would have to get involved. He’d be cited for trespassing and who knew what else.

“Hmm . . .” the principal squinted at the computer screen. “So you’re in Ms. Bellingham’s sixth-grade class. She’ll be disappointed in you.” The principal scrolled down. “But I’m afraid that Mr. Alan Zumbro will be even more upset. I’m afraid I have to call your father.”

Spencer’s eyes grew wider as she went on. “How do you know my dad’s name . . . ?” He was so ripe with astonishment that he could barely get the question out.

“It’s all in the system.” The principal swiveled the computer screen so Spencer could see. How was it possible? There was a complete student profile for Spencer Zumbro!

“Min,” Spencer mumbled. Somehow he had hacked Triton Charter School’s system and written a false profile.

The principal dialed Alan’s phone number and waited. “He’s not answering.”

Of course not. Alan was off the grid with the rest of the team. And now Alan was the only team member unaccounted for. Spencer found a clock on the wall. It was 11:58. In two minutes the final rendezvous time would expire. Once Spencer got free of the principal’s office, the team would have to move on without Alan.

The principal had just started to leave a message when the office door suddenly burst open. Spencer went rigid with astonishment.

“I hate to barge in like this, but I got a call from my son’s teacher, saying he was involved in some kind of food fight?”

Alan Zumbro stood in the doorway.

A
lan’s short brown hair was nicely combed, and a trim beard outlined his face. He wore black slacks and a gray, button-down shirt under his coat. For a moment, Spencer remembered what his dad used to look like when he taught biology at the junior high. But at second glance, Spencer noticed a rip in his pants and a dark stain on his shirt.

“Is it true?” Alan asked, looking at Spencer for the first time in over a month. The principal set down the telephone as Spencer nodded wordlessly.

Alan looked away and ran a hand through his beard, as if trying to calm his temper. Then he turned back to his son. “Get up. We’re going.” His voice was cold and hard. “Get up before you disappoint me further.”

Spencer felt a pang of hurt strike his heart. His dad was acting, right? Did Alan have to say it with such conviction? Spencer rose onto numb feet.

“Mr. Zumbro,” said the principal, “your son needs to return to the cafeteria and help his classmates with the cleanup.”

“No,” Alan said, “he needs to go home where I can teach him a lesson. Believe me, he’s about to spend a lot of time with cleaning supplies.” Alan took his son firmly by the elbow and nodded to the principal. “Good day.”

He dragged Spencer out of the office, past the entryway, and through the school’s front doors. As soon as Spencer felt the cold air on his face, Alan let go.

“Haha!” his dad laughed. “I think we sold it! Was I convincing enough?”

Spencer was speed-walking ahead, upset with himself for not feeling more joy at his dad’s sudden arrival.

“Whoa, slow down!” Alan said. “We’re free.”

“Let’s just get to Bernard’s truck,” said Spencer. “Before I disappoint you further.”

“You know I didn’t mean that stuff I said.” Alan jogged a few steps to catch up. “I’m proud of the work you did in there. You single-handedly rescued Walter.”

For some reason, Spencer didn’t like the praise. “Daisy did most of it.” They walked the rest of the way in silence. Alan didn’t ask about the family, didn’t ask about life. It made Spencer feel a kind of festering resentment that lasted until he saw Walter Jamison standing in front of the garbage truck. The old warlock smiled warmly, and Spencer ran to him.

“You all right?” Spencer said.

“Better now, thanks to you and the Organization of Janitor Monitors.”

Penny and Daisy climbed down from the cab of the truck. “The orange healing spray woke him right up,” Penny said. “We just finished unloading Uncle Walter’s van into the garbage truck. We stay together from here on out.”

“What about the bronze nail and hammer?” Spencer asked. Walter always carried the hammer, and the nail had previously been inside his van.

Walter held out his hand. The antique nail was safe in his palm. “Whoever captured me must not have recognized who I was. Ninfa never left my side.”

He patted a cargo pocket on his pants where the bronze hammer was tucked away. It was the hammer and nail that gave Walter his warlock powers. Without them, there would be no way to Glopify new supplies.

“Who did capture you?” Daisy asked. “Was it that temporary janitor lady?”

“I’m sure it was,” said Walter. “Though I don’t remember.”

“The janitor used green spray,” Penny said, touching a stain on her uncle’s shirt collar. “Green spray puts you to sleep and erases your recent memory of the person who sprayed you.”

“How did they know you were coming?” Spencer asked.

“The BEM always has ears on me,” said Walter. “Lately, they seem to be making a move on any school that I mention by name. It’s likely that I accidentally let Triton Charter slip, so they took out the Rebel Janitor and replaced him with that substitute BEM worker.”

Bernard came around the side of the garbage truck. The garbologist stopped a foot away from Spencer and sniffed the air.

“I’m guessing spaghetti and meatballs in a heavy marinara sauce,” Bernard said. He wiped a smudge off Spencer’s forehead. “You sure stink, kid.”

“That means a lot coming from the garbage man,” Spencer said.

“Hey.” Bernard held up his hands. “My nose doesn’t lie.”

Alan Zumbro stepped into the center of the group. “Well,” he said, “we’re all here. But we shouldn’t stay much longer. That BEM janitor has probably already sent word. When last I checked, there were about a dozen Pluggers on my trail. We need to go somewhere safe before they find us again.” He paused and looked at each face. “We need to get the package open.”

Bernard coughed nervously. “About the package . . .”

“Who found it?” Walter cut in. “Which one of you?”

“Actually,” Spencer said, “it was my mom. The package was at home all along.” He looked directly at Alan. “Funny you didn’t spend more time there, looking.” His dad’s eyes flicked away.

“About the package . . .” Bernard tried again.

“We should inspect it before opening,” Alan said. “Somewhere quiet, with a lot of light.”

“I lost the package!” Bernard finally shouted. “At the bus depot.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Penny vouched. “Couple of Pluggers attacked us. The Extension Grime nearly killed Bernard.”

Daisy nodded. “His head was cracked open. I could almost see his brains! Smelled like oranges.”

“That was the healing spray,” Penny reminded.

“Argh!” Bernard grunted. “It was my responsibility and it got away from me!”

“By the time we realized it was missing,” Penny said, “the Pluggers were long gone.”

“They didn’t make it far,” Alan said. “I was also at the bus depot rendezvous point. The Pluggers had been following me for hours. I thought I’d lost them, but they found me again in Wyoming. When I realized how close they were, I decided not to lead them into the bus depot. Problem was, a few of them picked up Penny’s trail and followed her in.”

“So that’s how they found us,” Penny muttered.

“I hid out down the road and waited for them to leave the bus depot,” Alan explained. “I spent a long time trapped in a dumpster, thinking about that package, remembering every detail of the way I mailed it. So you can imagine how I felt when I saw that one of the Pluggers had it. I just had to get it back.”

Alan reached into his coat and withdrew the white mailing tube. “The package is safe,” Alan said. “And I don’t know about you guys, but I’m dying to find out what’s inside.”

S
pencer thought it was strange to watch the sun set through the windows of an elementary school. Stranger still to know that he would probably see it rise through the same window.

The team had made camp inside Woodbury Elementary School, about two hours south of Triton Charter. The janitor at Woodbury was a friend of Walter’s and a highly trusted Rebel. He had let them into the school as soon as the students had gone home.

The Rebel team members had made themselves comfortable in the janitor’s closet, while Spencer and Daisy were led to the gym so they could finally shower off the crusty spaghetti sauce.

The Woodbury janitor brought them dinner and gave Walter instructions on how to lock the school. Then he departed, leaving the team alone as the sun set.

“How does it feel to have your dad back?” Daisy asked, coming alongside Spencer in the dim hallway.

He shrugged. “Not all that different from when he was gone.”

“But he saved you from the principal’s office,” Daisy said. “That’s got to feel good.”

“He chewed me out.” Spencer looked at his feet. “He didn’t even say hello.”

“He was just pretending.” Daisy paused. “Right?”

Footsteps in the hallway caused them both to turn. It was Walter, both hands in his pockets. “We’re ready to begin,” Walter said. “Your dad has inspected the package for traps and safeguards. The time has come to open it.”

Spencer and Daisy followed Walter into the janitor’s closet. It was larger than usual, with a round table in the middle of the room. Bernard and Penny were already seated. Alan stood, the package resting in his hands. Spencer, Daisy, and Walter took the three remaining chairs.

A reverential hush settled over the janitor’s closet. Alan looked briefly at each member of the team. It was as though he were making a last-minute decision whether to let them see the contents of the package. Then his eyes turned to the white mailing tube in his hands.

“Let me start at the beginning.” Alan’s tone was dark and somber. “Back when there were two of us.” His brow wrinkled at a bitter memory. “Did any of you ever have the pleasure of meeting Rodney Grush?”

Alan looked around the table, but all heads were shaking no. Spencer had heard the name a hundred times. Rod Grush was his dad’s science partner. For a long time, Alice had blamed Rod for Alan’s sudden disappearance.

“Rod was my friend and colleague. We worked together at Winowah Junior High School in Washington. He taught chemistry and I taught biology. We were both heavily involved in the science division for the Bureau of Educational Maintenance.”

“You worked for the BEM?” Daisy asked.

“Back when they were good,” Alan answered. “About three years ago, the BEM approached us, asking Rod and me to head up a top secret mission. The warlocks had discovered a clue. Something that would lead us to the source of all Glop.”

“What’s so important about the source?” Penny asked.

“The source is where it all began.” Alan’s face flushed with the importance of what he was about to say. “Toxites are born from Glop.”

There was a moment of thoughtful silence, and then Bernard raised his hand. “So you mean to tell me,” he said, “that there’s no such thing as mommy and daddy Toxites? The little creatures just pop out of the Glop on their own?”

“Exactly,” Alan said.

“No parents?” Daisy said. “Sad for them.”

Walter’s face was more intent than Spencer had ever seen it. He obviously understood the magnitude of Alan’s discovery. “This changes everything,” the warlock said.

“Indeed it does,” Alan said. “If Toxites are born in Glop, then we finally know how to get rid of them permanently.”

“Find the source of Glop and destroy it,” Walter finished.

It was quiet again, and then Spencer spoke up. “But if we destroy Glop, there wouldn’t be any more magical supplies.”

“We wouldn’t need magical supplies,” his dad said. “There would be no more Toxites to fight.”

A life without Toxites. It was indeed a wild idea.

“But no one knows where Glop originated,” Walter said. “How did you expect to find it?”

“We were looking for help from the only people who know how to find it.” Alan turned to Spencer. “We were looking for the Aurans.”

Spencer felt all eyes shift to him. He cowered in his seat, feeling his face turn hot from the unwanted attention. “I don’t . . .” he said, head shaking. “I don’t know how to find the source of Glop.”

“The
other
Aurans,” Alan clarified. “The original thirteen. They will tell us how to find the source.”

“The Aurans don’t speak to us,” Walter said. “Few warlocks have ever even seen them. Most of the time the Glop is delivered during the night. I awake to find it at the foot of my bed.”

“Sounds like they’re in league with the tooth fairy,” Daisy interjected.

Walter continued, ignoring the girl’s comment. “We don’t even know how to find the Aurans, let alone get them to divulge the location of the source.”

“Maybe we can use Spencer,” Penny said. “If we could find a way to reveal that he’s an Auran, maybe it would lure the original thirteen out to find him.”

“No.” Alan shook his head. “We must keep Spencer’s status secret for as long as possible. That means we don’t mention a word of it to anyone outside this room. Can we agree on that?” Alan looked around the room, accepting either a verbal “yes” or a head nod from everyone at the table.

The attention bothered Spencer. Why did his dad have to treat him like he was a dangerous secret? Spencer wondered if his dad would take such an interest in him if he weren’t an Auran.

“There is a way,” Alan continued. “A way to find the Aurans and gain their cooperation that doesn’t involve putting Spencer at risk. That’s the secret mission that Rod and I were supposed to accomplish. The BEM gave us a clue, the first in a sequence of thirteen. It took Rod and me the better part of a year to solve the first twelve clues.” Alan paused, brushing his hand over his eyes. “We passed through our fair share of dangers and difficulties, and I learned to trust Rod Grush with my life. It was late August when we found the final, thirteenth clue. Dallas, Texas. At an intermediate school.