“Who ordered more pizza?” came a crackly voice from within the room.
“Mmmm,” said another. “Lovely thing, pizza.”
“It’s not pizza, you idiots!” came a third voice. “It’s that boy we told them to bring down.”
“A pizza boy?”
“I don’t want to eat the pizza boy,” said the second. “I just want the pizza.”
“Is one of you going to answer the door?” the third voice demanded.
“Not me!” said the first. “I’m still wearing my nightie.”
“You’re always wearing your nightie,” said the second. “I’ll answer the door.”
Spencer braced himself as shuffling footsteps drew closer. Then the metal door inched open just a crack. Spencer saw only a sliver of the Witch’s nose, crooked and warty, but it was enough to identify her as Holga.
Holga peered through the open door, gave a bloodcurdling scream, and slammed it shut.
“She was right! It’s not pizza!” she cried. “It’s a . . . visitor!”
“No, no,” said the second voice. “That can’t be right. We don’t get visitors.”
“It’s not a visitor, you ninnies!” shouted the commanding voice. “We asked them to bring him down to us!”
The door cracked open again, and Spencer saw one eye peering through the frizzy black hair of Ninfa. Then she too screamed and slammed the door shut. “It’s a visitor!” she screamed. “And I’m still in my nightie!”
What followed were two minutes of absolute cacophony from inside the Witches’ lair. Spencer heard water running, drawers slamming, blow dryers blowing, and the distinctive sound of hairspray. Then the door flung wide open so abruptly that Dez took a step backward.
Spencer’s blood went cold. In the doorway stood all three Founding Witches. They were poised for their expected visitor, fake smiles adorning their unattractive faces.
“This better be good,” Ninfa said. “I got dressed for this.” She tugged at her ill-fitting black dress.
“Who are you?” demanded Belzora. She stood between the other two, a head taller and rail-backed.
This was the moment they had come for. Spencer held his breath, hoping that Dez played his part convincingly.
“I’m Dez Rylie,” he said. “I brought you something.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew the sandwich bag and the bronze nails. “Oops,” he muttered. “I meant to take them out of the bag first.” Dez used his talon to rip open the baggie. Then he upended the three nails into his hand.
In unison, all three Witches leaned forward to inspect the offering. Dez extended his hand, and Spencer saw that it was trembling ever so slightly. Spencer clenched his fists. The Witches had to take the bait! They had to!
Striking like snakes, in a deft unison movement, the Witches emptied Dez’s palm. They held the bronze nails close, scrutinizing the little items under the garage’s fluorescent light.
Dez lowered his hand and took a step back.
“Where did you come by these?” Holga asked, pinching her nail between thumb and finger.
“I used to be with the Rebels,” Dez said. “I stole the nails from a guy named Alan Zumbro.”
Spencer didn’t like how Dez had incriminated his dad, but at least he hadn’t blabbed about their connection with the Dark Aurans.
“How do we know they’re real?” Ninfa asked.
Holga stuck out her tongue and licked the nail. “Ick!” She spat on the floor. “It tastes all bronzy.”
“That’s because it’s made of bronze,” Ninfa said. “You are so thick sometimes!”
“Are you calling me fat?” Holga yelled.
Spencer was watching for any opportunity to get inside the Witches’ room. But the way the three of them were standing across the threshold made it impossible. He would have to wait until they stepped outside and then slip in before they shut the door.
“You!” Belzora yelled, pointing a gnarled finger at Hal. A series of shiny bangle bracelets jingled around her wrist. “Untie this boy’s wings.”
Hal nodded his dusty head. Reaching up, he jerked off the strip of duct tape. Dez stretched his wings and folded them in.
“There’s only one way to know if the nails are true,” Belzora said. She turned to Ninfa. “Get the squeegee.”
Ninfa ducked out of sight. There was a small open space in the threshold now. Spencer wondered if he could slip past unnoticed. But the risk of bumping into Belzora was too great. In a second, his window of opportunity had closed as Ninfa returned to fill her spot, squeegee in hand.
Belzora stepped down from the doorway. She walked past Hal and Dez, drawing a bottle of Windex from the black folds of her robes.
“It is time, sisters,” Belzora said, misting part of the garage wall until it turned to glass. “Bring the squeegee! We must away to the Glop source!”
Ninfa leapt down, somewhat spryly for a woman her age. She swiped the Glopified squeegee across Belzora’s glass wall, and a portal fizzed into view.
Spencer was looking directly into the empty gym at Welcher Elementary. The school day had been over for some time, and by this point in the late afternoon, only a few teachers would still be around.
Waiting for the Witches on the other side of the squeegee portal was the treacherous P.E. teacher, Dustin DeFleur. The old professor was leaning heavily on his cane, mad-scientist hair frizzing out in all directions.
“Welcome, esteemed mistresses,” DeFleur said, bowing as low as his stooped back allowed him. “I received your call and used the squeegee as you asked.”
Spencer turned back just as Holga stepped out of the doorway. At last, the way was open! Spencer just needed to slip the bleach bottle into Dez’s hand and get inside the lair.
He fumbled for a moment, finding it difficult to locate and remove the invisible bottle from his belt. At last, it came free. Spencer took a step toward Dez, pressing the bottle into the boy’s Sweeper hand. Dez’s fingers closed and Spencer let go of the bleach bottle.
There was an audible thud as the invisible bottle hit the floor of the parking garage. Spencer froze. Dez had dropped the bleach! He must not have had a good grip on the bottle, and since Spencer couldn’t see, he had let go too soon.
“What was that sound?” Belzora spun around, her eyes flicking across the empty garage.
Spencer looked down at the spot where he thought the bottle might be, but it was invisible. Neither he nor Dez could pick it up without feeling blindly for it.
Then Dez Rylie made eye contact with Spencer, his mouth opening in surprise. “Dude,” he muttered. “Your face!”
The fifteen minutes were up. Spencer was becoming visible again. He glanced beside him to see Daisy’s face shimmering into view. It seemed to be floating in midair, since the rest of her body was still invisible.
Impulsively, Dez’s wings shot out, shielding the visible faces of Spencer and Daisy from Hal, Professor DeFleur, and the Witches.
“You guys should probably hurry,” Dez said to the Witches. “The Rebels aren’t going to be happy when they find out I stole those bronze nails.” Dez kept his wings extended, but he wouldn’t be able to hide his friends for long. Spencer’s arms were beginning to shimmer into view.
Holga paused by the doorway to the Witches’ lair, reached back, and pulled the metal door closed. She hunched over the handle for a moment, and when she withdrew, Spencer could barely see around Dez’s wing to notice that she’d used a rope to tie the handle closed.
Ninfa turned to the Sweeper named Hal. “Take the boy back up.” She gestured at Dez. “If he’s lying, we’ll want to question him before we kill him.”
“No,” Belzora said, jerking the squeegee out of Ninfa’s hand. She stepped closer, towering over Hal. “Forget the boy. You will go back up alone. Use this squeegee to await our return.”
Without needing any further convincing, Hal took the squeegee, dropped to all fours, and galloped like a giant Filth across the parking garage.
“What abou
t him?” Holga said, pointing to where Dez stood as a human shield for Spencer and Daisy.
“The boy comes with us,” Belzora said. “If he’s lying, we finish him on the spot.”
Spencer almost panicked. This wasn’t part of the plan! If Dez went with the Witches, he would have no chance of escaping once they discovered the nails were fake!
Spencer grabbed his razorblade, ready to flick it open and protect Dez if necessary. But the Sweeper boy took a deep breath and shrugged his shoulders.
“Sure,” he said. “Let’s go.” Then, in a final attempt to keep Spencer and Daisy hidden from the Witches, he jumped toward the portal, buffeting Ninfa and Holga with his wings. He ushered them toward the portal and then stepped through himself as Belzora reached back and shattered the glass, leaving Spencer and Daisy alone in the parking garage.
Chapter 12
“I’m not very good at knots!”
Daisy had pulled off her dust mask and was chewing nervously on her fingernails—a very strange sight since her hand was still invisible.
“What should we do?” she asked.
Spencer shrugged, slipping his own mask down around his neck. “What we came here to do,” he answered. “Dez will probably try to stall them. I just hope he doesn’t get hurt. Still, I’m guessing we don’t have long before the Witches figure out they’ve been tricked.”
Spencer walked over to the metal door. Both his hands were visible now, and he grabbed the rope that Holga had tied around the handle.
Daisy giggled.
“What could possibly be funny right now?” Spencer asked, looking back at her.
“It looks like you’re floating,” she said, pointing at his still-invisible legs. Under other circumstances, Spencer would have joined in the laughter. It did indeed look strange to see only the top half of Daisy gliding over to join him at the door.
“I can’t get it,” Spencer said, fidgeting with the knots. “Holga tied the door shut.”
“She must be really good with knots,” Daisy said. “Mine never hold very long.”
“I think the rope’s Glopified.” Spencer stepped back. There was an easier way to do this. He reached into his janitorial belt and withdrew a razorblade. Sliding his thumb against the button, he extended the long, double-edged blade. He put the sharp edge to the rope and pulled quickly upward. The Glopified blade sliced through expertly, and the rope fell to the floor in two pieces.
“That was easy,” Spencer said, holstering his razorblade. But as he took a step toward the Witches’ door, he saw movement by his now-visible feet.
The rope was alive.
The two severed pieces reared up like striking snakes. Daisy screamed, and Spencer jumped backward. But the nearest rope had already bound his ankles. He fell hard to the pavement, his Glopified jumpsuit protecting him from any pain.
The second rope slithered toward Daisy. Her razorblade flashed as she cut it once, twice! But instead of falling to lifeless shreds, each piece of severed rope grew back to its original length.
Spencer grappled with the one around his ankles, wishing for a moment that his legs had remained invisible a little longer. He couldn’t pry it loose with his bare hands, and he couldn’t think of any other tool that would help. In desperation, he drew his razorblade once more and sliced through.
The rope fell into four pieces at his feet, each growing and slithering after him. He and Daisy retreated across the parking garage, with eight snake ropes moving in pursuit.
One rope leapt at Daisy and she sliced it in half. Nine ropes now. Ten, as Spencer cut down another that threatened to bind his feet again.
“We have to stop cutting them!” Spencer said. “It’s like a Hydra. Every time we cut off its head, it grows another.”
“Ropes aren’t supposed to have heads!” Daisy cried. “Do you have another idea?”
Spencer reached into his belt pouch and plucked out a pinch of vac dust. He delivered a Palm Blast directly at the nearest pair of ropes. They were pulled momentarily down but seemed to slither out of it.
“Windex!” Daisy shouted, leveling her blue spray bottle and shooting a rope as it leapt at her. The rope shimmered blue and turned to glass in midair. Then it fell to the pavement, shattering into a dozen shards.
“Windex!” Spencer repeated. The ropes had clustered together, and under Spencer and Daisy’s combined spray, all were quickly turned to glass. They crashed into each other, stiffening and breaking. Some reared up and tipped, shattering into small fragments.
“Phew,” Daisy said.
Spencer swiveled his Windex around his finger like a gunslinger and clipped it back onto his belt. “Good idea,” he began to say. But as a strange sound drew his attention back to the pile of broken glass, Spencer realized that the idea had actually been a very bad one.
The Windex effect was short-lived on the rope, and the countless shards of glass were transforming back into their original material. As they did, each fragment of rope grew to its original length, forming dozens of new snakes.
“Oops,” Daisy said, clipping away her Windex.
The two kids broke into a dead sprint for the Witches’ lair, leaping over rope snakes. At Spencer’s side, Daisy went down, an aggressive rope wrapping around her knees and dropping her to the pavement.
Spencer doubled back, but a single rope had lassoed him around the middle, dragging him to his knees. He grunted, gripping the attacking rope in both hands. Spencer tried to rip it away, but all he could do was pull the two ends together. In desperation, he looped the rope around itself and tied it into a tight knot.
Instantly, the rope went dead, falling loosely around his middle. Spencer gave a short cry of surprise and victory. Another rope leapt onto his leg, but Spencer was ready this time. He seized the ends and tied them off, turning the Glopified rope lifeless.
“You have to tie them up!” Spencer shouted, killing a third rope that came his way.
“I told you,” Daisy said. “I’m not very good at knots!”
She was lying on the pavement, Glopified ropes winding from her ankles past her middle. She was flailing desperately, trying to keep her hands free of the ropes’ grasp.
Spencer reached out and grabbed her outstretched hand, trying to hoist her to her feet. One of the ropes sprang forward, and before he could react, Spencer’s wrist was lashed to Daisy’s.
“This could complicate things,” Spencer said, grabbing the nearest end of the rope. Daisy used her free hand to seize the other and they brought the ends together.
“Okay,” she said. “Teamwork!”
“Bring your end over the top,” Spencer instructed, pulling his piece of rope around. The first attempt failed, and Spencer felt more ropes entwining his legs.
“Good,” Spencer said, ignoring the rope slithering up his back. “Now bring it down through the middle.”
“Pull!” Daisy yelled. They both tugged their ends of the rope and the knot went tight. The rope around their wrists was limp now, and Spencer wriggled free just in time to tie up the one constricting his neck.
Once the weakness was discovered, it wasn’t long before Spencer and Daisy had vanquished most of the ropes. A few of Daisy’s knots slipped, but it wasn’t hard to pull them tight again, choking the ropes lifeless once more.
“Come on,” Spencer said, as he and Daisy outran the remaining snakes. “We’ve got a hair to find.”
They reached the metal door to the Witches’ lair, and Spencer grabbed the handle. They had lost precious time in battling off the ropes. The Witches might return at any moment. Spencer pushed open the door, crinkled his nose at the pungent smell, and stepped inside the Witches’ lair.
Chapter 13
“The time has come at last.”
It wasn’t a pretty place, and Spencer instinctively drew his hands to his chest in order to avoid touching anything.
It was basically one large room, with a kitchenette against the back wall, adorned with a heap of leftover-crusted dishes. Towers of
empty pizza boxes stood like crooked architectural columns. Lumpy-mattress bunk beds were stacked three high, and experimental cleaning supplies littered the entire room. Boxes and crates were piled up everywhere, with empty jars and bottles strewn about.
“What’s that smell?” Daisy asked.
“I don’t think they shower much,” Spencer answered. He slipped his dust mask over his face again, but it didn’t help with the smell.
“Do they even have a bathroom?” Daisy asked.
Spencer simply pointed to the only other room in the dwelling—a bathroom that looked so germ-infested, he didn’t want to go within ten feet of it.
“That’s probably the best place to find a Witch hair,” Daisy said.
“You check it out,” Spencer said, relieved that she seemed to be volunteering. “I’ll look around out here.”
Daisy skirted around a dingy couch with holes in the upholstery and slipped into the bathroom. Spencer moved around by the triple-decker bunk beds, careful not to touch the blankets and sheets that appeared to be falling off. He would have inspected the pillows from a safe distance if something hadn’t caught his eye.
In the center of the room, previously hidden by a tower of wooden crates, was a pedestal sink. It stood like a centerpiece in the lair, its porcelain stand rising out of the floor. But more amazing than the sink was the vast pile of soapsuds bubbling up out of the drain.
The suds blossomed over the edge of the sink like a cloud. Countless soapy bubbles, piled high and stagnant, seemed to shine with an unnatural light.
Spencer stepped closer to the shimmering sink, intrigued by its prominent placement in the cramped living quarters. He squinted at the suds, noticing what he thought was a reflection in the glossy surface of the bubbles. But it was more than a reflection. It was movement.
Spencer bent closer, until his nose was only inches from the puff of suds. He couldn’t believe it. Every single tiny bubble held a scene. Some displayed buildings, others showed parks and playgrounds. People walked in and out of view, like miniature humans seen through the fish-eye lens of a surveillance camera.