Higher and higher they rose, until the dust of the air and the dust of the ground became indistinguishable. In every direction, it was nothing but a wash of gray.
As Spencer looked across the never-ending expanse of the Dustbin, he saw something in the distance. At first it seemed like nothing more than a smudge of black in the haze. But as the slipstream lifted him higher, his aerial view brought some clarity.
It was a building, or rather a series of buildings, black with age and soot. Spencer knew at once what it must be.
The fortress of the Instigators.
Spencer squinted through the wind and grit. There was a peculiar light rising from the center of the evil fortress, like a beacon of multicolored energy. The column twisted upward as high as Spencer could see.
The beam of magic seemed to exude a wicked aura, and Spencer shivered to think that he would have been taken to that fortress if the TPs had succeeded in capturing him. Sach, Olin, and Aryl hadn’t been so lucky when they had fallen into the Dustbin so many years ago. The Founding Witches had rescued the Dark Auran boys, but not before the Instigators had performed experiments upon them. Spencer shook his head, trying to rid himself of the dark thoughts.
At last, the Rip came into view, only yards ahead. It was a dark hole at the end of the slipstream. The jagged border of their exit glowed a deep and magical purple.
Spencer took a deep breath as the rushing wind seemed to grow louder.
He tensed his muscles, bracing himself to pass through. If Bookworm had succeeded, then they were all about to find themselves back inside the Port-a-Potty.
Everything went dark for a second, accompanied by absolute silence. Then Spencer found himself lying facedown on a hard floor. He scrambled to his knees, blinking hard for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
He was not in the Port-a-Potty; that much was sure. Spencer fought a wave of despair at finding himself in an unknown environment. He rose to his feet, running his hands along the wall until he found a light switch. As a fluorescent bulb flickered to life, Spencer realized that he was in some sort of janitorial supply closet. The small room was packed with Glopified weaponry hanging from hooks and shoved onto cluttered shelves.
Spencer was looking for the Vortex when Daisy suddenly appeared out of a shelf by his knee. He scrambled backward as his friend dropped to the floor.
“This isn’t the Port-a-Potty,” she said, squinting against the artificial light. “Where are we?”
“I don’t know,” Spencer whispered. He bent down and found the Vortex on the shelf where Daisy had appeared. The vacuum bag looked normal, except for one small hole in the center of the paper material. Spencer held his hand above the hole, feeling a strong wind leaking out.
Suddenly, Dez’s head emerged out of the hole in the Vortex. Spencer jerked his hand away, watching the boy squeeze through a tear no bigger than the diameter of a pencil.
Dez flopped awkwardly onto the floor. His big wings stretched out, scattering the contents of a nearby shelf to the floor.
“Quiet!” Spencer hissed. Stealth was more important than ever since none of them had a clue where they were.
Of course, Dez’s clumsy arrival instantly drew unwanted attention. Spencer froze as the three kids heard the unmistakable sound of a key being inserted into a lock.
Spencer’s gaze turned to the closet door. The knob turned and the hinges squeaked. Spencer reached back to the shelf and grabbed the Vortex just as a Filth Sweeper entered the janitorial closet.
The look of surprise on the Sweeper’s face lasted only for a split second before it changed to aggression.
“Who are you?” the Sweeper asked. “How’d you get in here?” His breath was making Spencer dizzy with sudden fatigue. Daisy saw the effect and reached for the air freshener on her belt.
“Nobody moves!” the Sweeper demanded. His rodent eyes studied Spencer. “Give me that vac bag.”
Spencer was so tired, he gave in without an argument. He tossed the Vortex forward, and the Sweeper caught it carefully in his clawed hands. At the same moment, Marv’s shaggy head appeared through the hole in the bag. The Sweeper let out a cry of dismay and tried to drop the Vortex. But Marv’s strong arms had already come through, and he grabbed the Sweeper in a viselike choke hold.
The Vortex fell to the floor as Marv’s entire body finally worked free of his prison. The Sweeper, even with his Filth enhancements, was still no match for Marv’s strength.
Daisy released a blast of vanilla air freshener to counteract the Filth breath for Spencer’s sake. Then she stepped around the wrestling pair and quietly closed the closet door.
The Sweeper was gasping for breath, his entire body shuddering. In a final move of desperation, he launched the quills from his back. The kids took cover as the arrowlike projectiles pinged off the walls of the closet. Marv grunted but held on, forcing the Sweeper to his knees.
“Tell me where we are,” Marv demanded. He let up on the Sweeper’s neck just enough for the man to gasp out an answer.
“BEM . . .” he tried. “BEM laboratory . . .”
“We’re already inside!” Spencer said. For once, part of the plan had gone better than expected.
“How’d we get here?” Daisy asked, glancing around the supply closet.
“Found . . . the vac bag . . .” the Sweeper said. “In the Port-a-Pot . . . thought it was BEM . . . brought it here.”
Marv looked at the kids as though putting a Sweeper in a choke hold was just another day at work. “Anything else you want to ask this guy?”
Spencer stepped over to their prisoner. “Where are the Rebels?”
The Sweeper forced a painful smile. Then, instead of answering, he spat on the floor in defiance.
Spencer quickly drew a bottle of green spray from his belt and misted the Sweeper in the face. The little bit of consciousness he still had faded instantly, and Marv dropped him to the ground.
The Rebel janitor grunted again as he stepped away from the still body. His hand went to his side, and he drew in a pained breath.
“You’re hurt!” Daisy said.
Two of the Sweeper’s quills had pierced Marv in the side, staining his shirt crimson. “I’ll be fine,” Marv said through gritted teeth.
Daisy drew her orange healing spray and stepped over to him. “This might sting a little.” She pulled the quills out of the janitor’s side and quickly sprayed over the wounded area.
“Now, that’s a handy spray,” Marv said, as the injury began to heal.
“One of Walter’s best,” Daisy said.
“Where is the old boss?” Marv asked.
“He’s here somewhere,” Spencer said. “And I think I know how to find him.”
Marv and Dez worked on tying up the unconscious Sweeper while Spencer and Daisy searched the closet for any piece of bronze. Spencer was about to give up when Daisy found a box full of old hardware. Spencer rooted around until he found a small cupboard handle. He knew it was bronze as soon as he touched it.
The janitor’s closet faded to white, and Spencer focused on thoughts of Walter Jamison. When the vision cleared, Spencer was looking through the old warlock’s eyes, with an immediate fix on his location.
Walter was in a bare room, one floor down, third door from the end of the hallway. Penny and Bernard were there too. They looked worn and afraid, with not a word exchanged between them.
Spencer was instantly relieved that they were alive. But at the same time, the scene brought an overload of worry.
Where was his dad?
Spencer watched through Walter’s eyes long enough to be sure that his dad was not in the room. He tried not to let panic take over. He refused to assume the worst. The BEM lab had six floors. Just because Alan wasn’t being held with the other Rebels didn’t mean he was . . .
Spencer decided to switch perspectives. With Director Garcia dead, there was only one other warlock to spy on. And it was just as important to know Mr. Clean’s location as it was to know Walter’s.
/>
His vision cleared, and Spencer was surprised to recognize the room. The Sweeper warlock was on the bottommost floor, in the room with the round sea window and the bronze nail.
A Rubbish Sweeper woman stood before Mr. Clean, fidgeting, as everyone seemed to do in his presence.
“That is no concern of yours,” Mr. Clean said. Spencer hated coming into the middle of these conversations and trying to piece together the meaning. “I will kill him when the time is right. For now, I want Zumbro alive. Have you separated him from the others?”
“Yes, sir,” the woman said. “Just as you asked.”
“Excellent.” The warlock’s deep voice rumbled out. “Keep him under guard. Now that he’s out of the way, it’s time to pay a visit to Jamison.”
Chapter 45
“I’m not wearing this.”
Spencer released the bronze hardware and found himself back inside the janitor supply closet. It took him a moment to realize that Daisy, Dez, and Marv were staring at him, awaiting a report. He slipped the bronze handle into his pocket.
“Good news,” Spencer said. “My dad is alive. Bad news—I don’t know where he is.” He shrugged. “Good news—I do know where Walter and the others are. Bad news—Mr. Clean’s on his way to see them right now.”
Spencer thought back on the conversation. Why was it so important to separate his dad? It was only after this was done that Mr. Clean was willing to see the other Rebels. Something didn’t make sense. Spencer felt like he was missing part of the story.
“So what are we going to do?” Daisy asked.
“We’re going to get there before Clean does,” Spencer said. He reached onto one of the shelves and withdrew two extra spray bottles with green solution. Handing them to Dez and Marv, he said, “We have to move quickly and silently. All we have is the element of surprise. Once we’re discovered, we’ll be too outnumbered.”
They took a minute to gear up, scavenging through the supply closet. Spencer and Daisy replenished their belts, while Dez pocketed some razorblades. Spencer yawned, surprised that he felt tired at such a moment as this. Then he remembered the Sweeper in the closet. Even though the man was unconscious, he was still breathing, and the effects were clouding Spencer’s focus.
He let out a spritz of air freshener and shook his head. It was going to be tough with so many Sweepers in the BEM lab. Rattling his air freshener, he realized that his aerosol can was nearly empty. Mr. Clean wouldn’t stock a product that was meant only to benefit the kids. But the BEM warlock did have something else that might be useful.
Spencer dug in his belt until he found the white dust mask. He hadn’t thought much about it since the last time he was at the lab. He’d taken it from the elevator when Mr. Clean had paralyzed the others with the chalkboard eraser bomb.
Spencer quickly sorted through the shelves until he found a few more masks. He handed one to Daisy and another to Dez.
“We should probably put these on,” he said. “This place is crawling with Sweepers, and we can’t afford to get distracted. Mr. Clean said these masks will provide pure oxygen. Last time I wore one, it blocked the Toxite breath.”
Spencer stretched the small elastic and pulled the mask over his head. When Daisy did the same, Dez burst out laughing.
“You guys look like dorks,” Dez said. “I’m not wearing this.” He handed the dust mask back to Spencer. “Besides, I’m not affected by Toxite breath. The Rubbish used to get me sometimes, but now I am one.”
Spencer rolled his eyes. Dez’s invincibility complex was going to get him in trouble. He slipped the extra mask into his belt and turned to Marv, who had just found a janitorial belt of his own. The buckle wouldn’t quite reach around the big man’s stomach, so Marv tore off a small strip of duct tape and bridged the gap, giving a satisfied grunt when all was in place.
As an afterthought, Marv stooped down and picked up the Vortex. Spencer wondered if it still had power after the Rip. The hairy janitor held the vacuum bag in silence. Spencer didn’t know what Marv was thinking, but the big man seemed deep in thought.
Spencer saw Marv shrug away his thoughts, and the janitor tossed the Vortex into the corner of the closet. “Leave it for the BEM,” he said. “I never want to see that thing again.”
They slipped into the hallway, scanning both directions but seeing no one. Spencer had to lead, since he was the only one who knew where the Rebels were being held. The bronze vision hadn’t shown him which route to take, but Spencer knew they were headed in the right direction.
As they rounded a corner, Spencer found himself face-to-face with a surprised Grime Sweeper. Before the enemy could move, an emerald mist sprayed into his face and he collapsed with a gap in his memory.
Marv peeked into a nearby room and, finding it empty, dragged the unconscious Sweeper inside. There wasn’t time to tie him up, which meant their entire rescue operation needed to be done in about fifteen minutes.
They found the elevator rather quickly, but Spencer didn’t want to use it. They’d been trapped in there before, and he didn’t want to repeat the mistake now. Besides, Mr. Clean would probably be using the elevator to get from the sixth floor up to the second. Stairs were a better option.
Daisy spotted the stairwell at the end of the hallway. They moved as quickly as they could manage without making a sound. Just as they reached the stairwell door, voices drifted up to them.
They recoiled from the doorway, Marv pressing the three kids against the wall and trying to flatten himself beside them. The door swung open, and three Sweepers stepped into the hallway. They moved straight away, never bothering to check over their shoulders. If they had done so, they would have seen four Rebels quietly slipping through the open door and down the stairs.
They emerged onto the second floor, entering the hallway behind an unsuspecting Filth Sweeper. Dez gestured that he would handle it. Silently opening his wings, the boy jumped forward, gliding the distance to the Sweeper without a footfall. The guard collapsed in a cloud of green spray, and Marv dragged him back, depositing the body in the stairwell.
Spencer pointed straight ahead down the hallway. “Third door from the end,” he said.
A short distance to the right, the elevator chimed in an unwanted announcement that Mr. Clean had arrived. The Rebels dropped into a dead sprint, caring less about stealth and more about reaching the room before Mr. Clean spotted them.
There were two Sweeper guards outside the door, and the Rebels engaged them before they could call for backup. Daisy conquered one with a shot of vac dust and a mist of green spray. Marv took down the other, thrusting a plunger against the Sweeper’s chest with bone-breaking force. His Glopified half vanished, leaving him unconscious, blind, and plainly human.
One of the Sweepers wore a key on a lanyard around his neck. Spencer ripped it off, inserted the key into the lock, and pushed open the door. Marv and Dez flung the unconscious Sweepers into the room. The three kids ducked inside, followed closely by the big janitor, who swiftly shut the door behind him.
Stunned silence greeted the rescue party as Walter, Penny, and Bernard rose to their feet. They stared at Marv, and Spencer could see the absolute disbelief on their faces.
“Marv Bills,” Walter finally muttered, a genuine smile spreading across his weary face. “I don’t believe my eyes.”
Marv gave a curt nod and grunted, suddenly uncomfortable with all the attention. “Better make a plan,” he said, getting back to the comfort of business. “Mr. Clean’s right outside the door.”
“I have a way out,” Spencer said. He pulled the dust mask off his face, and Daisy did the same. “I’ve got a squeegee,” Spencer said, patting the handle on his belt. “Bookworm’s got the other one in Welcher.”
“So the Thingamajunk is feeling better?” Bernard asked.
Daisy nodded. “We gave him a trashfusion of new garbage, just like you said.”
“But we’ve got to find my dad,” Spencer said. “How long ago did they take him away?” br />
“Probably an hour or two,” Penny said. “But we don’t know where they took him.”
Walter held out a hand for silence as Mr. Clean’s voice sounded in the hallway outside.
“Head down to staffing and find out who is scheduled for guard duty here,” the warlock said. “I’ll have them punished for this negligence.”
Walter whispered to the other Rebels, “We have to stop him from opening that door.”
The knob rattled as Mr. Clean used his master key. It was unnecessary, since the door was unlocked, but it gave the Rebels just enough time to come up with a plan.
Spencer peeled off a long strip of Glopified duct tape and pasted it along the edge of the door, securing it closed. No sooner had he stuck it down than Mr. Clean twisted the knob and attempted to push the door open.
Daisy ripped off another strip of tape, fortifying the other side of the door as Mr. Clean threw his weight against it. Marv triple-secured the entrance, running a third piece along the bottom threshold.
“The Rebels have blocked the door!” Mr. Clean shouted, a thread of anger in his voice. “Fetch me a bottle of Windex.” He pounded against the door twice more, but the tape was impenetrable.
“I’m beginning to question your rescue operation,” Bernard said. “It would appear that we are now all trapped in the same room.”
“Not all of us,” Spencer said, his thoughts turning to his dad.
Mr. Clean was speaking again, but his voice was too low to understand the words. Even when Spencer pressed his ear to the door, he could hear only the rumble of the man’s voice.
Mr. Clean didn’t deserve to have a private conversation, not with Spencer standing nearby. He reached into his pocket and felt the bronze hardware that he’d taken from the supply closet. Channeling his energy, Spencer found himself looking through Mr. Clean’s eyes, hearing every word the warlock said.