[Janitors 03] Curse of the Broomstaff (27 page)

Alan nodded. “We should get out of here while we can . . .”

Mop strings flicked through the oval opening and seized Spencer around the middle. He was jerked outside, back into the pouring rain.

Spencer skidded on his back in the mud, writhing to see who had attacked him. As he traced the mop strings back to their source, his heart sank.

It was Rho.

Spencer sat up just in time to see V slam her pushbroom into the side of the soda can. The rain-soaked soil gave way into a tremendous landslide; carrying the old aluminum can down a slippery slope.

Spencer watched his friends topple out of sight. He staggered to his feet and lunged at V. But the Auran was too quick. She turned, drawing a green spray bottle from her belt and pulling the trigger. A fine green mist engulfed Spencer. He felt his legs weaken and buckle. Spencer fell backward, and Rho caught him under the arms.

His vision was growing fuzzy, and, try as he might, Spencer couldn’t remember who had just sprayed him with the green solution. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he blacked out completely.

S
pencer awoke to cold water in his face. The rain was still coming down in sheets, forcing him to gasp for air as he sat up.

His brain felt patchy as he tried to piece together the recent events. He remembered fighting Leslie’s gang of Pluggers in the utensil forest. He remembered taking shelter in an oversized 7-Up can. He remembered Rho pulling him out and V knocking the can down the hill. But he couldn’t remember anything after that.

Where was he? How had he gotten here?

“He’s awake!” came a shout from behind him. Spencer turned to find all ten Aurans standing in a wet huddle.

“What’s going on?” Spencer said. “What happened?”

“We’ve arrived,” V said, striding to the front of the group. She gestured to her right, and Spencer turned.

A short distance away was a man-made lake. But it was not a friendly lake of flowing crystal water. It was a stagnant lagoon of grayish sludge, radiating a visible energy. Spencer recognized the disgusting substance, even though he’d never seen so much in one place.

It was a lagoon of Glop. It bubbled and roiled, emitting a foul, sulfuric odor.

At the center of the lagoon was an island of scorched, barren soil. And rising from the center of the island was the largest broom Spencer had ever seen. It towered nearly a hundred feet high, planted in the earth like a gnarly tree trunk. The broomstick was coarse wood, twisted and crooked as it rose higher. At the top, the straw bristles splayed heavenward, worn and weathered from hundreds of years of solitude. It was a witch’s broom, old-fashioned and frightening.

“This is it?” Spencer muttered. “This is the source of all Glop?”

V laughed. “No, no. In fact, we have no idea where to find the source of all Glop.”

“But you said . . .” stammered Spencer. “You were leading us . . .”

“It was a lie,” V said flatly. “We needed to get you out here and we knew you’d take the bait.”

Spencer glanced back at the Glop lagoon with the gnarled broomstick rising from its heart. If this wasn’t the Glop source, then it could mean only one thing. “The Broomstaff,” Spencer whispered, feeling a pit of despair open in his stomach.

Rho stepped forward. “I’m sorry, Spencer.”

“You . . .” He couldn’t find the words. His eyes were stinging and his throat was tightening. “I trusted you!”

“You never would have come here if I’d told you the truth,” Rho said.

“Exactly,” V interjected. “Rho was critical in making this work. We’ve known about you for quite some time, Spencer. Ever since Rho was sent to New Forest Academy to spy on you.”

“What?” Spencer faced Rho, feeling sick inside. “You said you went to the Academy to spy on Director Garcia.”

“Why would I need to do that,” Rho asked, “when I can see every move Garcia makes through bronze visions? I was there for
you.
We would have captured you sooner, but we knew you were on the trail to solving the thirteen clues. If you succeeded, you would come to us.”

“You’ve been planning this?” he yelled.

Rho nodded. “For months.”

“So now what?” Spencer cried. “Now you’re going to Pan me?”

“How did you know about the Pan?” V narrowed her eyes. “So you
did
speak with Olin!”

“Of course I did,” answered Spencer. “Aryl, too. They warned me about this. They said you’d try to Pan me like you did the Dark Aurans.”

“That’s what you are, Spencer,” said V. “We have to keep you under control.”

It was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard. “I’m not a Dark Auran! I don’t even have any special powers.”

“It was only a matter of time before you discovered the full range of your abilities,” V said. “Then you would become just like them. You’d try to stop us from doing what the Founding Witches would want.”

“How can you say that?” Spencer yelled. “Haven’t you seen what the BEM is doing? I’m trying to stop
them!
”

V took a deep breath. “And I have to stop you before you become a threat to us.” She turned back to the Auran girls. “Come on!” she barked. “Let’s get this kid Panned!”

Spencer was too sick with despair and regret to mount any kind of defense. He was weaponless, his janitorial belt slung over Rho’s shoulder. He let the girls move him along, his mind numb from the sudden turn of events.

It grew warmer and smellier as they approached the lagoon of raw Glop. By the time they reached the bank, the smell was almost unbearable. Spencer watched the lazy bubbles rise and splatter, releasing concentric rings of glowing energy.

V came to a halt and swung the Spade over her shoulder. “Shall we set sail?”

It was fully dark now, and only the grayish glow from the Glop lagoon made it so Spencer could see what she was talking about. A fleet of six blue recycle bins floated and bobbed in the Glop like small boats. They were tethered to the bank by a few rough ropes.

The Aurans were jumping into boats by the pair, and V took Spencer firmly by the arm. “You’re coming with me.”

V pushed him to the edge of the lagoon. For a frightful second, Spencer thought he might fall into the Glop. The blue recycle bin bumped against the bank, and Spencer stepped into it, not liking the way it wobbled under his weight.

V lowered herself down, got situated, and pushed off from the bank. The boat drifted aimlessly in the Glop for a moment while V rummaged around in the bottom of the floating recycle bin.

“Here it is,” she said, lifting a toilet brush into view. The plastic handle was about a foot and a half long, with a brush of white bristles at the end.

“What’s that for?” Spencer asked, defenseless since the Aurans had taken his janitorial belt. If V wanted to attack him, couldn’t she at least use a more sanitary weapon?

“I don’t want to be floating out here all night.” She leaned over the back of the boat and dunked the white bristles into the Glop. Instantly, the brush began to spin, propelling them forward like some kind of motorboat. V held on to the handle of the toilet brush, steering them toward the bare island and the Broomstaff.

Spencer felt the wind in his face, steamy and rotten smelling. The rain was relentless as the dark clouds let down their load.

“I love a storm like this,” V said. “Glad to see it still works after all these years.”

“What still works?” Spencer said.

“It has to storm, or the Pan won’t work,” V said. “The Broomstaff is designed to create bad weather whenever we get close.”

A bright flash of lightning overhead momentarily silhouetted the crooked Broomstaff. Thunder cracked and the clouds seemed to drop more torrent. Sheets of rain came down, the water hissing and evaporating as it landed in the steaming Glop lagoon. It was wild to see so much raw Glop in one location. He couldn’t believe this wasn’t the source.

“You really expect me to believe that you don’t know where the Glop source is?” Spencer said.

“I don’t care if you believe me,” V said. “It’s the truth. Do you think I’d still be here if I knew where to find the source? The Broomstaff is all we know. It’s a disposal site for all this Glop. See that pump house over there?” V pointed across the lagoon to a decrepit-looking brick building. “When the lagoon gets full, one of us has to come down here and turn that thing on.”

“That’s how you destroy it?”

“Glop can’t be destroyed,” V said. “Only the Founding Witches had that kind of power.”

“What?” Spencer didn’t understand. “Then what happens to all this?” He pointed at the gurgling lagoon around him.

“We pump the Glop down into the earth so it can resurface at the natural source. We don’t destroy the Glop, Spencer. We
recycle
it.”

Spencer stared at V, her veins of betrayal running even deeper. “You don’t destroy it? But . . . but the Toxites are born from Glop!” He pointed to the lagoon. “If you recycle this, then you’re just creating more Toxites.”

“It’s all we can do,” V spat. “You’ve seen the effects the Glop has on the land around here. We have to get rid of it
somehow,
or the result would be catastrophic.”

The blue recycle-bin boat butted up against the island. V lifted the toilet brush from the Glop and dropped it back in the bottom of the boat. Then she stepped up onto the muddy bank, dragging Spencer along.

Visibility was so poor in the rain. Spencer barely noticed that the other Aurans had already arrived and were waiting for him at the base of the Broomstaff. The wooden handle of the giant broom rose above them, rough and wide as the trunk of a large tree.

“This is it!” V shouted above the storm. “Hand me the Pan and strap him to the Broomstaff!”

Gia seized Spencer by the front of his shirt and pushed him against the Broomstaff. Rho stepped up, pulling out long strips of Glopified duct tape and circling the Broomstaff, pinning Spencer securely in place. He saw her rain-streaked face glowing faintly in the shimmer of the Glop lagoon, but she wouldn’t make eye contact.

V approached through the downpour, a shiny bronze dustpan in her hands. She reached around Spencer and slid the Pan behind his shoulders. He tried to wriggle free, but his lashing to the Broomstaff was too tight, and the dustpan was pinned.

“What now?” Spencer screamed. Was it finished? The Pan hadn’t wrapped around him yet.

“Now we turn on the pump,” V said. “The Pan only works when the Glop is draining from the lagoon, pumping back into the earth’s core. Then lightning strikes the Broomstaff and
voila!
You’re free to roam the landfill.”

V picked up the slender Spade and leapt off the bank into one of the blue recycle boats. The other Aurans followed her, some of them giving Spencer a solemn backward glance, others refusing to look at the doomed boy. Through the blustery wind and slanted rain, Spencer watched them motor away from the Broomstaff island.

S
pencer’s thoughts turned to his terrible predicament, duct taped to the Broomstaff. Once the Pan was in place, he would be forever cursed to wander the landfill, friendless and alone.

“Spencer!”

His heart pounded. Had someone just called his name? “Spencer!” He recognized that voice. And through the angled rain, he saw a figure climbing out of a boat onto his small island.

It was Rho!

“I wasn’t completely honest with you yesterday,” she said. Why had she come back to the island?

“Yesterday, I told you that everything I did at New Forest Academy was just pretend,” Rho continued. “But I wasn’t pretending when I said that you’re different than other boys. Good different. I’ve met a lot of people in the last three hundred years, and I think you’re the bravest, most honest boy I’ve ever known.”

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, but rainwater filled it.

“And I’m not going to let you get Panned.” Rho’s hands tore at the strips of duct tape as she began to rip it away.

Suddenly, the Glop in the lagoon began to roil and froth more violently than before. It swirled around the small Broomstaff island, ripples and waves that sloshed against the shore.

Spencer glanced toward the pump house. He couldn’t see it through the rain, but he knew that the pump had been activated. The Glop was draining downward, returning to its unknown source. Returning to create more Toxites in this never-ending chain.

Lightning crackled overhead, brewing ever closer to strike the giant Broomstaff.

“Hurry!” Spencer couldn’t help but say it. Rho tore away the final strip of tape just as a jagged bolt of lightning blasted into the top of the Broomstaff.

Electricity shot down the gnarled trunk, infusing heat and power into the bronze dustpan. Rho pulled Spencer away just as the Pan curled, welding itself around the space where Spencer’s neck had been only seconds ago. Then it fell to the mud with a clunk.

Rho pushed her wet hair back as the storm seemed to suddenly fizzle out. She bent down and picked up the Pan. Without hesitation, she hurled it into the churning Glop lagoon.

Spencer stared at Rho in grateful disbelief. “Thanks.”

“You have to get going,” Rho said. “Your friends are trapped in that soda can. Mud caved in around them, but they’re digging themselves out.”

“That’s good, right?” Why did she look upset?

Rho shook her head. “Leslie Sharmelle is waiting for your dad. She’s set a trap, and I’m afraid she’s going to get him this time.”

Spencer started toward the edge of the island, where he presumed Rho’s blue recycle boat was tethered. Rho grabbed his arm, her head shaking.

“We can’t take the boat back,” she said. “Too dangerous while the pump is turned on.”

“Then how do we get across?” he asked, desperate to save his dad. “Brooms?”

“The broom won’t carry you far enough.” She paused. “Unless . . .” Rho pulled a pushbroom from her janitorial belt. “I’m going to hit you as hard as I can.”

“And I’m supposed to like this plan?”

“The pushbroom should launch you about halfway across the lagoon,” Rho said. “You can use your regular broom to take the rest of the way.” She unclipped the janitorial belt she was wearing and handed it to him.