Chapter 39

“Actually . . . that was me.”

Everyone stopped. Marv dropped the desk he’d been holding. All eyes were on Spencer, begging for him to be mistaken so they could ignore his last statement.

“This desk isn’t mine,” Spencer repeated.

“What do you mean? It’s got your name on it.” Marv stomped forward.

“This is my name tag, but it isn’t my desk.”

The others gathered closer, abandoning their efforts to fortify the room. Spencer felt his stomach sinking.

“Are you sure?” Walter asked.

“Positive,” said Spencer. “I know, because some dummy wrote Mrs. N smells like cabbige on mine. Some dummy who couldn’t even spell cabbage.”

“Um,” Marv grunted. “Actually . . . that was me. I scratched that into the School Board.”

“You?” Daisy said. “Why?”

“Well, she does smell.” Marv shrugged.

“But why’d you write it?”

“Walter told me to add some subtle marks to make it look more like a normal desk instead of a magic board.”

“Very subtle,” Spencer said.

“Enough!” The warlock waved his hands. “If this desktop doesn’t have the School Board, then we’ve got major trouble.”

“They switched it,” Spencer said. “They switched my desk for a fake.”

Walter nodded. “They knew we would stop at nothing to get in this classroom. All our attention was focused here.”

“But what about the guys picking the lock?” Alice asked.

“A decoy.”

Marv grabbed the stack of desks and threw them away from the door, breaking down the barrier that he’d so desperately built.

“And now,” Walter muttered. “Now they have us right where they want us—trapped in a classroom.”

Marv uncovered the door and threw himself against it. He shouted with rage as Walter’s prediction became reality. The door to Mrs. Natcher’s classroom was blocked. Alice ran to the window, but shadowed faces of BEM workers already clogged the escape.

“We’re surrounded,” she said. Marv slammed against the door again. The big janitor was determined, and Spencer was surprised to see the blockade hold against such a force as Marv.

“We need to find out where they’ve taken the real School Board,” Walter said.

Daisy suddenly dropped to her knees and started emptying Spencer’s fake desk. “If they really switched them, then all we need to do is find out whose desk this really is.” She pulled out a notebook. On the cover was a label: Haley Rasmussen’s writing notebook.

“Haley Rasmussen,” Daisy muttered. “She’s in Mrs. Cleveland’s class. That’s only two rooms down!”

Marv threw his bulk against the door, but it still didn’t budge. Alice ducked out of sight by the window.

“We need another way out,” said Walter, as though no one else were thinking it. “Every moment we wait brings Garth Hadley closer to the school. Once he’s here, nothing will stop him from becoming a warlock.”

“Let me just open this door and we’ll stroll on down to Mrs. Cleveland’s room,” Marv said sarcastically. He threw his shoulder against it once more, but it was still solid.

Spencer glanced at Daisy, who was staring at the ceiling. “The vent!” she said. “We could climb into the air vent and escape.”

Spencer sized up the vent. It was small, but they would be able to fit. “Nice one, Daisy!”

In no time, Walter was standing atop two stacked desks, straining on the vent cover. “Marv!” he said, jumping down. “I need you.”

Marv lumbered over and climbed up. He was a frightening sight, gingerly balancing on two desks, like a circus elephant standing on a tiny ball. With one meaty hand, Marv seized the vent cover and ripped it from the ceiling. White dust snowed down on the shaggy man as he looked up.

“No way I’m fitting,” Marv quickly determined. He and Walter traded places on the desks.

The warlock grasped both sides of the open vent and tried to pull himself in. His bald head disappeared into the ceiling. But, to everyone below, it was obvious that Walter’s shoulders were too broad to fit.

“Useless,” he said when his head reappeared.

“Wait.” Spencer stepped forward. “What about us?”

Before Walter could answer, Alice was climbing up next to him. “Fine,” she muttered. “I guess I’ll go.”

Spencer knew that his offer had prodded his mother into action. Her motherly instinct would be too strong to let her son enter into potential danger.

“This isn’t going to be good,” Spencer whispered to Daisy. He had to avert his eyes from the scene. His mother was atop the desks now, clinging to Walter Jamison. “My mom’s terrified of heights.”

“I got you, I got you,” Walter assured. He helped her grasp the vent. With his hands, Walter made a cradle for her foot. Her head disappeared into the vent.

Spencer covered his ears. Any moment now, his mother would start screaming.

And she did. “Get me down! Down right now! NOW!”

It was something Spencer had learned on a family vacation three years ago. They’d gone to Mesa Verde to tour the Native American ruins. Mom had gotten halfway through one of the cliff dwellings when she just froze. It had taken two park rangers to get her back on level ground.

It wasn’t just the twelve-foot height of Mrs. Natcher’s classroom ceiling that got Alice Zumbro screaming. It was a deadly combination of . . .

“Heights and tight spaces,” Spencer whispered.

Normally, Spencer would have been embarrassed by his mother’s outburst. But there was no time for that now. As Walter and Marv got Alice back on flat ground, Spencer volunteered again.

“You’ve got to let us try. Garth Hadley could be here by now.”

Walter glanced at Alice for parental approval.

“Please, Mom. I can do this. I’ll be careful.”

Still flushed and out of breath, Alice nodded wordlessly. Spencer scampered up the desks and stepped into Walter’s cupped hands.

“I don’t know what you have planned,” the warlock said, “but you better be careful. Your mother will never forgive me if something happens to you.” Without waiting for a response, Walter boosted Spencer into the metal air vent.

It was a tight fit with the princess backpack. Movement was limited to something between a crawl and a slither. Daisy’s face suddenly appeared behind him. Spencer reached back and took her hand.

She was still pulling her legs into the vent when a loud crash filled the classroom below. Shouts drifted up, filling the vent.

“What’s happening?” Spencer hissed.

Daisy twisted around, peering over her shoulder. “They’ve come into the classroom!” she whispered back.

“Must have seen us escaping and tried to stop it,” said Spencer.

“Walter’s down,” narrated Daisy. “He looks hurt. Your mom’s all tangled up in a mop. They got Marv, too. No, wait. He’s breaking free. He’s heading to the door!”

Suddenly, Glopified mop strings shot up from below and filled the vent opening.

“Spencer!” Daisy cried as the strings twisted around her leg. He reached back desperately, grabbing for anything. His hands found something and he pulled . . . on her braid!

Daisy yelped from the pain as she became the victim of a human tug-of-war. At last, the mop strings retracted and Spencer let go.

“Ow,” Daisy whimpered, grabbing the top of her head. “Who do you think I am, Rapunzel?” She stroked her thick braid. “This isn’t a rope, you know.”

“Sorry,” Spencer said. “Let’s get out of here before they attack again.”