Chapter 43

“It’s a big decision.”

Thanks for coming,” Spencer said, clearing a spot on the leather couch for Walter to sit down. “Sorry about the mess,” he added. “My family’s not the cleanest.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Walter answered with a smile, sliding one of Max’s toy dump trucks aside with his foot. “I’m a janitor. I’m used to messes.”

It was Saturday afternoon, cool and rainy. A quick phone call had brought Walter Jamison to the house.

“I saw you on the news this morning,” Spencer said.

“Oh, no. Did my hair look all right?” Walter asked sarcastically, running a hand over his bald head.

“How’s Leslie Sharmelle, or Sarah Bently . . . or whoever she is?”

“She’ll survive,” Walter said. “But when she wakes up, she’ll wish she hadn’t. Everyone thinks she stole your station wagon and emptied Mrs. Cleveland’s classroom. By the time I was finished talking to the police, I even had her blamed for the mysterious cave-in. I don’t suspect we’ll be seeing much more of Leslie Sharmelle.”

Alice Zumbro entered from the kitchen, a few store-bought cookies on a plate. “It was all I could find,” she said. “Wish they were homemade.”

The janitor took a cookie and sat back. “I’m really proud of you,” he said. “Both of you.” His eyes looked exceptionally tired and weary. “Insurance will cover the station wagon,” Walter said. “Once they prove Leslie guilty, you should get a new car.”

“The old station wagon suited us fine.” Alice shook her head. “Twelve years of safe driving, and then—wham!” Alice clapped her hands. “Some jerk totals it in a parking lot.”

“How is Daisy holding up?” Walter asked. “She showed such courage.”

“She was pretty shaken up last night,” Alice said. “Luckily, I was able to calm her parents when we dropped her off.”

“Everyone that discovers the truth will be in danger of the BEM,” Walter said. “Poor Daisy’s involved, whether she likes it or not. But I’m counting on you to keep her safe, Mrs. Zumbro. We really mustn’t bring Mr. and Mrs. Gates into this.”

“I’ll watch Daisy,” Alice promised. “And it shouldn’t be a problem to keep her folks innocent. They’re quite clueless about a lot. Surprisingly gullible.”

They chewed the dry cookies in awkward silence.

“Oh.” Spencer reached over to the coffee table. “Here’s the School Board and Ninfa.” He picked up the hammer and the heavy piece of antique wood. “I’m ready to get rid of this Aura.” Spencer glanced down at his shimmering arms. “You don’t know how hard it was to fall asleep last night. I was like a walking nightlight.”

“You seem the same to me,” Alice said. It was a simple statement, but she had no idea how much that meant to Spencer. He felt so foreign, so alien. It was comforting to know that his mom couldn’t see anything different about him.

Walter chuckled. “Regretfully, Mrs. Zumbro, we don’t keep a stock of revealing soap at the school. Too risky. Spencer will have to create a new batch if he chooses to expose you. It might take some time, but he’ll get it.” Walter nodded at Spencer. “There’s a lot you have to learn about being a warlock. I don’t claim to be an expert, but I’ll help you as much as I can.”

He took another cookie from the plate. “Where will you drive the nail? Give it some thought. It’s a big decision.”

“Not for me.” Spencer held out the objects to Walter. “I don’t think the Rebel Underground should have to rely on a twelve-year-old warlock,” Spencer explained. “You can keep supplying the Rebels, and maybe the Toxites won’t take over every school.”

Walter reverently took the bronze hammer and School Board from Spencer’s outstretched hands. “I’m honored.”

“Now will I stop glowing?” Spencer glanced at his arms.

Walter placed the tip of Ninfa against the head of the bronze nail. A magic bond formed instantly and started lifting the nail free of the wood. The small bronze nail fell tinkling onto the coffee table.

Instantly, the protective Aura around Spencer began to fade. He closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them again, the glow was completely extinguished.

Spencer retrieved the fallen nail and handed it to Walter. “Just promise me that you’ll Glopify some really cool stuff.”

Walter grinned. “I told you once that I feared a war might be brewing. The BEM’s new experiments will redefine the world of Glopified equipment. They’re not out to fight Toxites anymore. They’re fighting us.”

“Well, I hope they know what they’re up against,” Alice said. “Because nobody messes with my kids.”

Spencer had taken that for granted until he had seen his mom tackle Leslie Sharmelle at the hotel. It was nice to have a mom who cared.

“There’s one more thing,” Spencer said. He stepped into the other room and returned with the Vortex. He had debated giving it up. The vacuum bag represented painful memories, true. But to Spencer it was also an icon of sacrifice and friendship. “I want you to have this.” He handed it to Walter.

The janitor accepted the bag with a sad smile. “Spencer,” he said, “Marv would want—”

“I don’t . . .” Spencer held up his hands. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Walter sighed and pulled on a baseball cap. “Thank you for the cookies, Mrs. Zumbro.” He pocketed Ninfa and the nail and tucked the School Board under one arm.

At the door, Walter Jamison turned. He stared hard at the boy. “Thank you, Spencer. For everything.” Then he disappeared into the rain, sidestepping a puddle on the sidewalk.

“Until Monday,” the boy whispered. So why did Spencer feel like that was good-bye?