Chapter 54
“There’s work to be done.”
The first Witch emerged rather suddenly, rising up out of the Glop. The sludge spat her onto the ground, where she rose to her knees, dripping.
She was old, with bony fingers that she used to brush the snarly gray hair from her wrinkled face. Her thin frame was draped in a thick cloak of black, with a hood bunched around her neck.
Spencer had barely looked her over when the next Witch bubbled up out of the Glop source. She landed beside her sister, wiping sticky Glop from her eyes and tugging at the ill-fitting black dress she wore.
In no time at all, the final Witch gurgled into view. She landed more gracefully than the previous two and stomped her feet to shake the Glop from her tall leather boots. She lifted her arms, as if to embrace her freedom, and Spencer saw more than a dozen shiny bangle bracelets adorning her right wrist.
“This is ridiculous!” exclaimed the middle Witch. “Whoever thought of this exit plan, anyway? My dress is utterly ruined!”
“Oh, shut up, Holga,” said the first Witch. She was patting the pockets of her cloak. “I simply must find my wand. There’s work to be done.”
Holga began to laugh, a true witch’s cackle. “Please, Ninfa,” she said to the first Witch. “You haven’t done a day of work in your life! I wouldn’t be surprised if your wand grew legs and walked away, it felt so neglected.”
“Liar!” Ninfa shouted. “My wand was always prettier than yours. You finally grew jealous enough to steal it! Now give it back!”
Belzora finally stepped between them, her voice sharp and commanding. “Silence your bickering!” Ninfa and Holga suddenly seemed to grow aware that other people stood nearby.
Belzora lowered her voice. “One of these mortals holds our wands.”
“I have them.” Walter stepped forward, opening his palm and showing the three bronze nails. An excited look passed over Belzora’s face.
“Are you a warlock?” she asked.
Walter nodded his bald head. “Yes.”
“Have you done what was asked in the Warlocks Box?” Belzora pressed.
Spencer felt a pang of worry pass through him. Walter knew nothing of the Warlocks Box. Mr. Clean had opened it before Walter had stolen Ninfa and the nail.
“Yes,” Spencer said from the confines of his rake cage. “We have solved the thirteen clues from the Warlocks Box.”
Belzora turned her long, wrinkly face toward him. “And who are you, young lad?”
“My name is Spencer Zumbro.”
Holga took a shuffling step closer, sniffing the air. “White hair,” she muttered. “White hair and the ageless smell of Auran about him.”
“I am an Auran,” he said. “I’m new. But I’m friends with Olin, Sach, and Aryl.”
“Aww,” Ninfa said. “How are the children?”
“Good, I guess,” Spencer said.
“Are they getting along?”
It seemed weird to be talking about it while Mr. Clean and his BEM Sweepers stood watching in silence. “Well,” Spencer said, “the girls panned the boys about two hundred years ago, and they’ve been archenemies ever since.”
“Oh,” Ninfa said with a sweet smile. “That’s nice.”
“Enough chat,” Belzora said. “Has everything else been prepared for our arrival?”
Spencer and Walter exchanged a puzzled glance.
“What do you mean?” Walter asked.
“The other instructions in the Warlocks Box,” Belzora asked. “Did you fulfill them all?”
Spencer’s head turned slowly to Mr. Clean, whose lips were curling in a gradual smirk. The big Sweeper stepped forward. The Witches turned to him as he dropped respectfully onto one knee in the hallway.
“New Forest Academy is ready,” Mr. Clean said. “Just as you commanded.”
Spencer felt his heart stop. A flush of fear and shock crawled across his skin as the Founding Witches nodded their approval at Mr. Clean’s words.
“One more thing,” Professor DeFleur muttered to Spencer and Walter. “I never gave you the translation of the final chapter—the part where it explains that the Founding Witches are on our side.”