Chapter 19

“Were the prizes good?”

Spencer, Daisy, and Dez paused at the door to the conference room with the Aurans’ round table. Rho had gone through Lina’s garbage truck to find Marv and bring him back from his Bingo game with the old folks. All their efforts had to focus on finding the scissors, now that V had revealed their true location.

“Nobody say a word,” Spencer said, grabbing the doorknob. “If V’s mug is still in there, the Witches will be watching.” He pushed open the door.

The conference room was empty. No one sat at the round table, and the skylights were dimmed by the lowering afternoon sun. There was only one item atop the large round table.

V’s mug of root beer stood untouched from when she had left. As the kids drew closer, Spencer saw the fizzy bubbles. Knowing now what he hadn’t before, he bent close and looked at the magical soapsuds.

He half expected to see into the Witches’ lair, thinking he could look backward through the suds to see the pedestal sink and the horribly dirty living space. Instead, Spencer saw only the reflection of his face and the spacious room behind him.

It made sense that the soapsud surveillance worked only one way. The Witches wouldn’t take a chance that someone might be able to look into the suds and spy on them.

Just to be sure that the bubbles weren’t regular soda fizz, Spencer reached out and dipped his finger into the suds. He pinched a single small bubble and expanded it to a large view screen between his finger and thumb. An ordinary bubble surely would have popped by now, and Spencer had no doubt that the Witches were still watching the room.

As Spencer stared at his glossy reflection in the soapy bubble, Dez reached out a finger and popped the soapsud with his sharp talon.

“There,” he said. “Problem solved.”

Spencer gave him a disapproving glare as he gestured to the remaining soapsuds floating in V’s mug of soda.

“There’s more,” Spencer said quietly.

“You mean, every tiny bubble is a camera?”

Spencer didn’t know if they were all active. But based on what he and Daisy had seen in the Witches’ sink, he didn’t doubt it.

“We can’t just pop all the soapsuds,” Daisy explained. “We have to dry up every ounce of liquid or the suds could reform.”

Spencer picked up the ceramic mug, careful not to spill any of the foamy suds down the side. Daisy opened the door for him and he carried it down the hallway to the kitchen.

There was a pot of water coming to a boil on the stove and a package of pasta laid out beside it, but no one was around. Spencer assumed that the Auran chef preparing dinner must have stepped out for a moment.

Spencer crossed to the sink and carefully poured the root beer and soapsuds down the drain. He turned on the faucet, letting water flush the surveillance suds deeper into the pipes. Then he tore off a paper towel and carefully dried the sink and V’s mug.

“There,” he said. “Now we can talk in privacy.”

It was a simple thing to dispose of the Witches’ surveillance. If Spencer had known about the suds before, the Witches wouldn’t have their wands and V’s death might have been avoided.

“What do we have to talk about?” Dez asked. Discussion clearly wasn’t really his thing.

“We need to make a plan to find the Glopified scissors,” Spencer said, guiding his companions out of the kitchen.

By the time they arrived back at the conference room, Rho and Marv were waiting at the round table.

“Everything all right?” Rho asked.

“We had to take care of some soapsuds,” Spencer said, placing V’s dry mug on the table.

“Somebody’s been drinking suds?” Marv asked.

“The Witches were watching us,” Spencer said. “They use soapsuds like surveillance cameras.”

To demonstrate what he was talking about, Spencer reached into his belt pouch and carefully slid out the jar of suds he’d stolen from the Witches’ sink. He placed it on the table, and Marv picked it up.

“Those suds show the BEM prison where the Rebels are being held,” Spencer explained. “I haven’t had a chance to study them, but some of our friends and family are there.” He glanced nervously at Daisy, but she didn’t seem to suspect that he was also talking about her parents. She still thought they were safe at home with Bookworm.

Marv grunted as he examined the suds curiously. Then he set the jar on the table once more. “You’ve been busy,” he observed.

“Yeah,” Dez cut in. “Not all of us got to go play games with the old fogies.”

“Speaking of games . . .” Daisy said. “How was Bingo?”

“Lucky,” answered Marv. “Won blackout.”

“Were the prizes good?”

In answer to her question, Marv placed a carton on the table. “Won this vintage toilet-bowl cleaner.”

“Man,” Dez laughed. “You got ripped off.”

“Silver Swiffers claim it’s a one-of-a-kind,” Marv said, shrugging. “Carton’s about a quarter full.”

“What’s it supposed to do?” Spencer asked.

“Made in 1962,” said the janitor, reading the label off the carton. It had several holes in the top for shaking the deodorizing powder into the toilet bowl. “Silver Swiffers said it works like Toxite attractant. Shake a bit into the toilet and the little monsters come from all over the school. Once they climb inside the bowl to enjoy the powder . . .” Marv made the sound of a gunshot with his mouth. “Like shooting fish in a barrel.”

“Why don’t they Glopify it anymore?” Spencer asked. It sounded like a useful item to draw all the Toxites into one place.

“It could be like the Vortex vacuum bags,” Rho said. “Perhaps only that specific brand of powdered toilet cleaner from 1962 Glopified properly.”

“Dunno,” Marv said, holding up the carton. “Just don’t make it like they used to.”

“I still think you got ripped off,” Dez pointed out. “The grand prize was toilet-bowl cleaner.”

Marv nodded in what seemed to be partial agreement. “I was hoping for the scissors.”

“We know where they are,” Daisy said, excitement in her voice.

“The scissors are lost somewhere in the landfill,” Spencer explained.

“That’ll take a lot of searching,” Marv said. “We could use a garbologist about now.”

Daisy nodded. “If Bernard were here, he’d tell us that we have to become one with the garbage. In order to find the trash, you have to become the trash.”

“Philosophy for garbologists,” Marv muttered.

“It’s actually a pretty good idea,” Spencer said.

“I think it’s dumb,” said Dez. “How are we supposed to become the trash?”

“We’re not,” Spencer answered. “We’re going to find someone who already is.”