Chapter 4

“He has a thing against germs.”

The same eerie stillness that had surrounded the Zumbros’ house greeted them at the Gateses’. Spencer had a sinking, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. And Daisy’s cheerful cluelessness didn’t ease his guilt for not telling her why they had come.

Gia stayed in the garbage truck with Dez. It wasn’t hard to convince him to stay behind, since going with Rho into the house meant he had to hold his breath. Even with his enhanced Sweeper abilities, Dez was getting light-headed.

There was one thing that Spencer could always count on when approaching Daisy’s house. But this time, there was no barking black dog. Marv extended his razorblade as they stepped onto the front porch.

The door to the house was not only unlocked, it was open. Daisy pushed it inward and called for her parents. Spencer cringed at her loud voice. Rho gave him a look indicating he should silence her. But Daisy’s shout seemed to do no harm.

“Whoa!” Daisy said once she stepped inside. And, peering over the girl’s shoulder, Spencer understood her surprise.

The Gateses’ house was empty. Literally, empty.

The normally inviting living room was bare, the leather couch, love seat, and armchair gone. There were no lamps, no coffee table, no bookshelf. Even the large rug was missing from its spot in the center of the room.

“This is . . . unusual,” Daisy muttered, moving into the next room. The Rebels followed, Spencer scanning for any sign of the enemy. Clean was definitely not here, but neither were Daisy’s parents, nor any of the Gateses’ belongings!

Spencer knew they were too late. General Clean had beaten them to the house, taken Mr. and Mrs. Gates, and cleared everything out. Spencer didn’t understand why, but the vacant home gave him an unsettled feeling.

They stepped into the kitchen, which seemed spacious with the dining table, chairs, and barstools missing. Mrs. Gates’s cherished china cabinet was nowhere to be seen, the wall looking blank where it had once stood.

Daisy stopped, swiveling suddenly to face Spencer. “I think I know what’s going on here,” she said.

Spencer felt his stomach twist, wondering if it would be better to quickly tell Daisy the truth or to let her come to it on her own. He braced himself.

“My parents are deep cleaning the house again,” said Daisy.

Spencer exhaled, her statement a far cry from what he was expecting. “What?”

Daisy nodded. “Every now and again, my parents move some furniture around so they can deep clean the carpets.”

Spencer looked at her—Gullible Gates. She didn’t see the signs that were so apparent to everyone else. Daisy’s parents weren’t deep cleaning the house. They’d been captured!

“I better check on my Thingamajunk,” said Daisy, slipping out the back kitchen door.

Spencer, Rho, and Marv stared at one another in silence. “You have to tell her what really happened,” Rho finally said.

Spencer shook his head. He couldn’t do that to Daisy. She wouldn’t handle it well, and he needed her to stay strong. “We’ll find her parents,” Spencer said. “They’ll be with my family and the rest of the captured Rebels. We’ll rescue them. Daisy doesn’t have to know.”

“Take a look at this,” Marv said, holding out a scrap of paper. “Found it on the countertop.” The big janitor held out the note for Spencer to read.

Tell me where the nails are and I’ll tell you where your parents are.

There was no signature. A note like that didn’t need to be signed. It was definitely from Clean. It was the same bargain he’d tried to strike with Spencer. This time it was intended for Daisy. But she didn’t know the location of the nails either.

“Throw that away,” Spencer said. “We can’t let Daisy see it.”

Marv hesitated for a moment, then crumpled the paper in his beefy hand. He glanced around the kitchen for a spot to discard the note.

“The garbage can’s under the sink on the right side,” Spencer said. He knew, because Daisy’s dad had a saying for anyone who asked where the trash can was: “It’s right there, under the sink. Get it? Right under the sink.”

Marv opened the door below the sink, but the trash can wasn’t there.

“Figures,” Spencer said. “The BEM even stole the garbage.”

“Nope,” Marv said, opening the cabinet door on the left and finding the forsaken garbage can. “Other side.” But as the big janitor tossed the wadded paper into the trash, Spencer saw something he recognized.

“That textbook!” he said, pointing into the trash can. “Pull it out.” For once, he was grateful not to be able to use his hands. Reaching into the garbage was nasty business.

Marv withdrew the textbook and held it out for Spencer’s examination. Once more, the boy felt his spirits fall. It must have been visible, because Rho asked, “What’s the matter?”

The moldy textbook in Marv’s hand was much more than an ordinary book. Spencer could see short stubs of broken pencils jutting out of the pages like crooked teeth. And there, wedged between two of the pencils, was a pink retainer.

It was Bookworm’s jaw.

The Thingamajunk had a way of traveling through trash. His body changed every time, but one thing remained the same: Bookworm’s head was always comprised of a dented lunchbox, fused to a moldy textbook that dangled open like a mouth.

As Marv turned the textbook over, Spencer saw the place where the lunchbox was supposed to be. There was a sticky residue around the edge of a depression. Whatever had happened to Bookworm had resulted in his head getting split in two.

There was only one way that Spencer could say it. “Bookworm’s dead.”

The back door opened and Daisy reappeared, her usual optimism dimmed a bit. “That’s weird,” she said. “Bookworm isn’t out there.”

Marv dropped Bookworm’s severed jaw back into the trash can and quickly shut the door below the sink.

“In fact,” Daisy said, “nothing’s out there. The tool shed is empty.”

“Maybe your parents took Bookworm for a walk.” Spencer tried to sound convincing, as if the truth he’d just learned didn’t make his heart ache.

“Maybe,” Daisy responded.

They all stood in awkward silence for another moment, the emptiness of the kitchen akin to the feeling in Spencer’s gut.

When it was clear that Spencer had no plans of breaking the news to Daisy, Rho finally spoke up. “We should get to the landfill. Spencer’s Aura looks like it could run out at any moment.”

They filed outside to find that Gia had backed the Glopified garbage truck into the Gateses’ driveway. She and Dez were standing by a short ladder that led up to the top of the truck bed.

“Ready to un-Pan the boys?” Gia asked him as they approached the truck. That afternoon had brought bad news after bad news. Spencer was more than ready to do something good.

Gia was the first through the portal. She scampered up the ladder and dove into the back of the garbage truck, disappearing immediately. Daisy was next, but as she leapt out of sight, Spencer realized that he was going to have a problem.

“I don’t think I can climb the ladder without using my hands,” he said. This was getting tiresome. He couldn’t wait to un-Pan the Dark Aurans so he could touch things again.

“That’s what I’m here for,” Dez said. The Sweeper kid jumped into the air, his leathery wings unfurling. Before Spencer could protest, Dez snatched him around the middle and hoisted him into the air. “I’ve always wanted to throw you in the trash!”

They were above the garbage truck now, a little higher than Spencer felt was necessary. Looking down, Spencer could see through the open hopper right into the pile of trash.

“Bombs away!” Dez yelled, releasing Spencer and spiraling down behind him.

They dropped into the garbage truck side by side and burst out through a dumpster at the landfill. Dez grabbed Spencer by the arms, and, with one flap of his wings, they were both standing on a dirty concrete platform, surrounded by a semicircle of Glopified dumpsters.

They weren’t alone. Besides Gia and Daisy, who had passed through before, there were seven other Auran girls. They looked roughly Spencer’s age, with brilliant white hair and three hundred years of experience. Spencer was grateful that V wasn’t there. He didn’t know how he would react when he saw her. Rho said V had turned to their side, but last time he’d come to the landfill, V had betrayed Spencer.

“Who’s the Sweeper?” asked an Auran named Shirley. She pointed at Dez.

“He’s with us,” Spencer said. “Most of the time.”

“Why’s the boy glowing already?” Dela asked, pointing at Spencer’s hands.

“Spencer activated the magic before we found him,” Gia responded. “Don’t know how much longer it’ll last.”

As if in response to her statement, the glow around Spencer’s hands flickered. His window of opportunity was closing. And it wouldn’t open again for another two days.

There was a disturbance in the dumpster, and Spencer turned to see Rho leap over the edge and land beside him. Marv was right behind, exiting the dumpster a bit less gracefully than Rho.

“Where are the boys?” Rho said, a hint of urgency in her voice as she scanned the faces of her fellow Aurans.

“Don’t know,” said Lina.

“Late to their own party,” Jersey said. “Why am I not surprised?” The ten Auran girls didn’t exactly get along with the three Dark Auran boys. And although they were finally all on the same side, Spencer knew it would be difficult to let go of the feud that had existed between them for so many years.

“Can’t you call them or something?” Daisy asked.

“That would be far too convenient,” said Sylva, clearly annoyed by the secretive nature of the Dark Aurans.

“They can’t be far,” Gia said. “Let’s spread out and find them before Spencer’s Aura burns out.”

The glow flickered again, and Spencer held out his hands helplessly. The Auran girls scattered, leaving Rho with the Rebels on the concrete dumping pad. The moment the others were out of sight, Spencer saw movement behind one of the dumpsters.

Olin stepped into view, his face smudged with dirt and his cutoff sleeveless shirt filthy. His white hair was buzzed quite short, and the bronze dustpan fused around his neck looked painful.

His appearance was so sudden that the Rebels started with fright. By the time they relaxed, Aryl and Sach had also arrived.

“That’s better,” said Aryl, taking off the hood of his brown cloak.

“We can’t stand an audience,” Olin said, tugging at the Pan on his neck.

“Especially them,” Sach added, gesturing toward the building where the Auran girls lived.

“Marv,” Olin muttered, reading the sewn name patch on the janitor’s big coveralls. The boy turned to Spencer. “Looks like my instructions for the Vortex worked,” he said, pointing back at Marv. “You got your friend.”

“Yep,” Spencer said. “Now I’m here to hold up my end of the bargain.” He stretched out his left hand. The glow was sputtering now. “We don’t have much time,” Spencer said. Since the power would take a few days to recharge, he would only be able to undo one of the boys. “I’ll un-Pan Olin. Once he’s free, Olin can un-Pan Sach, who can un-Pan Aryl.”

“No need for that,” Sach said. “We have a way for you to un-Pan all three of us and still keep your power to help the Rebels.”

Spencer was puzzled. “It doesn’t work like that,” he said, surprised that the Dark Aurans seemed to have forgotten the rules that governed their own magical abilities.

Sach ignored Spencer’s doubts. “Who brought the sponge?” the Dark Auran asked.

Aryl reached into his cloak and withdrew a yellow sponge about the size of Spencer’s fist. He held it out, coaching Spencer on what to do. “Right hand,” he said. “You have to Glopify the sponge.”

Spencer held out his Glopifying hand. “What’s it going to do?”

“No time for explaining,” Olin said as the Aura on Spencer’s fist sputtered again. “Besides, I don’t think you’d like the answer. Just do it.”

To speed up the decision making, Aryl gently tossed the sponge toward Spencer’s outstretched right hand. Spencer’s fingers closed around it, and he felt the magic flow through him, Glopifying the yellow sponge and draining his reserves.

It was done in a moment. The glow faded from Spencer’s hands and the sponge shimmered slightly. It felt wet and heavy in Spencer’s hand, but other than that, it didn’t seem very extraordinary.

“Is it done?” Daisy asked.

Spencer nodded, discouraged. “And I’ve got nothing left,” he said, knowing that it would be another few days before his power recharged. He looked at the Dark Aurans, feeling sorry that his promise to un-Pan them would yet again be postponed.

But Aryl was grinning. “I think you’ve got all the de-Glopifying power you need right there.” He pointed at the soggy item in Spencer’s hand. “That, my lad, is a spit sponge.”

“A spit sponge?” Spencer shuddered, quickly withdrawing his hand and dropping the yellow sponge to the concrete.

“Told you he wouldn’t like the answer,” Olin said. “He has a thing against germs.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Spencer said. “I mean, who really likes germs?”

“I do!” Dez said. “Germs rock!”

“You’re disgusting,” said Daisy.

“If by disgusting you mean amazing!” He flexed his large biceps.

“What does a spit sponge do?” Rho asked.

“Spencer,” Sach said, “when you activate the magical Aura, what do you do?”

“I spit,” answered Spencer.

“Right. And when you touched that sponge, your Glopified spit was infused into it,” Sach explained. “Now you don’t have to wait for a regeneration period. You don’t even have to spit. All you have to do is wring a bit of spit out of the sponge, rub your hands together to activate the Glop, and you’re at full power.”

Spencer stared at the wet sponge lying at his feet. It was a brilliant tool, and it could make a huge difference in getting needed Glopified supplies into the hands of the Rebels.

But, really? A spit sponge? Could it get any grosser than that? Even if it was his own spit, Spencer didn’t want to pick it up, let alone carry it around.

“What if it . . . leaks?” Spencer asked.

“It won’t,” Aryl said. “The sponge will only release the spit when you squeeze it with the same hand that Glopified it. To the rest of us, the sponge feels dry.”

Marv bent over and picked it up. Spencer was surprised to see that the sponge hadn’t left a wet mark on the concrete where he had dropped it. Still, Marv shouldn’t be touching other people’s spit sponges. Spencer reached out and took it from him.

“I don’t know about you,” Olin said, “but my neck is really itchy. You know, I don’t think I’ve been able to scratch it for about two hundred years.”

Spencer shook his head. Here he was, worried about the germs in his spit sponge, while the three Dark Aurans were still under the curse of the Broomstaff.

Spencer held up his sponge and squeezed. A dribble of saliva ran into his left palm. He shivered, trying really hard not to think about what it was. Instead, he focused on the task ahead.

“It’s time to set you guys free.”