[Janitors 01] Janitors (25 page)

Please,
he silently hoped.
Let her be in there!
Falling to his knees, Spencer peered into the narrow chute.

An arm stretched out of the dark vent, barely visible. In desperation, Spencer grasped the hand. To his relief, the hand grasped back.

The roof rasped as something fell from above and crashed onto the floor behind him. Spencer risked a glance upward. A patch of starlit sky winked through a new hole in the roof.

It’s coming down,
he thought, his throat tightening.
This whole room is going to collapse!

Spencer glanced at the door, mentally preparing his escape. But the doorway had been sucked into the Vortex, and rubble blocked the exit. Gasping, Spencer turned to the window. The glass was gone, but he might be able to climb out with Daisy before the roof caved.

“Come on,” Spencer whispered. He pulled on the hand and felt Daisy trying to work free. The flooding water, the groaning roof . . . it was enough to make his head spin.

Another portion of the roof caved in. Plumes of dust rose from the rubble like swirling, pale ghosts. A foreshadowing of death and a tomb of rubble if they didn’t get out soon.

“Come on, Daisy!” Spencer called into the vent. He could see her head and shoulders now.

“Spencer,” the girl moaned, an eerie sound that resonated in the metal shaft. Sliding her other arm forward, Daisy opened her hand. The bronze nail was clutched so tightly that it left a red mark on her white palm.

Her dedication was admirable. Through all the danger and commotion, even as the vent plummeted twelve feet to the hard floor, Daisy had kept an iron grip on the nail. She knew what was at stake if Garth took Ninfa and the nail.

“It’s okay,” Spencer called into the vent. “It’s over now.”

Right then, something slammed into him from behind. Spencer’s head clanged against the metal vent shaft. In a dazed stupor, he saw Leslie Sharmelle reach down and pluck the bronze nail from Daisy’s open palm.

“How . . . ?” Spencer tried. Leslie must have also survived inside the vent. Then, as he was distracted with rescuing Daisy, Leslie had slipped out the other end of the metal shaft. The thin woman, covered with cuts and bruises, glanced around the gutted classroom. In one hand, Ninfa glistened, wet from the rising water. Under her arm was the splintery School Board. And now she had the nail . . .

“Devil knows what happened to Garth Hadley,” she screamed, her face contorted with madness. “But
someone
has to end this!”

Leslie placed the School Board on the vent and set the sharp tip of the nail against the wood. With a wicked shriek, Leslie raised Ninfa to drive the nail home.

Rubble crashed down from above. The roof gave the most terrifying groan yet, causing Leslie to glance up. In that crucial moment of distraction, Spencer leapt forward. Slipping the wet hammer from her hand, he lunged at the School Board.

Leslie was still holding the bronze nail to the wood when Spencer struck with the hammer. Once—twice. She cursed as the hammer smashed her fingers. But, with a third strike from Ninfa, the head of the bronze nail was smooth against the School Board.

The room was dreadfully silent. Even the roof stopped its creaking—the calm before the storm.

Leslie backed away from the Board in shock. Spencer gripped the hammer, his eyes wide in disbelief at his own actions.
He
had driven the nail! But Leslie had been right;
someone
had to end this.

Then the roof cracked violently, as if to make up for its moment of silence.

“Daisy,” Spencer cried. “You’ve got to get up!”

Leslie had fallen to her knees, hands outstretched, as if the world had just slipped through her fingers. With such a dazed, blank stare, Spencer would have thought her a mannequin if it hadn’t been for the slight tremble of her chin.

Dropping Ninfa, Spencer grabbed both of Daisy’s hands and jerked the girl out of the bent air shaft. Beside her tumbled the broom that Spencer had launched into the vent.

“Hang on!” Spencer shouted. Her arms feebly clung to his neck and Spencer helped her straddle the broom handle. He picked up Ninfa and shoved the hammer into Daisy’s hand. Turning back for the School Board, Spencer saw that Leslie Sharmelle was holding it tightly.

As the roof sloughed inward, Spencer leapt sideways, slamming the broom bristles against the floor as hard as he could. Spencer’s left hand reached out, grasping the papery Vortex bag from the broken air vent. The two kids shot sideways, sailing toward the blown-out classroom window and into the dark sky.

Behind them, the room crumpled like a cardboard box. The sound was sickening—the kind of crunching and crashing that the kids would never forget.

Spencer and Daisy drifted into the parking lot as the weak broom struggled to keep them both aloft. The landing was awkward and they both tumbled to the blacktop.

“What happened?” Daisy said. She had found the strength to rise on her own feet.

Spencer looked at the crumbled, moonlit wreckage of Mrs. Cleveland’s classroom. “I think we won.”

“No,” Daisy whispered. “What happened to
you?
”

Spencer stepped away from her, wondering what she meant. He looked down and gasped.

“You’re glowing.”

Chapter 42

“What happened to me?”

The classroom accident made the news. A janitor by the name of John Campbell was the first responder. He’d been at the school late, shampooing carpets, when a violent crash led him to discover the ruined classroom and call 911.

Not only was the accident newsworthy, but several mysterious events surrounding the collapse of the classroom also gained the media’s attention. Police were still investigating.

Only one person was found in the rubble of the broken room. She was quickly taken by Life Flight to the hospital. The young woman was in critical condition, having suffered broken bones and a concussion to the head. Police scoured the area, but no other individuals were found.

News reporters commented that, as the debris was cleared, the classroom was found to be completely stripped. Desks, computer, carpet, even the classroom sink was gone. Authorities believe the operation was some kind of massive classroom theft.

To make things worse, the woman had stolen a vehicle from Hillside Estates. Fortunately, John Campbell was able to cripple her escape by driving a BEM van into the stolen station wagon.

Police were waiting until the unnamed blonde recovered before interrogating her about the alleged station wagon theft and total destruction of school property.

There was much hearsay and speculation as to the cause of the classroom cave-in. Answers to these questions would be resolved only when the victim regained stability.

But there were many things, of course, that the news would never know. The true story went more like this:

Spencer and Daisy raced into Mrs. Natcher’s classroom. Walter and Alice were on the floor, tightly mop-tied. The kids untangled them, and Alice fell on her son with hugs and worried exclamations. But it was Walter’s reaction that really frightened him.

“Spencer,” the warlock hissed. He put a hand to his bald head. “The Aura.”

“What do you mean?” Alice asked, pushing Spencer back for inspection. “What happened?”

“You drove the nail, didn’t you,” stated Walter.

Spencer stared down at his body, cloaked in a warm, gold glow. “What happened to me?”

“Since you drove the nail,” Walter explained, “you’re protected by the magical Aura until you set up a domain.”

“Set up a domain . . . ?” Spencer mumbled in disbelief. The consequences of his actions were uncomfortably starting to set in.

“Aura? What Aura?” Alice started combing over Spencer like something was hidden in his hair.

“You can’t see it because it exists on the same plane as the Toxites and you haven’t been exposed yet,” the warlock explained.

Daisy handed Ninfa to Walter.

“Where’s the School Board?” he asked.

“It’s under the rubble in Mrs. Cleveland’s room,” Spencer said. “There wasn’t time to get it away from Leslie.”

Then Walter noticed the vacuum bag cradled in Spencer’s arm. The boy clung to it, the only tangible evidence of what he’d done. A memorial to utter destruction.

“You did what you had to, Spencer,” Walter said.

“Marv,” Spencer whispered. “I killed him.” He remembered the burly janitor rolling across the classroom, fighting like a dragon. The Vortex had claimed Marv just as it had the other BEM workers and Garth Hadley. Spencer felt his eyes welling with tears.

“I didn’t mean to,” he mumbled. “He saved my life . . .” His mom put an arm across his shoulders. Daisy stared unblinking at the bag.

“Marv knew the dangers involved in this kind of janitorial work,” Walter said. “There was nothing else you could have done. Marv would be proud of you—and your decision to use the Vortex.”

Spencer swallowed hard. He held out the Vortex, begging Walter to take it. The janitor held up his hands. “He may not be dead,” Walter said. “The Vortex is a mystery to us all. Keep the bag. If there’s a way to recover him, we’ll find it.”

Walter strode purposefully out of Mrs. Natcher’s room and disappeared down the hallway. The others stood in reverent silence for a moment. When Spencer finally moved, his feet seemed heavy and sluggish.

By the time they caught up to Walter, he’d been to the Rebel closet and stood before the wreckage of Mrs. Cleveland’s room with a pushbroom.

“Stand back,” he cautioned. The janitor struck the rubble of the collapsed doorway and sent it floating.

“Be careful,” Daisy said as he tunneled out of sight, bits of brick and twisted shards of metal flying out of his way.

A moment later, Walter returned with the School Board, the nail set firmly in the magical desktop. He handed the board to Alice and glanced back at the crumpled classroom.

“I’ve got to get back in there. Leslie’s still alive, but she’s going to need first aid.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a car key. “Mrs. Zumbro, I need you to get the children out of here before the police arrive. Please go. Take my car.” Walter handed her the key. “Red Pontiac Grand Am.”

“What about you?” Daisy asked.

“I’m calling 911. I need to get Leslie out of there.” The warlock looked once more at Spencer and gave him a stoic nod. Then he sent the rubble flying again as he burrowed into the wreckage to rescue the enemy.

The two kids followed Alice through the school’s broken doors and into the parking lot. Spencer couldn’t help but notice how Daisy stared at him while they walked. The Aura illuminated the whole hallway, powerful and frightening. Spencer bit back the urge to cry.

What had he done?

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.”