Heroes of the Dustbin

by Tyler Whitesides

  V smirked at the look of shock that Spencer and Daisy wore.

  “What are you doing?” Daisy asked her.

  “Collecting my reward,” answered V.

  Ninfa reached out and put a protective hand around the girl’s thin shoulders. “V has been a wonderful little helper.”

  “I thought that’s what Dez was for,” Spencer said.

  “Don’t be foolish,” Belzora replied. “That boy is nothing but a nuisance.”

  For once, Spencer momentarily agreed with her.

  “So Dez wasn’t part of this?” Daisy asked, her hopes seeming to rise.

  “Of course not,” V said. “I couldn’t trust someone like him. During the night, I swapped the real nails for the false ones after the Dark Aurans had forged them. Dez had no idea what he was really doing. Once the Dark Aurans were far enough into the landfill, I gave them the Spade, doubled back, took Rho’s squeegee, and led you here.”

  “She is very clever,” Holga said.

  “If Dez wasn’t working with you,” Spencer said to the Witches, “then why’d you let him go?”

  “Punishment was waiting for him outside,” Ninfa said. “Sweepers deal with Sweepers. It’s an internal affair.”

  If Dez had walked out of the office and into a trap, the Sweepers wouldn’t go easy on him. At least he hadn’t betrayed the Rebels . . . again. Spencer wished he had the chance to thank Dez Rylie, but he feared that opportunity would never come.

  “Now,” Belzora said. “What was it you came for?” She tapped her pale chin with the tip of her wand. “Oh, yes. Search them for a Witch’s hair.”

  Spencer glanced at Daisy. If the Witches found the hairbrush, the Rebels would have no way of closing the source. That was assuming that they even survived the next few minutes.

  Holga’s stubby wand released a thread of dust that curled forward with tremendous speed. It struck Spencer’s belt, reducing the buckle to mere particles. His belt slipped from his waist, caught in the wake of Holga’s wand dust. It tumbled to the office floor in front of him and was joined by Daisy’s belt a second later.

  V stepped forward and rifled through the contents of both belts, shaking her head as the search turned up negative. Spencer glanced at Daisy. She stood rigid, her right hand in a fist as V stepped closer and began to inspect her coveralls. She patted Daisy’s pockets before moving on to frisk Spencer.

  “Nothing,” V finally said. “The only hairs on them are the ones attached to their heads.”

  Spencer never took his eyes from Daisy. Where was the hairbrush? Had she left it behind in the parking garage?

  Ninfa gave a shriek of victory, her wand tip coming around on Spencer and Daisy. A blast of wand dust shot out, forming midair into a familiar rake. Spencer tried to step aside, but the projectile rake was moving too quickly.

  The wooden handle slammed into the floor directly between Spencer and Daisy. The metal prongs of the rake expanded over them, growing so quickly into bars that they knocked the two kids together.

  In a heartbeat, the rake had become a cage, crushing all hope Spencer and Daisy had of escaping the Witches in Garcia’s office. Spencer had been imprisoned in a rake cage before. The only way to retract the bars was to twist the rake handle.

  Spencer grabbed the wooden handle that rose in the center of the cage, but he knew it was useless. The rake cage would open only if a hand from the outside twisted it.

  “That’s better,” Ninfa said. “Hairless and trapped.”

  “Goodie,” said Holga. “Their plan is derailed. They cannot close the source without a hair from our heads.”

  Ninfa nodded. “And unless they feel like blowing half the earth into dusty particles, they cannot destroy the nests while the source is open.”

  “That’s a relief,” replied Holga. “We worked too hard creating those brain nests to have some little brats destroy them.”

  “You created the Toxites?” Daisy whispered in horror.

  “From scratch,” Ninfa said, taking a curtsy.

  It was one thing to know that the Instigators had done it. Now they were looking at them, realizing that the revered Founding Witches had started it all. . . . Spencer shook the bars of their cage, and Daisy looked like she might cry.

  “We needed something that would dull the mind,” Belzora explained. “Something that would sweep across this growing nation and infest the schools, targeting the future’s greatest asset—an active mind.”

  “But we didn’t want to take possession of a few struggling British colonies,” Ninfa cut in. “During our time, America was not the world power that it is today.”

  “There was that whole Revolutionary War thing,” Holga added.

  “So we waited, tucked away in the security of the Dustbin,” Belzora continued. “Wars were fought and our nation grew, while school janitors, spread across the states, fought a secret war against the very Toxites we created.”

  “Then, in the prophesied Day of Wickedness, when our three warlocks felt as bitter about the world as we did, the Warlocks Box was opened,” said Ninfa. “The pieces were in motion, and our Toxites were finally allowed to do what we created them to do.”

  “Now we are back,” Belzora said. “Stepping into a world of possibilities. In a few short years, the cycle will be complete. Then we will lead the Academy students to rule over the mindless masses!”

  Holga cackled. “Mindless masses!” she repeated. “Nice alliteration.”

  Spencer tried to process it all. The Founding Witches had created the Toxites in the Dustbin. Hundreds of years ago, they had opened the source for the first time, letting through a wave of Toxites that would continuously be recycled at the landfill. It was just the right amount of creatures, and the nation’s janitors could keep them at bay until the time was finally right to withdraw. That time was now. The source had reopened and the final phase of the Witches’ three-hundred-year-old plan was in effect.

  “What’s your part in this, V?” Spencer asked, watching her through the bars of the rake cage. He couldn’t understand why anyone would side with the Witches after hearing their centuries-old scheme. “What did they promise you?”

  “V has been very helpful,” Belzora said. “We needed someone trustworthy to watch over the Dark Aurans. It isn’t good for them to be free. Something could happen to them. Something bad.”

  Spencer swallowed hard. “You’re going to kill the Dark Aurans?”

  All three Witches burst into demented laughter.

  “Don’t be foolish, boy!” Holga cried.

  “The Dark Aurans mustn’t die!” said Ninfa. “That would ruin everything!”

  “Why?” Daisy asked. “You don’t seem to care about anyone else.”

  “Only the Dark Aurans have the power to destroy Toxites forever,” Belzora said.

  “I know,” Spencer said. Aryl had told him that. “Isn’t that just another reason for you to want them dead?”

  “You don’t understand,” Belzora said. “The Dark Aurans are the only things keeping the Toxites alive. That’s why the boys are the only ones who can destroy them.”

  “If you want the Toxites destroyed so badly,” Ninfa added. “Go back to the landfill and kill your friends. If the Dark Aurans die, the Toxites die with them.”

  Chapter 16

  “We’ll find another way.”

  Spencer could barely even comprehend what the Witch was saying. “No,” he muttered. “You’re lying.”

  “The Dark Aurans have been to the Dustbin before,” Belzora said. “Many, many years ago. We captured them—three outstanding pupils in our village. And while they never saw the faces of the Instigators, we were there, performing experiments that would change the world.”

  “Olin was particularly alert and attentive,” Ninfa said. “The opposite of his greatest attribute is found in the Filths that spawned from his sharp mind. We can thank Olin for the fatigue and exhaustion that the Filths exhale.”

  “Aryl was proactive,” Holga said. “Quic
k to volunteer, always working hard. His mind led to the creation of Rubbishes, instilling apathy and boredom into the most eager students.”

  “Sach was unusually focused,” said Belzora. “He could spend hours working on projects and finding solutions. His disciplined mind formed Grimes, exhaling distraction into every classroom.”

  Spencer rested his forehead against the bars of his cage. He couldn’t believe it. The Dark Aurans—his friends—were the very cause of the Toxite infestation.

  “Refraction Dust,” Ninfa said. “That was the crowning achievement of our experiments with the Dark Aurans. The Refraction Dust extracted the boys’ best qualities and created brain nests that would fuel Toxites with the opposite effects.”

  “Once our experiments were finished and the brain nests were formed,” said Belzora, “we ‘rescued’ the boys from the Instigators. It was the only way to gain their trust.”

  “But we couldn’t let them wander about unsupervised,” Ninfa said. “Teenage boys have a knack for finding trouble. So we created babysitters for them.” She pointed at V. “We picked our girls thoughtfully, careful to give them immortality but not the Glopifying power of the boys.”

  “That made them jealous, see?” Holga said. “Right from the start, we planted the idea that the boys were evil. We created the Broomstaff and gave V specific instructions to Pan them at the first sign of darkness.”

  “Then their security was assured,” Ninfa remarked. “Stuck in the landfill, never growing older, our boys fueled the Toxites for centuries.”

  “And now we need them more than ever,” Belzora said. “The Dark Aurans must keep breathing, keep thinking, keep fueling the Toxite brains until our mission is complete.”

  “Why are you telling us this?” Spencer asked.

  “We wanted you to know what you’ve been fighting for,” Belzora said.

  “Think of the times you found yourself in combat defending Olin, Aryl, and Sach,” said Ninfa. “We wanted you to know that you were really defending Filth, Rubbish, and Grime.”

  “Would you have changed your mind if you’d known who they really were?” Belzora asked. “It calls into question your character. Would you let your friends die to rid the world of Toxites?”

  Spencer didn’t even hesitate with his answer. “I would never turn on my friends,” he said. “We’ll find another way.”

  “Yes, yes,” Ninfa said. “Those silly scissors.”

  “The Dark Aurans weren’t supposed to make those, were they?” Daisy said. She’d been silent in the rake cage for so long. Now Spencer thought she sounded hopeful.

  “It wasn’t ideal,” Holga said.

  “They were just doing what they thought you had created them to do,” Spencer said. “Make something powerful enough to destroy the brain nests.”

  “While the boys were Panned, they posed no threat to us,” Belzora said. “They could make a million scissors capable of destroying the brain nests. Under the curse of the Broomstaff, they could never leave the landfill.”

  “But then I came along,” Spencer said, drawing courage from the fact that he’d done something to offset the Witches’ master plan.

  “Didn’t see that coming,” Holga admitted.

  “Now the boys are free,” Spencer continued. “They’ll use the scissors and destroy the Toxites, fulfilling exactly what you said they’d do!”

  “Not going to happen,” Ninfa said, placing a protective hand on V’s shoulder. “We know the scissors are lost. By the time you find them, we will have crushed the Rebels and Panned the Dark Aurans anew.”

  “You told them everything?” Daisy shouted at V. “I’m glad I never told you who I have a crush on!”

  “I didn’t need to tell them anything,” V said, looking small amidst the three Witches. “I just had to let them see for themselves.”

  Spencer thought about V’s statement, the truth suddenly dawning on him. “Soapsuds,” Spencer said, feeling betrayed to know that the Witches had been watching their council at the landfill. He wondered where the tiny bubbles had been hidden so no one noticed them.

  “Oh, he’s sharp,” said Holga, pretending to give Spencer a poke with her finger.

  “Our surveillance suds can form themselves on any puddle of standing water,” Ninfa explained. “But the Auran council room was dry. We needed V to provide a liquid surface.”

  “Your mug!” Spencer said, remembering how V had brought a mug to the table with her. “Those bubbles weren’t from the root beer! Those were soapsuds!”

  “You drank soapsuds?” Daisy seemed disgusted. “Does that mean the Witches can see your insides?”

  “No,” Spencer said. “V never took a single drink. That mug wasn’t there because she was thirsty. It was there because she was letting the Witches spy on us!”

  “What does it matter?” V shouted. “After I succeeded in swapping the nails, I knew my time was coming to an end.”

  “You’re going to die?” Daisy asked.

  “Eventually, yes,” V answered. “And to me, that is welcome news.” She stepped forward, her long hair swirling around her. “I regretted my choice to become an Auran.” She spoke softly, even though it was obvious the Witches could hear. “Others grew up. Others moved on. Not us. I was trapped forever in this body, denied the normal life I could have lived. Instead of growing old and enjoying one lifetime, I grew bitter and resented four lifetimes. The only hope I’ve held on to was the return of the Witches.”

  V glanced back at them as if they were some kind of deliverers. “That’s why I tried to give away the Manualis Custodem two hundred years ago. I wanted the Witches to come back. When they finally did, the other Aurans turned away, vowing to fight the Witches. I saw my hopes of ever growing old fade away. So I played along. I joined your Rebellion. But I had one more mission to accomplish.”

  V turned away from Spencer and Daisy, facing the Founding Witches. “You have your wands,” she said. “Just as I promised. Now let me age, as you promised.”

  Belzora stepped forward, a smile on her face. “So much potential. You have a wonderful lifetime ahead of you,” she said. Carefully, the Witch selected one of the bangle bracelets around her wrist and slipped it off.

  “In the precise moment you became an Auran,” Belzora said, “the years that you would have aged were siphoned away into the nearest bronze object—a Timekeeper. We prepared this bracelet for you, keeping it safe all these years—a time capsule of your life.”

  Belzora held out the Timekeeper ceremoniously. “You have earned this moment, Virginia. Enjoy every year.” She slipped the bracelet onto V’s slender wrist.

  A ripple of magic crept up her arm the moment the bracelet touched her skin. V stumbled back in shock. She was growing taller, bigger. Ribbons of black hair flowed from her scalp, and her flowing locks extended to impossible lengths. Her clothes ripped at the seams, and she thrashed, crying out in agony.

  “What’s happening?” Daisy shouted, gripping the bars of the rake cage.

  “We’re giving her what she asked for,” Ninfa said. “She’s growing up.”

  V was an adult now, her hair filling half the room and her fingernails curling as they grew. She scratched at the bronze Timekeeper bracelet around her wrist, but her arm had grown too quickly, the skin swelling and making the bracelet impossible to remove.

  “Not . . . like . . . this . . .” V moaned, falling to her knees as she neared middle age. Streaks of white reentered her hair, but this was the touch of old age. Her body seemed to shrivel and shrink as deep wrinkles crept across her face and neck.

  She was dying.

  “Stop it!” Daisy yelled, pounding on the cage. The Witches merely cackled.

  “Nothing we can do,” Holga said.

  “As long as she touches her bracelet, the years will be returned to her,” answered Ninfa.

  V reached through the bars of the rake cage, her cry for help a painful moan. Daisy tugged at the bronze jewelry on her wrist, but it wouldn’t budge. V�
�s wrinkly hand wrapped around the rake handle. Using what seemed to be all her remaining strength, she twisted the handle.

  The rake cage opened instantly, the metal prongs retracting into a tool that seemed capable of doing little more than raking leaves.

  Daisy dropped to her knees, trying to administer some kind of aid to the dying old woman. V’s shoulders were stooped now, her arms frail and bony. At last, the bracelet slipped from her wrist and landed with a tinkle on the office floor.

  V was lying back, her head cradled in Daisy’s lap.

  “Spencer.” V’s voice was barely audible. With her limited strength, she lifted a finger and beckoned him closer. He knelt at her side, taking her hand in his. She was grandmotherly now, feeble and sickly. But below her wrinkly brow, V’s eyes still burned with youthful vengeance.

  “The scissors,” she whispered. “They’re . . . lost.”

  “I know,” he said. “We’ll find them.”

  “Lost . . . in the landfill.” V coughed, an action that caused her eyes to close. “I . . . stole them. Long ago.” She opened her eyes. “Find them.”

  Spencer nodded wordlessly. What could he say to someone who had lived a lifetime before his very eyes?

  “Tell the others I’m sorry,” V said. Her hand slipped away from Spencer’s. She groped the floor beside her until her arthritic fingers closed around the bronze Timekeeper. She gripped the bracelet tightly as Spencer and Daisy watched the final years of V’s life ravish her weak form. Her eyes closed for the last time, and the breath leaked out of her chest.

  V’s fingers went limp, and the bronze bracelet rolled across the office floor.

  Chapter 17

  “Nothing personal.”

  Spencer looked up, his face hot with anger. Daisy was crying softly at V’s side.

  “You killed her,” he said to the Witches, who stood watching impassively.

  “Age killed her,” Ninfa corrected. “Why do you care? Wasn’t she a traitor to you?”