Secrets Of New Forest Academy Part 29

"Was it a bomb?" asked the uniformed woman.

The warlock drew a deep breath. "No," Mr. Clean said aloud. Every guard turned, pistols aimed randomly across the room. "It was a phantom."

Then, with terrifying speed, both gloved hands plunged into his lab coat. Two plastic spray bottles flashed from concealment. He took aim and pulled the triggers.

It was over in a moment. A drip of green solution glistened on the nozzle of each spray bottle, and an emerald mist hung in the room. The guards collapsed into a heap on the hard floor, their guns slipping from limp hands.

Spencer felt a stab of fear pa.s.s through him. He was aware of himself, sitting stock straight in his school desk, hand gripping the bronze medallion so tightly that the edge dug into his palm. He wanted to let go, to end the vision on his terms. But the fallen security guards, the green spray, the warlock atop that fearsome creature . . .

Mr. Clean twisted his head from side to side in satisfaction, his neck popping from the motion. The reception area was littered with bodies-all of them trained security guards, but none of them a match for the warlock in the white coat.

The big man touched the dial on his belt, and the Filth moved away from the wreckage. They walked down the hallway, the warlock holding his spray bottles like dual pistols in his gloved hands.

In a moment, Mr. Clean had found the cell he was looking for. He twisted the dial and dismounted the giant Filth in the middle of the hall, keeping the extension cord stretched between them. Peering through the bars, Spencer saw the limited contents of the cell. Curled upon the bed was a figure in an orange jumpsuit.

"Knock, knock," the warlock whispered through the bars.

The startled prisoner leapt from the bed, tripped in surprise, and came to rest on her knees not three feet away. Her thin face upturned, she stared through the bars.

It was Leslie Sharmelle!

Spencer's breath caught when he recognized her. Leslie Sharmelle! She was a BEM worker who had subst.i.tuted for Mrs. Natcher at the beginning of the year. Leslie was the one who had teamed up with Garth Hadley to get Spencer involved with the BEM. She had survived the Vortex, but the cla.s.sroom had collapsed on her. Walter had framed her for the accident, and once she was released from the hospital she had gone to jail.

Now she knelt before the mysterious warlock. And with fear and respect in her eyes, she muttered his name.

"Mr. Clean."

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Leslie swallowed hard. "You . . . you have the key?"

"Why would I need a key," Mr. Clean asked, "when I have this?"

His fingers turned the dial on the battery pack, and the Filth bellowed. Leslie jumped away from the bars, but it was too late. The creature had already caught sight of her.

Mr. Clean stepped aside as the Filth sprang at the cell bars. Its jaws snapped through the metal. Clawed toes sc.r.a.ped, bending and twisting the bars aside. In less than a heartbeat, the Filth was inside the cell.

In panicked shock, Leslie collapsed against the back wall, s.h.i.+elding her face as fragments of metal fell around her. Her hands reached out and she screamed as the slavering jowls of the beast opened to destroy her.

But the Filth did not bite. It bowed its head in relaxation as a surge of electricity flowed down the Glopified extension cord. Mr. Clean stepped through the twisted bars and approached the cowering woman.

"I see you've met the Bureau's newest weapon," the warlock said, one hand scratching the creature behind the ears. "An Extension Filth."

Leslie did not move from her place against the wall, the Filth's face inches from hers. Mr. Clean reached out for her. Leslie put her thin hand into his, carefully sliding away from the huge Filth as he hoisted her up.

The warlock drew a strip of gray cloth from his white lab coat. "Do you know what this is?" he asked. "It is the cuff of a s.h.i.+rtsleeve, ripped from the arm of a very elusive man." He held up the sc.r.a.p. "But I'm about to make sure that he never escapes again."

Mr. Clean paused. For a moment, Spencer was afraid that the man had somehow detected his spying eyes. Then the warlock continued, his voice metered and steady. "You're going to bring me Alan Zumbro-dead or alive."

Spencer almost lost contact, his hand slipping on the bronze medal in his pocket. He forced himself to linger in the vision a moment longer, to face Mr. Clean's terrible p.r.o.nouncement.

Leslie wrinkled her forehead. "I thought Alan was-"

"The Rebels rescued him," the warlock cut her off. "But he doesn't have the package. He's out there now, looking for it."

"Where?" Leslie asked.

Mr. Clean approached the Extension Filth. He adjusted the dial on the battery pack just enough to cause the creature's head to perk up. Then he lowered the sc.r.a.p of cloth to the beast's nose.

The Toxite inhaled sharply, its slit nostrils opening wide to take in the scent. Then the warlock dropped his hand lower. The Filth's coa.r.s.e tongue emerged and the razor teeth snapped together, Mr. Clean barely pulling away his hand in time. The creature chewed noisily on the sc.r.a.p of cloth and then swallowed.

"All is ready now," said the warlock. "The Extension Filth has been baited."

"So your beast will lead me to Alan?"

Mr. Clean laughed. "It's not my beast." He unclipped the belt and battery pack. "It's yours." He held the items out. "On its own, an Extension Toxite is reckless. Plug it in, wear the battery pack, and you have the power to control it. Saddle up, Leslie. Become a Plugger."

With shaking hands, Leslie Sharmelle accepted the pack. She turned to the huge Filth, and Spencer could see her reluctance to climb onto its back.

"I have a gang of Pluggers waiting to meet you at the edge of town," Mr. Clean said. "They will teach you to control your beast and prepare you for the manhunt."

The big warlock stepped away, pa.s.sing through the wrecked bars. "I'm trusting you to prove yourself," he said. "To do better than your previous a.s.signment." Mr. Clean turned away from the cell. "If you fail me again, Leslie, there will be no forgiveness. I'll have no choice but to deal with you . . . the Clean way."

end.