“When did you have time to do it?” Iris asked.
“While you guys were talking to the cops,” Luz said.
“That fast!” Iris was impressed.
“Well, don’t do it again!” I shouted. “We’re down two Irregulars, and you’re on probation! We can’t have you sent to juvie now.”
“Would’ve been worth it,” I heard Luz whisper to Oona.
Chapter 18
The Perils of Puppy Love
Perhaps the Irregulars should have given Faye Durkin a cure. Not the cure, of course. But in retrospect, it might have been smarter to scoop a little something into a jar and let her figure out that it wasn’t capable of growing anything other than mold. There’s no doubt in my mind that the moment we told her she couldn’t have the cure, there was nothing in the world Faye Durkin wanted more.
And I knew exactly how she felt. Faye Durkin wasn’t the only one who wanted something she couldn’t have. Standing in the shadows off Second Avenue that evening, watching the traffic go by, I felt like the butt of some cruel cosmic joke. The villain of a pretty pink romance novel. The subject of an after-school special about the perils of puppy love. But when I spotted Kaspar rushing to meet me in front of the gates of the Marble Cemetery, I couldn’t stop my heart from dancing. There were thousands upon thousands of good-looking guys in Manhattan, and only one of them was dating Betty Bent. Yet that was the boy I desperately wanted to win. Our brains may enjoy playing tricks on us, but it seems our hearts can be downright cruel.
“Hi, Ananka,” Kaspar said.
“Hey,” I replied, letting my gaze linger on the handsome face half-hidden by the hood of a black sweatshirt. Looking back, I have a hunch that Kaspar’s closet was filled with black hoodies, but that evening I would have sworn he was wearing the one he’d had on the first time that I saw him. Was he sending me some sort of secret message?
I tried to think back. Was it possible that Kaspar had known I was watching the night I’d spotted him painting a giant, threatening squirrel on a downtown wall? Maybe he had seen me, scaling the side of a nearby building using nothing more than a few strands of ivy? Had he finally realized that an outlaw graffiti artist guy like him belonged with a vine-climbing, roof-hopping girl like me?
I didn’t have the guts to find out. “Are you ready?” I asked instead.
“You kidding? I’ve been looking forward to this for months!”
My hands were shaking, and it took longer than usual to pick the lock on the cemetery gates. “I can’t believe Betty hasn’t taken you down to see the Shadow City yet.”
“We were planning to go the next time I was in town, but then she got shipped off to France. When you offered to give me a tour, she made me promise to go without her.”
My heart sank a little when I realized Betty wasn’t worried. Either she knew Kaspar would never be interested in another girl—or she didn’t know me well enough to know that I couldn’t be trusted.
“I feel kind of bad,” Kaspar continued. “Here we are having fun, and Betty’s in Paris, bored out of her mind. I talked to her right before I left to meet you. She still hasn’t heard a peep from Kiki.”
“What about Madame Beauregard?” I asked. “Any news on that front? Last time Betty texted me, she and Madame were on their way to the Paris branch of the institute.”
“Yeah, I guess they spent the day watching little French girls tie scarves in new ways.”
“Let’s hope the kids banded together and made an escape rope,” I said, eager to move the conversation away from Kaspar’s girlfriend. “Now grab that snow shovel against the wall. We have to uncover the tomb of Augustus Quackenbush.”
I was either shoveling snow or daydreaming about my handsome companion when our unexpected guest arrived. In either case, I failed to hear the gate creak open and the sound of footsteps on the icy path through the cemetery.
“Forget anything?” The voice came from behind us.
My guilty conscience had me on edge. I shrieked and almost fell head-first into the hole that lay open in front of me. When I regained my footing, I wheeled around to find Iris watching the scene with her hands on her hips. She looked like a giant snow cone in her pink jacket and white ski pants and boots. A giant angry snow cone.
“Iris!” I grumbled. “What are you doing here?”
“Betty sent me a message. She wanted to make sure you guys had everything you needed to explore the Shadow City tonight. She was surprised that I hadn’t heard from you. Since there’s so much snow in the cemetery, she figured you’d want to use the passage in my basement.”
“I didn’t want to bother your parents.”
Iris may have been the youngest Irregular, but she wasn’t a fool. “You mean the same Martin and Henrietta McLeod who’ve been excavating a Moche tomb in Peru for the past two months? I’m sure they wouldn’t have minded a bit.”
“I guess I forgot they were out of town.” I threatened the little girl’s life with my eyes.
“I’m starting to think you should see a doctor,” said Iris, ignoring my warning. “You’ve been forgetting a lot of stuff lately. Like this.” She held up a small vial of perfume. “Were you planning to feed the rats tonight?”
There was no clever reply to be made. Iris was right. The tunnels of the Shadow City were home to an army of man-eating rats. Without a few dabs of the Irregulars’ rodent-repelling perfume, Kaspar and I could have been a two-course dinner. It had been months since I’d made such a stupid mistake, and I was mortified that I’d screwed up in front of the one person on earth that I truly longed to impress.
“Thanks, Iris.” I snatched the bottle out of her hands. “I guess you just saved my butt.”
“For the third or fourth time,” Iris noted. “You know, since I’m already here, I’m thinking it might be fun to see the Shadow City again. I haven’t been down there since winter break. You guys mind if I tag along?” The evil little genius directed the question to Kaspar, not me.
“Sure! The more the merrier!” Kaspar said. “As long as Ananka doesn’t mind.”
“Mind? Why would I mind? You go ahead and take your first look,” I said, handing Kaspar my flashlight. “Just wait for us when you get to the bottom of the stairs.”
As soon as Kaspar was underground, I linked arms with Iris so she couldn’t attempt an escape. “What have you been hinting at?” I hissed in her ear. “Did Oona say something to you?”
“I don’t need Oona to tell me you have it bad for Kaspar,” Iris answered. “I was born with two eyes and two ears of my own. What exactly do you think you’re doing, Ananka?”
“Betty asked me to keep Kaspar entertained while she’s gone,” I said. “So that’s what I’m doing.”
“You lied to us today at the park.”
“I didn’t lie. I said I was busy! What’s dishonest about that?”
Iris gave me the sort of look it took my mother years to perfect. Fifty percent disappointment, thirty percent exasperation, and twenty percent disgust. “Ananka, nobody’s gonna blame you for having a crush on Kaspar. All of us have crushes on Kaspar. He’s the coolest guy in New York! But promise me you’re not going to do anything stupid.”
“You know what would really be stupid?” I sneered. “Taking advice from a twelve-year-old. Either go home or mind your own business, munchkin.”
I had imagined guiding Kaspar through the underworld that Kiki Strike and I had discovered, showing him the abandoned gambling parlors, opium dens, and dance halls that were built by criminals two hundred years before we were born. I’d introduce him to the skeleton of Percy Leake III and impress him with my knowledge of nineteenth-century river pirates, antique bedpans, and ferocious rodents. Kaspar would be so astonished by my fearlessness and brilliance that he would fall head over heels in love with me. We’d gently break the news to Betty when she returned, only to discover that she’d found a new beau on her trip to France. Then we would all live happily ever after.
But of course, Iris stuck
to me like chewing gum to a sneaker. When she wasn’t asking ridiculous questions (What do you think those pirates would have done to people who betrayed them?), she was praising Betty (Isn’t she just the greatest? I think she may be the nicest, most loyal girl I’ve ever met!). And when she wasn’t talking about Betty, she was regaling Kaspar with tales of her parents’ amazing adventures. (They once found the tomb of a noble lady who’d been executed and buried without her head. That was the price you paid back then for making the moves on another woman’s husband.) Suffice it to say, I barely got a word in edgewise.
“Look, it’s Angus McSwegan! We’re already under my house!” Iris exclaimed as we arrived at a room occupied by the century-old remains of a bootlegger. “You guys want to come up and get some dinner? My nanny is making her meat loaf tonight. Luz says it’s even better than Fat Frankie’s.”
My stomach betrayed me by rumbling at the mention of food. I’d been too excited to eat before I left for the cemetery. And that brat Iris knew how much I loved Fat Frankie’s meat loaf.
“Kaspar?” There was no point in continuing our trek through the tunnels. “You hungry?”
“I’m starving!” he replied with a dazzling smile. The boy was so darn easy to love.
We popped our heads out of the hidden exit in Iris’s basement to find the smell of meat loaf already in the air. But Iris’s nanny hadn’t cooked it. Oona was sitting at the table upstairs with a packet of little red stickers in her hand and a map of New York spread out in front of her. Luz and DeeDee puttered about by the oven, wearing novelty aprons that (according to Iris) said “Kiss the Cook” in ancient Sumerian.
The Irregulars usually steered clear of Iris’s kitchen. Kiki called it the world’s most dangerous spice cabinet. All four walls were lined with shelves, and each shelf held jars, Baggies, and bottles of herbs and seasonings from around the world. Few of the packages were labeled, however, and Iris was not a careful cook. DeeDee had once spent six hours in the bathroom after Iris served her a bowl of chili that she’d accidentally prepared using bhut jolokia, a pepper so hot that some villages in India use it as elephant repellant.
“What’s going on here?” I demanded.
“You wanted to meet at Iris’s to work on the map, remember?” Oona replied, glancing over at Kaspar. “Something make you forget your own orders, Fishbein?”
“Iris told us you wanted meat loaf for dinner,” DeeDee added. “We followed her nanny’s recipe, but I have no idea if it’s done. Is it supposed to look like a brick?”
“Let me take a peek.” Kaspar bent down to peer through the window on the oven door. “I happen to be the world’s foremost expert on meat loaf.”
“They don’t know what you’ve been doing,” Iris whispered behind me. “But this can become an intervention at any moment.”
“I’ll be right back,” I told the three oblivious girls. “Iris, come with me.”
We stood in the hallway beneath the McLeods’ gruesome collection of ceremonial masks. Angry gods, demons, and devils leered down at us. I’m sure my face at that moment was far more terrifying.
“Are you familiar with the term insubordination?” I growled.
“Are you saying that I haven’t been submitting to your authority?” Iris responded, glaring back at me. She tried to cross her arms, but the padding of her pink down coat made it impossible. They kept slipping back to her sides.
“Do you know what happens to soldiers who refuse to obey orders in times of war?”
“Do you know what happens to soldiers who let terrible things happen and then claim they were ‘just following orders’? It’s called the Nuremburg defense. The Nazis were big fans of it and—”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve comparing a Jewish girl to the Nazis, Iris.”
“And that’s what’s called a straw man argument,” Iris observed. “Instead of addressing the real issue, you’ve chosen to invent an argument that you believe will be easier to win.”
“I don’t care what I’m doing or what it’s called!” I shouted, then quickly lowered my voice. “Why are you trying to humiliate me, you little turd? I’m supposed to be in charge!”
“I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to help you!” Iris insisted. “And I’m trying to save the Irregulars!”
The note of desperation in the smaller girl’s voice caught me off guard. Iris wasn’t acting out of spite. She really believed she was doing the right thing.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Don’t you see what’s going to happen if you keep throwing yourself at Kaspar? He’s going to tell you that he likes Betty, not you. He’ll be nice about it. He might not even say anything to Betty. But you’ll be embarrassed, and Betty will find out somehow, and then she’ll never trust you again. And Kiki will be mad that you’ve been acting so stupid when she left you in charge. Everyone will end up taking sides, and the Irregulars will break up. It might not happen overnight. But believe me, Ananka, it will happen.”
“How would you know?” I demanded.
“It’s obvious! It would be obvious to you, too, if you were thinking clearly right now!”
“I’m thinking clearly enough to know I don’t need a lecture from a giant pink snow cone.” I gave her my dirtiest look before I spun around. “Enjoy your meat loaf, Iris. I’m going home. And I expect that map to be finished in the morning.”
“What should I tell the others?” Iris asked, hurrying after me as I stomped down the hall. “They think you called the meeting!”
“Tell them whatever you want,” I said, opening the front door. “I don’t care what any of you think anymore.”
“Please don’t go—” The slam cut her off.
THE FISHBEIN GUIDE TO … THE BEAUTY OF SCARVES
The designer Coco Chanel is often quoted as saying, “A girl should be two things: classy and fabulous.” In private, she would add a third. Prepared. That’s why the grande dame always took a scarf with her wherever she went. Like all French ladies, she knew that there’s no more versatile item of clothing. A simple silk scarf can pull any outfit together—or give it a certain je ne sais quoi.
But I’ll leave the fashion tips to Coco. La mode has never been the Fishbein focus. So let’s take a moment to discuss the more practical side of scarves. …
Secret Maps and Messages
During World War II, scarves were an essential part of many spies’ toolkits. Maps and messages were often printed on silk, which was extremely lightweight, compact, waterproof, and durable. But silk’s biggest advantage over paper is the fact that it’s difficult to detect when hidden on the body. Paper is not only bulky, it would rustle if a spy were frisked by enemy agents.
A Quick Disguise
We all know how important a quick, easy disguise can be. Centuries of outlaws have used scarves (sometimes called cravats or bandannas) to conceal their features. Unless you’re robbing banks or slinking past security cameras, you may not need to cover most of your face. Sometimes disguising your appearance can be as simple as covering your most distinguishing feature—your hair.
An Emergency Change of Clothing
The best adventures are often the messiest, so you’ll want to take a change of clothes. But you might not get very far if you’re lugging a giant suitcase. I recommend carrying a cute scarf, instead. A few quick twists, and a scarf can become a halter top, a belt, a hair bow, or a turban. Larger scarves make excellent sarongs, which are ideal for seaside adventures.
Bandages, Tourniquets, Restraints, and Blindfolds
These are four things every adventurer should have on hand. A scarf can serve all four purposes, though not at the very same time.
A Flexible Weapon
A scarf may even be able to help you fend off an attacker. (Long, rectangular scarves suit this purpose best.) Simply wrap an end around each hand and pull the scarf taut. The strip of fabric can be used to deflect blows and jabs. It can also be used to strangle an attacker if the situation becomes truly dire.
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br /> Chapter 19
Le Traître
PARIS: WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 18
I have nothing to say in my own defense. After writing that last chapter, even I’m disgusted with Ananka Fishbein. So let’s leave her alone to wrestle with her filthy little conscience and head back to Paris for a while. I wish I could promise a relaxing holiday, but while I was plotting to steal Kaspar’s heart, another traitor was at work in the City of Light.
Kiki sat on the rough wood floor of the bell tower, waiting for Etienne to arrive with word from the Irregulars. At least twelve hours had passed since she’d made the deal with Sidonia that morning. In another twelve, she would have to deliver the cure—or Verushka would pay with her life. Etienne had promised to stop by after the ball his mother had forced him to attend. But Kiki didn’t need a watch to know that he was running late. He had warned her that his mother might keep him at the party past ten. Kiki told herself that she needed to be patient. But she couldn’t bear the thought that somewhere in the city below, in a ballroom filled with the fanciest of French people, Etienne might still be dancing with Sidonia Galatzina.
Kiki could have fled the tower at any time. Tucked away between two loose stones was a key Etienne had made for the door. But it was only to be used as a last resort. So Kiki studied the darkness, listened to the patter of rat feet, and hoped her friend hadn’t succumbed to her cousin’s charms. He wouldn’t have been the first young man to be dazzled by the dark-haired princess. Back in New York, Sidonia had often allowed a small pack of love-struck suitors to follow a few paces behind her. They kept her supplied with nonfat lattes and presented their credit cards whenever Sidonia left a store with a trinket or two that she hadn’t bothered to purchase.
Kiki pushed those memories out of her head and tried to think of more pleasant things. So she began making a mental tally of all the royal heirs who had been murdered by family members. It was a very long list, and she was nowhere near finished when she leaped to her feet and pressed one ear to a boarded-up window.