Suddenly, a dark shape appeared out of nowhere, flying so fast over the outcropping to their right that at first Amy thought it was a bird of prey instead of a skier.
Just as he hit the ground in a spray of snow, she felt movement to the other side. A snowboarder exploded off the rocky cliff to the left, twisting high in the air. He seemed to hang there for a long, extended moment. Casper nearly fell backward as he grabbed for his ski poles.
The snowboarder landed just inches away from Bruno, barreling into him and sending him airborne. Bruno landed on his back and began to slide.
“Whoa,” Dan breathed.
Wyoming dug in his poles and took off. The skier changed direction and flew after him. Amy saw gray hair sticking out from the close-fitting wool hat. The amazing skier was Fiske!
Meanwhile, ahead of Wyoming, Bruno kept sliding. He must have hit an icy patch of snow. The mystery snowboarder was bearing down on him when suddenly Bruno disappeared. He was there one moment … and then gone. The snowboarder immediately turned his board and stopped.
It was too late for Wyoming. He was flying so fast on the ice that he went airborne for a moment and then he, too, disappeared. Fiske pulled up, the snow pluming out from the edges of his skis. He stood a minute, looking down.
Amy blinked. What had happened?
Cautiously, Amy and Dan skied closer. Fiske held up a hand so they stopped a few inches away from him and the snowboarder.
The snowboarder turned and said just one word. “Crevasse.”
It was Erasmus.
They followed Erasmus and Fiske down the mountain, skiing slowly as the light faded. Amy’s muscles were so tired that she had to use all her concentration to get down the mountain without falling.
They skied directly to the back porch of the chalet. Amy’s fingers shook as she tried to get out of her ski boots. Fiske bent and gently helped her, then Dan, as Erasmus looked out over the twilight.
“Dude,” Dan said tiredly to Erasmus. “A seven-twenty McTwist, and you nailed it. Awesome.”
One corner of Erasmus’s mouth lifted in a small smile. “Thanks. Dude.”
Amy looked down at her uncle’s gray head. He took off the second boot and rested his hand on her stocking foot. When he looked up, she smiled her thanks. He smiled back, but the smile was full of worry. He knew how close they’d come to disaster, just as she did.
But behind the worry, she saw something deep and rock steady. Love.
She stood up at the same time as Fiske, and he gathered her into a hug. She felt the surprising strength of his arms around her. He put one hand on her head and held her against his chest.
Fiske looked over Amy’s head and extended an arm at Dan. To Amy’s surprise, her little brother didn’t shrug or make a joke. He walked right into the hug. They stood in a small knot for a moment.
Amy closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of night air, pines, and snow. She’d been waiting for this moment since they’d got back from the Clue hunt. Through Thanksgiving and Christmas and early mornings and late nights, but somehow, the feelings had just missed the mark.
Now, the moment was here, and it rang through her heart, crystalline and perfect. This is family.
“Let’s go inside and warm up,” Fiske said.
Amy turned to thank Erasmus, but he was gone.
“He’ll be watching the house tonight,” Fiske said. “Just in case. We’re taking the next train out, but we have time to rest before we go.”
A fire blazed in the hearth, and there was a thermos of hot chocolate and a plate of sandwiches waiting.
“How is Frau Weiser?” Amy asked.
“She’s already been released from the clinic,” he said. “A head wound and a slight concussion. She’ll be fine. Her daughter came up and did this for us.”
They drank mugs of hot chocolate and gobbled up the sandwiches. Night had fallen fast, and the snow whispered against the panes.
“I’ve been thinking,” Fiske said. “We’ve got to get rid of the ring. Maybe a London bank —”
“I’ve been thinking, too,” Amy interrupted. “No more banks. That’s what they’ll expect us to do.”
Fiske had already started shaking his head. “I know what you’re thinking. You can’t wear it, Amy. You’ll be a target.”
“I’m already a target,” she argued. “Let’s face it. And Grace chose me to protect it. ‘Keep it close,’ she said. Maybe the best way to do that is to hide it in plain sight.”
Dan and Fiske gave her a questioning look. “How?” Dan asked.
Amy looked out the window at the black sky, the hard points of the stars, the dusting of golden lights on the lower slopes of the mountain. “Well,” she said, “this is Switzerland, after all….”
The snow had started last night and had been falling all day. Finally, it had snowed on a school day. Even the hardy city of Boston had come to a halt. Schools and businesses were closed. The wind had howled all night, pushing the snow into deep drifts.
Amy looked out her bedroom window. Grace’s beautiful meadow was an expanse of white. Every tree and shrub was heavy with snow, the branches bent, scraping the ground as though they were bowing to applause for looking so beautiful.
Dusk was falling fast, the way it did in Massachusetts. She could smell something cooking downstairs. Fiske had promised a feast since they were snowed in.
She looked down at the watch on her wrist. Almost time for dinner. Her fingers trailed over the expensive Swiss timepiece. Each second ticked in a tiny, precise movement. Before heading home, they’d gone to the best watchmaker in Geneva.
The ring was now part of her, a gold circle for the black-faced watch.
She had protected the ring, and she would keep it safe.
They’d defeated the Vespers. Erasmus had passed a message to Fiske that they’d gone underground again … for now.
There was evidence that Casper Wyoming had escaped the fate of his companion. He was still out there.
She’d learned so much on the trip. The most important thing was this: She and Dan didn’t know enough. They had almost died twice on that mountain, once because they’d made the wrong decision and once because they had overestimated their strength.
There had been too much luck involved in their success and too little skill.
They needed to be faster, smarter, better. They needed to know more. They needed to be good at more things. They needed to train. She remembered her burning muscles and lungs on that mountain, the feeling that her body couldn’t do what she needed it to do.
That could never happen again.
Tonight, after dinner, she would tell Fiske, Nellie, and Dan what she’d been thinking about Grace’s mansion.
She remembered how Dan had scoffed at Grace’s note in the Swiss bank. He was right: Grace had never been sentimental. Renovating the house so that it looked exactly like it had when she was alive — it didn’t make sense. Grace wouldn’t approve of that. She’d snort at their foolishness.
They had to throw out all those plans Fiske had worked so hard on. They’d have to re-make Grace’s mansion as theirs. A home, yes. But also a place to learn. A place to train. A place to get ready.
Amy felt the contours of the watch face, the ring that encircled the passage of time. She remembered Dan’s face in the cable car, the thoughts crowding his head that only she could read. The serum. He had thought about it. It was racing around in her brother’s head, and he must never, ever, be tempted by it again. He had to become strong without the serum. They both did.
They would need strength and skills and technology and training. Whatever they didn’t know could be used against them. She would make it a game for Dan. She wouldn’t tell him all her fears. She would give him as many more years of his childhood as she could.
But the reckoning would come. The Vespers were out there. And the next time they met, Amy vowed, she and Dan would be ready.
It Was Always Leading to This
The Cahills thought th
ey were the only ones who knew about the Clues. The Cahills were wrong. Powerful enemies — the Vespers — have been waiting in the shadows. Now it’s their time to rise … and the world will never be the same.
Turn the page for a sneak peek (if you dare.)
The 39 Clues: Cahills vs. Vespers
Book 1 — The Medusa Plot
PROLOGUE
Napa Valley, California, 5:42 A.M., Pacific Time Zone
Fiske Cahill loved the early morning — the glorious moment when the sun’s rays broke over the mountaintops. He would always be an easterner, but there was no place quite like California.
He eased himself into the mineral bath, feeling the bracing sting of water heated by magma trapped deep within the earth. The ache and stiffness of his sixty-nine-year-old body seemed to melt away, and he knew complete relaxation and contentment. Nothing could spoil the perfection of this moment.
He closed his eyes. That was his first mistake.
There was a tiny splash as the snake hit the water. It was a water moccasin, a baby — the venom is strongest in the very young.
Fiske never saw it. He was aware of a sudden stab, followed by blinding pain and then blackness.
Two men in coveralls lifted him out of the tub and administered a tiny injection of antivenom to his abdomen. Then they wrapped him up in a vinyl pool cover, carried him to a panel truck, and loaded him inside.
As an afterthought, one of the men fished the snake out of the water and tossed it into some tall grass. If it survived and happened to bite another resort guest, it was no concern of theirs.
Ponce, Puerto Rico, 9:42 A.M., Atlantic Time Zone
Long, powerful strokes propelled Reagan Holt through the sparkling Caribbean. At thirteen, she had already completed seven Ironman Triathlons, but now she was training for the world championships. Puerto Rico’s lesser-known southern coast was the ideal place for it — great weather, uncrowded roads for running and cycling, and warm, crystal-clear water for swimming. There was even entertainment for these grueling ocean marathons. Through her goggles, she enjoyed the floor show: hundreds of fish species, colorful coral, and …
A jolt of surprise threw off her rhythm, and she struggled to maintain her textbook form. At first she thought it was an undersea mirage, but no. Twenty yards away, a few feet below the surface, floated a scuba diver in an antishark cage!
What’s going on?
That was when she saw the hammerhead.
It was big — an eighteen footer at least. It moved in a serpentine pattern, its oddly placed eyes sweeping the reef. When its attention locked on Reagan, she knew instantly. The long body became a guided missile hurtling toward her. Panic was immediate and total. Not even the fastest human could outswim a shark.
The cage. It was her only option. She made for it, expecting at any moment to feel the devastating bite of jagged teeth. The diver read her mind and opened the cage door. She flung herself inside, slamming the gate shut behind her just as the hammer-shaped snout smashed into the titanium bars. The very sea itself seemed to shake. Reagan was thrown back against the frame, but the structure held.
The diver pulled on a signal rope, and a mechanical winch began to lift the cage out of the water. As they broke the surface, she spied the boat. Relief flooded over her. The cost of this training session would not be her life.
Crew members swung them in over the gunwale and set them down on the deck.
It was all Reagan could do to maintain her footing as she stepped onto the wood planking. “Thanks, you guys! That was so close —”
And then she noticed that one of the sailors was pointing a gun at her.
London, UK, 1:42 P.M., Greenwich Mean Time Zone
When anyone advised Natalie Kabra to “find a happy place,” that place was always Harrods.
That was the reason for this mental health day away from her boarding school. When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping. And where better than the most famous department store in the world, located in the heart of London’s Knightsbridge?
A glance at a bus-stand billboard took the wind out of her sails. It was an advertisement for AidWorksWonders, a nonprofit organization dedicated to global disaster relief. Peering compassionately out was the organization’s founder, radiating charity, good will, and kindness.
Natalie didn’t believe it for a second, and she was in a position to know. That woman, Isabel Kabra, was Natalie’s mother — a hard-hearted, cold-blooded conspirator, arsonist, murderer, and terrorist. The only reason she had formed an organization that did good in the world was that it had been her ticket out of jail, to parole and community service. Natalie pitied the poor community Isabel was assigned to serve.
Just the sight of her mother almost made her turn around and go back to school. It had been Mum who had first introduced her to Harrods. But one couldn’t blame Harrods for that, Natalie concluded, stepping in through the brass-plated revolving door.
Muscle memory took her directly to the Girls’ department — designer only, of course. Without once consulting a price tag, she collected an armload of outfits and headed for the fitting room. She stepped inside, wondering at the second click that came a moment after she shut the door. She tried the handle. Locked.
And then her world tilted, dropping her against the mirror. The entire cubicle lifted suddenly and began to move forward.
In the Girls’ department, the shoppers paid little attention to the large box being carried out of the department by two employees in Harrods uniforms. No one heard the screams that could not penetrate the soundproof enclosure.
Paris, France, 2:42 P.M., Central European Time Zone
To Nellie Gomez, Les Fraises was the best sidewalk café in Paris, and she had tried most of them.
Nellie adored Paris. As much as she missed home, this monthlong class in French cuisine was a dream come true. She loved living in a place where nose rings and punk-rock hair and makeup were considered completely normal. She loved the sights of the city, from the ancient Roman ruins to the ultramodern glass pyramid entrance to the Louvre.
But mostly, she loved the food. Her seminar on sauces had run through lunch, which gave her the perfect excuse to visit Les Fraises in the state she was usually in — hungry.
The chocolate-strawberry croissant looked a little different as the waitress placed the plate on the table next to her espresso. Was that confectioner’s sugar on top? Was the chef trying to improve upon perfection?
She was anxious to find out.
Nellie raised the pastry to her lips.
Poof!
A cloud of powder burst from the croissant, enveloping her face. It was gone in a few seconds. But by then, Nellie was slumped in her seat, unconscious.
An ambulance pulled up to the café. Two white-coated attendants emerged. They lifted Nellie out from behind the table, loaded her into the back, and drove away.
Tel Aviv, Israel, 3:42 P.M., Israel Standard Time Zone
“This way, children.”
Alistair Oh held out his arm and guided Ned and Ted Starling into the elevator of the medical office building. How tragic it was that Alistair, at sixty-six, would be offering his assistance to two teenagers in the very prime of youth and strength. It should have been the other way around.
Alas, such was the legacy of the search for the 39 Clues. The twins had been victims of a cowardly act of sabotage at the Franklin Institute in Philadelphia. Ned now suffered headaches of such intensity that he could not concentrate for more than a few minutes at a time. He was the lucky one. His brother was legally blind.
Alistair sighed. Perhaps Dr. Shallit could help. That was the purpose of their trip to Israel — to see the foremost neurologist in the world. He had achieved miraculous results for patients with similar injuries.
Alistair pressed the button, and the elevator began to ascend. At the eighteenth floor, the car slowed and stopped.
The door did not open.
The next thing he knew, they were dropping, free-fal
ling down the elevator shaft, picking up speed.
“Children —” The word died on his lips. There was nothing reassuring to say about plummeting two hundred feet to a violent death.
He tightened his grip on the twins’ forearms. What an odd place for their lives to end. Yet it was somehow fitting that members of the same family branch should perish together.
In the space of a few vertical feet, the elevator went from terminal velocity to a dead stop. The sudden deceleration flattened all three of them to the floor. Ned bumped his head and cried out in pain and fear.
The door opened. Three large men blocked the entrance to the underground parking garage, their faces obscured by desert head scarves. The leader reached down to grab Alistair. He underestimated the older man’s determination. Alistair’s diamondhandled cane came up and fractured the man’s wrist.
The attacker cursed and withdrew in pain.
Alistair boosted the twins to their feet. “Run!” he ordered.
Ned took his blind brother’s arm, ducked beneath the hands that were reaching for them, and took off down a long row of cars. One of the assailants followed in hot pursuit.
They were almost at the exit when Ted stubbed his foot against a cement parking curbstone. He never hit the floor. Their pursuer grabbed him in a powerful bear hug.
Ned hesitated as the onslaught of another headache shattered everything in his mind except pain.
No. Not now—
With almost superhuman effort, he turned back to his brother. Ted was caught, and Alistair was subdued back at the elevator. Only he was free.
Alistair’s voice echoed in the concrete space. “Go! Call William McIntyre!”
With a heavy heart, Ned Starling fled.
Tokyo, Japan, 10:42 P.M., Japan Standard Time Zone
Phoenix Wizard was searching for the hip-hop vibe.
That’s what his cousin Jonah had told him to look for. It should have been easy to find in a crowd of screaming fans, all jumping, stomping, and shouting along with Jonah Wizard, the number one recording artist on the planet.