The Unusual Mind of Vincent Shadow (4 page)

Disgusting. That was the thought of everyone at the table. Everyone but Vincent. He didn’t even notice his dad’s inch-thick
cholesterol sandwich. He was too busy firing Tesla questions at his father.

“Did you actually see the artifacts? How many were there? Did you touch them? Do they work? Did they find any notebooks? Anything
that looked like a death ray? Or an earthquake machine? Were there any pictures?”

“Stawp, stawp.” Norton tried to talk but the peanut butter had cemented his mouth shut.

“Im dawnt naw whattwh.” Norton stopped and took a sip of his coffee. He swished it around his mouth to melt the peanut-flavored
cement.

Vincent couldn’t stand the wait. He had stayed up all night reading about the fantastic inventions Tesla was rumored to have
been working on while living at the Hotel New Yorker. Death rays that could send beams over 250 miles. Earthquake machines
capable of shaking several city blocks. And even a device that could shoot a beam into a person’s eye and record his or her
thoughts.

“What did you say? I couldn’t understand you.”

“I said”—Norton had obviously succeeded in swallowing the mass of mush— “I’m not sure what we got. Why don’t you stop by after
school and see the stuff for yourself.”

Vincent was excited about the chance to see the Tesla artifacts, but he didn’t like walking inside the Met alone. Without
his mother. After all, it had been their place.

“Okay. Maybe.”

Stella was shocked to hear the excitement leave Vincent’s voice. “I’ll go with you,” she offered.

“Yeah?”

“Sure,” Stella said. “It could be kind of interesting and I always love the Met.”

Just then they heard a bloodcurdling scream from upstairs.

“Oh my God, it’s Gwen,” Vibs yelled as she ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs with the entire family in tow.

Another scream.

“What is it, honey?” Vibs shouted.

They found Gwen standing in the bathroom holding the hair dryer. The entire second floor of the house was thick with the stinging
smell of burnt hair. Over-permed, over-producted, burnt high school hair.

“Are you okay?” Norton asked.

“I turned it on and, and—like—the whole thing—like—sparked. I could have been—like—murdered or something,” Gwen said.

She was clearly fine, just a little shocked.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Stella said. “Here, just hand me the murder weapon.” She took the smoking hair dryer from Gwen’s hand.

Vincent could feel Anna glaring at him with those obnoxious little-girl eyes.

“What?”

“Hi, Vinny,” a woman yelled as Vincent
and Stella entered the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

She was an orange woman who looked to be in her mid-nineties. She wore an orange skirt and an orange and black floral shirt,
capped off with blaze-orange hair.

“Hey, Aunt Bonnie.” Vincent waved.

“Hi, honey. Well, your father said you were coming in today and would you look at how much you’ve grown! It has been so long
since we’ve seen you. We miss you around here and hi, hon, you must be one of Norton’s new kids,” Bonnie said without taking
a breath.

“Hi. I’m Stella.”

“Stella, this is my Aunt Bonnie, one of the museum’s oldest and dearest volunteers,” Vincent said with a smile—the kind of
smile you give to a ninety-year-old aunt museum volunteer.

“Well, Vinny, I can’t believe how much you’ve grown—you know I used to babysit Vincent when he was little, and I can’t begin
to tell you how much we all miss him and—oh hon, we miss your mom so much around here. And boy, I don’t have to tell you how
much we’re going to miss your father. No, no, no,” Bonnie said.

“Miss my father?” Vincent asked.

“Well, of course we’re going to miss him. Of course we are. And it gets so cold in Minnesota—you need to make sure and wear
a hat and jacket and mittens, too, Vinny,” Bonnie said.

“Well, now, come on, your dad said you wanted to see that inventor’s stuff and it’s all downstairs being unpacked.” Bonnie
walked toward the elevators. Vincent and Stella followed.

The artifacts were being unpacked, photographed, and cataloged. Dozens of devices had already been tagged and were spread
out on two twenty-foot tables in the middle of the room. Vincent walked back and forth along the tables taking it all in.
He was shocked at the detail given to the prototypes. Each one looked like a work of art. The wood bases were stained and
hand-carved with elaborate moldings. Most of the brass still had its luster. He recognized one of the devices, a device called
a Tesla coil. He touched it.

“What do you think this does?” Stella asked.

“Oh, hon, I wouldn’t know,” Aunt Bonnie said, assuming the question was directed at her.

“It’s a Tesla coil. It produces high-frequency alternating currents,” Vincent said, having just read about them the night
before.

“Oh, oh dear,” Aunt Bonnie said.

“What’s this?” Stella asked.

She was standing in front of a small device with handles attached to two large discs.

“Geez, I have no idea. Wow, look at that!” Vincent pointed to a device that looked like a small ship engine with metal tubing
and gauges sticking out on all sides.

“Look at this wild thing,” Stella said, standing in front of a small invention with a series of nine evenly spaced discs.
“Do you think it still works?”

“I don’t know.” It hadn’t occurred to Vincent that the inventions might actually still work.

“This thing looks like a crank. Should I try it?” Stella asked.

They both looked at Aunt Bonnie.

“Knock yourself out,” she said. “Just don’t let anyone see you.”

Stella carefully began to turn the crank. Vincent could feel a breeze coming from the device, even though there were no moving
parts. Stella turned the crank faster and a spark jumped from one of the middle plates. She let go of the crank and jumped
too.

“Oh, careful, hon,” Aunt Bonnie said. “Who knows what these things can do.”

“Well, is it everything you hoped for?” Norton asked as he entered the room.

“It’s pretty cool,” Stella said.

“It’s amazing!” Vincent was so excited he forgot all about Minnesota. He opened his notebook and started to sketch the device
in front of him.

“I just want to sketch a couple of these inventions,” Vincent said, his pencil already moving quickly over the page.

“Wow, Vincent, I had no idea you could draw like that. That’s incredible,” Stella said.

“Thanks.”

“Just like his mother,” Norton said. “Take as much time as you need, Vincent. Come on up to my office when you’re done.”

Vincent sat on his bedroom floor that
night, surrounded by books about Tesla. He had spent hours sketching all the devices at the Met. His hand hurt, and he wished
he had thought to bring a camera. But he hoped his sketches would help him figure out which Tesla inventions he had seen.
He was sure one of the devices had to be the famous death ray or the earthquake machine.

In one of his books, Vincent managed to find a picture of the invention with the two handles attached to the discs. It was
not a death ray, but some sort of high-voltage medical device. He also found a photo of the device with the tubes and the
gauges sticking out of it. Unfortunately it was only a steam turbine. Vincent had been sure that it was the earthquake device.

By 3:00 in the morning, Vincent had identified all but one of the inventions from the Met. He could not find anything that
looked like the bizarre device Stella had fired up. He looked through a book containing over 300 Tesla patents and found nothing.
Why hadn’t Tesla patented this one? He had patented all the other inventions in the basement of the Met.

Maybe it wasn’t finished?
Vincent thought to himself.
Or maybe it was finished and Tesla didn’t want anyone to know about it? Maybe it was the death ray!

Vincent was wearing his favorite New
York Yankees jersey with the number “2” and the letters “SHADOW” stitched on the back. He had his kneepads and padded vest
on for protection. He wore his catcher’s mask with his Yankees hat turned backward. It had been a long time since he had worn
this stuff and he was surprised it still fit. He reached down into the box of supplies he had gathered from various rooms
and people in the house: one tube of toothpaste, one electrical cord, a bottle of dishwashing detergent, two bottles of contact
lens solution, WD-40, an electric golf ball return with a high-powered electromagnet, twenty-four soft rubber worms, and one
Whizzer Mega Doodlez. Check.

Vincent hadn’t worked on Pop Tunz in nearly two years, but the scars from his last batch of bubbles were still visible on
his hands, and he had a permanent white spot in his hair where a bubble had landed. He knew from experience that the baseball
equipment would most likely prove to be no match against the bubbles, but he had to try. Before it was too late.

A few nights after his Met visit, Vincent’s dad had finally told him about the job in Minneapolis. And he was quick to point
out all the wonderful things the Midwest had to offer and the wonderful new life they would have in Minnesota. Vincent didn’t
listen. He didn’t want a new life. He wanted his old life. But thanks to his father’s new job, the moving truck would arrive
in the morning.