Nightmare’s Edge (41 page)

He waited for Clara’s infectious laugh that had brightened a hundred mornings in dozens of strange and lonely cities all over the world. But it didn’t come. A shadow of worry passed across her face, draining the color from her cheeks.

He squinted at her. “Something else is bugging you.”

For a moment, she just stared, a faraway look in her eyes. Finally, she shook her head as if casting off a dream. “Did you pack the mirror your father gave you?”

“I think so.” He jumped up and walked over both beds before bouncing to the floor in front of the shallow closet. A towel-wrapped bundle sat on top of his suitcase at the very peak of a haphazard pile of clothes. Carefully unfolding the towel, he revealed a square, six-by-six-inch mirror with an ornate silver frame. His father had entrusted this mirror to him just yesterday, calling it a “Quattro” viewer and warning him to keep it safe.

Nathan pondered the strange word that represented his father’s latest assignment, something about retrieving stolen data for a company that used reflective technology. Dad had been tight-lipped about the details, but he had leaked enough clues to allow for guessing.

He gazed at his reflection in the mirror, the familiar portrait he expected, but something bright pulsed in his eyes, like the split-second flash of a camera. Clara’s face appeared just above his blond cowlick, suddenly much closer.

He spun his head around. Strange. She was still near the window. When he turned back to the mirror, her image was no longer there.

As she walked up behind him, her face reappeared in the glass. Nathan glanced back and forth between the mirror and Clara. The inconsistent images were just too weird.

The opening notes of Beethoven’s Fifth chimed from his computer — his custom sound for new email. Still holding the mirror, he leaped back to his computer and pulled up the message, a note from his father.

Your mother is rehearsing with Nikolai, and that reminded me to remind you that she’s going to call you to the stage to play your duet for the shareholders. She’ll have your violin, all tuned and ready to sizzle. Since it’s the Vivaldi piece, you shouldn’t have any problem. Just don’t mention your performance to Dr. Simon. Trust me. It will all work out.

Two words embedded in Nathan’s mind,
Trust me
, the same words he had heard so many times before. With all the narrow escapes his father had engineered over the years, what else could he do but trust him?

Clara flung a pair of wadded gym socks that bounced off his chin. “Where is your tux?” she called as she searched through his crumpled clothes.

“I hung it on the shower rod.” He patted a shiny motorcycle helmet sitting on his night table. He had hoped to ride their Harleys through town. With Clara in her new dress and him in a tux, they would’ve looked as cool as ice. But, no, they had to hitch a ride in the company limo. With their chauffeur, Mike, at the wheel, they’d be better off in a hearse. He wouldn’t do more than thirty, even in a forty-five zone.

Clara disappeared into the bathroom and returned in a flash, brushing lint from his tux. “Aren’t you going to help me?”

“Sure.” He picked up his elastic exercise strap and karate belt and threw them into the suitcase. They were essential items. Since his dad was planning to rent an RV for a month-long trip out West, with all that driving, he had to do something to stay in shape. They’d have a whole month with no wild getaways, no running from crazed neon-Nazis, no dodging bullets from Colombian drug dealers. Sometimes those scrapes with death gave him a rush, and decking a thug or two with a well-placed karate chop was always a thrill, but . . . He gazed at his motorcycle helmet and let out a sigh. It was probably better to avoid trouble than to dance with it. That’s what his father always said.

Clara peeked out the window again. “The driver just got out, and I think he saw me.”

“Here we go again.” Nathan slapped the suitcase closed and zipped it up. “You got an escape plan?”

She snatched up her own suitcase. “There’s an emergency exit down the hall. I’ll call Mike and tell him where to pick us up when we find a place that’s not so dangerous.”

Nathan tucked the computer under his arm and grabbed the strap of his red backpack. “Yeah, like ground zero at a nuclear test site.”

Forbidden Doors

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After sixteen-year-old Nathan Shepherd’s parents are
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Nathan Shepherd’s parents are alive after all! With the imminent
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