The Empress's Tomb (14 page)

“Then let's talk
November,”
said Mrs. Fontaine.

I pulled three sheets of paper out of my notebook and began my essay. I had planned to write about the grave-robbing incident that had sparked the Doctors' Riot of 1788, but instead, another subject took hold of me.

Beneath Bialystoker Synagogue on the Lower East Side lies a hidden room…

Fifteen minutes later, I heard Mrs. Fontaine leave the room. I felt warm breath on the back of my neck, and I jolted upright, nearly head butting Molly Donovan.

“Interesting essay,” said Molly. “Your spelling's terrible.”

“Go away,” I whispered, keeping one eye on the door. “You're going to get us both expelled.”

“I can't get expelled,” said Molly. “I've been trying for years. It doesn't matter what I do. My parents just donate more money to the school.”

Suddenly I was interested. “Why do you want to be expelled?”

“I hate it here. I'd rather be anywhere but New York.”

“Really?” I asked in astonishment. “Why?”

“It's my parents. They won't leave me alone. They think I'm
special.”

“But I always heard you were quite smart.”

“Not
that
kind of special.
Gifted
special.”

“Oh yeah? What's your gift?” I asked.

“My mom calls me the human calculator. I can do complex math equations in my head. My parents used to bring me out at cocktail parties to entertain their guests. When I was eleven, I decided I wasn't going to be their monkey anymore. I even got a D in geometry last year,” she said, sounding terribly proud.

“Congratulations,” I said. “What's the square root of 7368?”

“You, too?” Molly sighed. “85.837. Are three decimal places enough?”

“Sure, but I can't check it. I don't have a calculator.”

“Then I guess you'll just have to trust me. Oops, here comes the fountain. Don't tell anybody what I just told you. It would ruin my reputation.”

“Okay,” I whispered, as Molly slid back into her seat.

•     •     •

Another fifteen minutes passed before Molly returned.

“Isn't this fun?” she asked.

“It's better than I thought it would be.” I was actually starting to like her.

Molly sat on the edge of my desk. “I love detention. It's my favorite time of day. You get to meet such interesting people. It's too bad I have to see my shrinks after
this; otherwise, I'd invite you to dinner. My cook makes a fabulous bouillabaisse.”

“Shrinks?” I asked. “You have more than one psychologist?”

“Sure, I'm
gifted,
remember? It's a husband-and-wife team. I see them three times a week. They specialize in dealing with exceptional children.”

“What's it like?” I asked.

“Terrible. They give me lots of tests and make me talk about how it feels to be so smart. Sometimes I get to perform for an audience of experts. It's like being one of those chickens at the carnival that play tic-tac-toe.”

“That does sound pretty bad,” I agreed.

“Of course it does. I don't know why my parents send me to see them. Their own son ran away. I heard he lives in the park now. They tried to catch him for a while, but he's
gifted,
too. Kept getting away. Uh-oh, here she comes again.”

•     •     •

I spent the next fifteen minutes counting the nine hundred seconds until Molly was back.

“Hey there,” she said. “Where were we?”

“That boy. The one you said ran away. What's his name?”

“Phineas Parker. Why?”

“What does he look like?”

“No idea. I've never seen him. Why do you want to know?”

“Just curious,” I told her.

“If you know where he is, you could claim the big
reward his parents have offered. But I doubt you're cruel enough to turn him in.”

“Not after what you've told me. By the way, what's
his
gift?”

“Art,” said Molly. “His parents have his paintings all over their office. Supposedly they sold one a while back for something like thirty thousand dollars.”

“Listen, Molly. Do you think you might be able to get me a picture of Phineas?”

“Probably,” she said. “What would I get in return?”

I thought for a moment. “If you get me a picture, I'll get you expelled.”

“Promise?” said Molly, her eyes gleaming.

“I promise,” I assured her.

“Molly!” Mrs. Fontaine took us both by surprise. “That's it! You're here through
November.”

“Great!” Molly exclaimed as she bounced back to her seat.

•     •     •

On my way home from school, I took out my phone to call Kiki, only to discover two missed calls from my house. It was not a good sign. When I walked through the front door, I found my mother waiting in the hallway, clutching a stopwatch like a sadistic track coach. She glanced down at the clock and then back up at me.

“It's forty-seven minutes after six. Why are you late? I checked online. There's nothing wrong with the subway.”

“Actually, I walked home.” Her tone had me scared, and I desperately wished for a little Fille Fiable. “I'd been sitting down for hours. I needed some exercise.”

“Exercise is the least of your concerns right now. Your father and I would like to talk to you in the next room.” I was too shocked to move. “Now!” my mother ordered.

The floor of the living area remained covered with fallen books. Only a small circle surrounding the couch had been cleared of debris. I took a seat across from my parents and tried to ignore a book entitled
Central American Temples of Doom
that was calling to me from across the room.

“Would you like to tell us why you had such a hard time getting out of bed this morning?” my mother asked.

“I was tired?”

“That's the best you can do?” My explanation had been rejected and my mother looked disgusted. “I had just finished talking to the head of the Borland Academy when your principal rang,” she said. “She seems to think she can get you back in line. Though it's against my better judgment, I agreed to give her a chance.”

“Thank you,” I muttered.

“Not so fast. The Borland Academy is still expecting you in December. I've already written the check. Sleep late again, and you'll wake up on a bus to West Virginia.”

“We don't want to punish you, Ananka,” said my father, looking a little uncomfortable. He always preferred to play the good cop. “We just want to help you succeed. If you do well in school, then one day you can do whatever you want. You can study giant squid or join the FBI or dig up old bones around New York. But you'll never be able to do all of that if you don't get through geometry first.”

“Your father may not want to punish you, but
I
do,”
my mother declared. “We have given you our trust and your privacy, and you have abused them both. That's why we've felt the need to take a few precautions. Your father and I have spent the day finding all the books you'll need for your studies. They're in your room now. Everything else in the library is temporarily off-limits until you learn how to focus.

“Every day for the next two weeks, you will come directly home from detention and begin your homework. During this time you will stay away from Kiki Strike. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” It's easy to sound humble when you think you have an ace up your sleeve.

“Fine. Then it's time to get started. And, Ananka?”

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow you'll take the subway home.”

I hurried to my room to inspect the damage. My desk drawers had been rifled, and many of my favorite books had been confiscated, but my collection of New York history books hadn't been touched. My copy of
Glimpses of Gotham
remained, along with the map that was tucked between its pages. I almost breathed a sigh of relief until I happened to notice the windows. Both were secured with brand-new padlocks. I was trapped inside. I lay down on my bed, fully prepared to have a good cry, when there was a knock at the door and my father stuck his head inside.

“It's really not that bad,” he whispered. “Just get an A on your next test and she'll forget everything. You can do it!”

“Thanks, Dad.” I sniffled.

“By the way, something came by messenger for you
today. I think it's from one of your friends. Don't tell your mother I gave it to you.”

“Okay,” I agreed. He tossed a small manila package onto the bed.

“If you need any help on your homework, just let me know.”

“I will,” I promised, wiping my eyes.

I ripped open the package and dumped the contents out onto the bed. There were two padlocks identical to the ones on my windows, a miniature hammer and chisel, and a small leather case. The case contained a metal test tube that was cold to the touch and labeled
Liquid Nitrogen.
I fished inside the envelope and found a note.

Sorry I stood you up today. Heard you got busted. It's not as bad as it looks. If you can't pick the locks, you can use this kit. Coat one of the locks with nitrogen and let it sit for a minute or two. When the lock freezes, just shatter it with the hammer and chisel. (Be careful! Nitrogen freezes fingers, too.)

See you tomorrow night.

Kiki

Friday morning, I pushed through the front doors of the Atalanta School a full forty-five minutes before the first bell. The halls were practically empty. I raced past a few scholarship students and a suck-up or two on my way to the bathroom. I'd downed a triple espresso while walking to the subway, and the effects were becoming unpleasant. As I struggled frantically with the buckle of my belt, I heard someone slam the door of the neighboring stall.

“Psst! Ananka.” The whisper bordered on a shout. I looked down and saw a freckled face grinning at me from under the divider.

“Molly?” I groaned. The girl really needed to work on her boundaries. “What are you
doing?”

“Come over here,” she insisted.

“What? No!”

“Come over here. I've got something for you.”

“Don't you think that would look a little
weird,
Molly?”

Molly scowled. “I'm serious. Do you want it or not?”

“Good God, Molly. Can it wait a minute? I'm about to explode.”

“No, it
can't.
In case you've forgotten, I have every teacher in school watching me. I don't have much time.”

I took a deep breath and unlocked my stall. I didn't have a chance to check for eavesdroppers before Molly pulled me into her stall. We stood nose to nose over the toilet.

“This is very strange,” I told her. “Why all the secrecy?”

“I got you a photo of Phineas Parker.” Molly unzipped her backpack. It was empty aside from a picture in an enormous silver frame.

“I just needed the photograph, Molly, not the frame. This is from Tiffany's. Your shrinks are definitely going to know it's missing.”

“Like I care? I'll tell my dad to add a hundred bucks to their next check. Ooooh! Or maybe they'll make me find another doctor. That would be fantastic! So what do you think?”

I had a hard time pulling my eyes away. Phineas Parker had auburn hair, hazel eyes, and the face of a Greek god. An enormous squirrel sat perched on his shoulder.

“Yeah, that's what
I
thought,” Molly cackled. “Who knew he was such a looker? If he ever decides to move back home, maybe I'll get his parents to set us up.”

“Molly,” I said with a smile, “by that time, you're going to be hundreds of miles away from New York.”

“So you're really going to do it?”

“A promise is a promise. Nothing's going to happen immediately, but one day soon, you're going to get expelled.”

Molly threw her arms around me and smothered me with a hug so powerful that I nearly lost control of my bladder. Two girls giggled when Molly and I stepped out of the stall, but I didn't care. Never in my life had I made anyone so happy.

•     •     •

That evening, only hours before Lester Liu's dinner was set to begin, I took the subway home from school, walked straight past my mother with my head held high, and locked myself in my bedroom. Shortly before seven o'clock, my father knocked at the door and asked if I cared for a little bread and water. I politely informed him that I'd already eaten and requested that he leave me to my studies. At seven fifteen, I carefully cracked one of the padlocks and tiptoed down the fire escape. By seven thirty, I was outside Betty Bent's building. I didn't feel an ounce of guilt.

My fingers had just brushed the bell when Betty opened the door and dragged me inside her dark basement apartment. Before I could say a word, she lifted one finger to her lips.

“I'm glad you came early,” she whispered, taking a quick peek over her shoulder. “There's something you should see.”

“Is anyone else here?” I asked.

“Just Oona. Come on.” She weaved around the mannequins and headless dressmakers' dummies that crowded the living room. Her parents were designing costumes for a new opera that appeared to be set on Mars.

“Hold on just a second. I've got something to tell you,”
I hissed at Betty's back. “I discovered your boyfriend's secret identity today.”

Betty slowed her stride but refused to turn around. “Boyfriend?”

“You know who I'm talking about. He loves the outdoors, enjoys working with animals, and hasn't seen a bar of soap in a while.” Betty stopped walking. “His real name is Phineas Parker. His parents are psychologists. He ran away a few months ago. Want to see a picture?”