The Empress's Tomb (19 page)

I looked around, wondering if she might be talking to someone behind me. There was no one there. “No,” I informed the woman as I rapped on the door. “I don't speak English.”

“Do …you…give…man-i-cures?” she inquired, enunciating each word as if she were speaking to an idiot rather than a foreigner.

“Can … you … read?” I asked, tapping at the
closed
sign on the door.

The woman stood back in shock as DeeDee unlocked the door to the salon and let me in.

“Go do your own nails,” I told the woman before I slammed the door behind me.

•     •     •

On the floor of the salon's front room, a mosaic depicted an ancient Greek oracle lost in a trance. Luxurious manicure stations lined walls, and the chairs and tables were covered in crisp white linen. In the back of the building, at the end of a long row of waxing rooms, was Oona's office. One of the doors in the narrow hallway stood open, and I caught a glimpse of Yu sleeping on a table.

“He's been working all morning,” DeeDee explained. “But he's still a little weak. Oona made him take a nap.”

“Oona put Yu to work? What's wrong with her?”

“No, Yu wanted to do something nice for Oona. He insisted. Wait till you see what he's done.”

“Did Oona tell you about last night?”

“Yeah,” said DeeDee. “Creepy, huh? Luz is setting up her equipment. She's got recordings from all the bugs. We'll find out what Lester Liu is up to.”

I opened the door to Oona's office and stopped dead in my tracks. On the wall behind her desk was the top half of a mural that showed the six Irregulars engaged in a valiant battle with the rats of the Shadow City. The image looked so real that it might have been a photograph. I could even make out individual whiskers on each of the rats.

“Yu painted this?” I asked. “He saw the rest of us only once. How did he remember our faces so well?”

Oona shrugged. “I guess somebody kidnapped the most talented kid in Taiwan. He's been painting Mrs. Fei's portrait, too, and now she's his biggest fan. It's always Yu this and Yu that. It's all so sweet that it makes me want to vomit. So is Kiki coming?”

“She said she'd catch up with you later. So what do you think about last night? Is your dad still on the wrong side of the law?”

Oona nodded. “I'll admit he had me going for a while, but when I woke up this morning, I knew it was all a scam. The ghost, the mummy, the exhibit, everything. I can't wait to listen to the bugs.”

“Oona?” I said, my eyes suddenly drawn to the jewelry on her wrist. “Where did you get those bracelets?” She was wearing the same platinum cuffs she'd been admiring at Lester Liu's house.

“You mean
these?”
Oona asked, trying to make light of the situation. “They came by messenger this morning. I guess they're my father's way of apologizing for last night.”

“You
are
going to return them, aren't you?”

“Who do you think you are—my probation officer?”
snapped Oona. “I haven't had time. Besides, who's it hurting if I wear them around the office for a little while?”

“You,” I said.

“Okay, guys, I'm all set up, so postpone the catfight. We're ready for business.” Luz Lopez had been watching from the hallway, with her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her jumpsuit. She motioned for us to follow her into one of the waxing rooms, where her laptop computer was open on the table. Betty, acting as Luz's assistant, handed out cordless headphones.

“Betty and I went through all of last night's feeds,” Luz said. “Most had nada. One kept recording a toilet flushing and a few other things you probably don't want to hear. But we did get some interesting stuff. I'll play the best part first.”

Betty turned to Oona. “This might be hard for you. Are you sure you want to listen?”

“Whatever it is, I can take it,” Oona assured her.

We inserted the headphones into our ears and gave Luz the thumbs-up. The recording began suddenly with the sound of footsteps on a marble floor and what I imagined were ice cubes tinkling in a glass.

“Thank you, Sukh.” It was Lester Liu's exhausted voice. “That will be all for tonight.”

“I apologize for the disturbances this evening, sir,” said the butler in his distinctive monotone.

“You're not to blame. How could I be anything but grateful to you? You're the only servant who's stayed. Such loyalty is rare in this world.”

“It has been an honor, sir.”

“That will be all, Sukh.”

“Yes, sir.”

Luz fast-forwarded through several minutes of silence. The recording started again with the sound of a glass shattering and a shriek.

“Get back!” Lester Liu screamed. “Don't come any closer.” In the background, I could hear panting—quick, shallow breaths like those of a rabid animal. It was the same sound I had heard in the mansion.

“I tried!” he pleaded. “You frightened her away, but I tried. Don't I deserve one night of peace?” The panting slowed and became labored, as if the creature were struggling to breathe. A wail started softly and rose to a deafening pitch.

“Please,” begged Lester. “Please. I will do what I can tomorrow. I'll do anything to stop this. Anything! No! No!” The last word was delivered at top volume and followed by the thump of a body hitting the floor. The recording stopped.

“That's pretty much it,” Luz explained. “The butler comes back and helps him to his room, but then there's nothing more for hours. I can check the stuff that's been coming in this morning, if you're interested.”

“I don't need to hear any more.” Oona's face was ashen, and her eyes mesmerized by the computer screen.

“You know, Oona,” Luz began. “I can't believe I'm going to suggest this. I mean, it goes against everything I believe as a scientist, but there may be someone who can help you.”

“Who?” asked Oona.

“My mother goes to see this guy. He's a medium—you
know, he says he can talk to dead people. Anyway, my mom's convinced that he's been in touch with her sister who died in Cuba fifteen years ago. I always thought it was a scam, but now I don't know. It makes her feel better at least. It might help you to talk to him.”

“Oh, come on, Luz,” I moaned. “You
can't
be serious.”

“Give me the address,” said Oona.

In Manhattan you can always tell a tourist by the angle of her head. Though most of the city belongs to the sky, New Yorkers rarely look up. We're more likely to stare straight ahead as we shove through the crowds—or fix our eyes on our feet as we weave around steaming dog piles and treacherous subway grates. Most of us take the familiar for granted, but in a city like New York, nothing stays familiar for long. Those who don't mind being mistaken for tourists will find gargoyles leering down at them, cat burglars inching across ledges, or window washers dangling from thin metal wires. All it takes is the curiosity to stop and see the world from a different perspective.

The address Luz had given us belonged to an old office building near Madison Square Park. Oona and I stood in front of it with our heads tilted back at an uncomfortable angle. The overcast sky hid the top of the structure from view.

“Are you sure this is it?” asked Oona. “I was expecting something a little more …”

“Mysterious?” I offered as the clouds thinned and we caught a glimpse of the upper floors. On top of the otherwise ordinary building sat a penthouse designed to resemble an ancient Greek temple. A wisp of smoke from a nearby chimney weaved between the sturdy stone columns that supported the structure. Painted on the triangular pediment beneath the building's roof, a single green eye looked out over Manhattan.

“Is that what you had in mind?” I asked.

“Pretty much,” murmured Oona.

Inside the lobby, we scanned a list of the building's businesses. Tucked between
Norton's Custom Taxidermy
and the
Proctology Association of Manhattan
was
Oskar Phinuit, Liaison to the Spirit World.

“Looks like we're going to the penthouse.” I felt a pleasant twinge of excitement in my belly. Oona merely looked nauseous.

•     •     •

An old-fashioned elevator delivered us to the twenty-fifth floor. Tall windows lit a room that was empty but for a single desk. Behind it sat an elderly woman wearing a tweed suit that must have been purchased before the Second World War. The waves in her ebony hair looked hard to the touch, and the bud of a black rose was pinned to her lapel.

“We bought two dozen chocolate bars from your schoolmates yesterday.” She spoke in the clipped, crisp voice of a 1940s movie star. “Come back tomorrow. We may have need for more then.”

“We're not here to sell candy.” I felt a little annoyed. At certain times of the year, it was hard to go anywhere in the city without adults expecting you to force chocolate on them. “We have an appointment with Mr. Phinuit.”

“Monsieur
Phinuit, if you please. And your name is …”

“The appointment is for my friend. Her name is Oona Wong.”

“I see.” The woman peered over the rims of her glasses. “Does Oona Wong speak?”

“Too much.” My joke landed with a thud. “She's just a little nervous,” I added.

“In that case, please come forward.” The woman retrieved a clipboard from a desk drawer.

“Oona would like to reach—”

“No, no, no!” The woman wagged a finger at me. “Don't tell me. And for heaven's sake, don't tell Monsieur Phinuit. If the person you're trying to contact would like to be reached, Monsieur Phinuit will know. Now, there are a few questions I must ask you. Are either of you prone to fainting?”

We both shook our heads.

“Do you have any imaginary friends or hear voices in your head? Good. Are you currently taking any medication or abusing any controlled substances? Good. Have you visited a medium in the past? No? That's fine. Have you ever had a near-death experience in which you saw a bright light at the end of a tunnel? No? Well, I suppose you're both still young. Last question. Did you happen to bring any food with you? No? Excellent. It would interfere with Monsieur Phinuit's ability to concentrate.”

She made a few notes on her clipboard and shoved it back inside its drawer.

“Please follow me, and I will take you to Monsieur Phinuit. Remember, it's important that you speak as little as possible. Answer any questions he may ask, but do not volunteer any information.” The receptionist rose from her chair and with one quick yank, straightened her long, tight skirt. She moved quickly across the wooden floorboards in impossibly tiny steps and stopped in front of the room's only door.

“May you reach the other side,” she said.

•     •     •

Beyond the door lay a larger room. Three of its walls were entirely glass, and for a moment, I experienced the sensation of floating in space. A dense, gray fog pressed against the windows, swirling and churning. What appeared to be faces and figures formed in the clouds but dissolved before my brain could make sense of them. My ears detected a faint hiss—the sound of a crowd whispering in the distance.

“Bonjour.”
Near the far windows, an enormous man filled a wooden chair big enough to serve as a park bench. “Please. Come closer.” As we obeyed his command, a weak beam of sunshine briefly pierced the fog, and Oskar Phinuit's black suit shimmered like snakeskin. His dainty hands rested on top of his spectacular stomach, and the emerald ring on his left pinky rose and fell with his breath. His face wore an oddly sated expression, like a python that's devoured an entire sheep. I wondered if he had eaten everything in the room.

“Have a seat.” He motioned to two metal folding chairs positioned in front of him. “I apologize if you find my furniture uncomfortable. I must keep my surroundings free of clutter. Even ordinary objects emit psychic signals that can interfere with my ability to channel the spirit world.”

Recalling the receptionist's warning, Oona and I took our seats silently. Oskar Phinuit examined us with two green eyes that floated like olives in a sea of pasty flesh.

“May I be so rude as to ask your age?”

“Fourteen.” I would have preferred to add a few years, but it's best to be honest when dealing with psychics.

Oskar's eyes opened and shut in one lazy blink. The rest of him remained motionless. “And you would like to talk to the dead?”

“Yes.”

“I see. That may be difficult to achieve. Most children have not lived long enough to forge many contacts in the spirit world. It would be far easier to tell you about your past lives. After all, it was not so long ago that you both were enjoying other existences. Your friend, I believe, was a woman of high standing. You may have known each other.”

The last thing I needed was to hear that I had been Oona's maid in a previous life.

“That would be fascinating, I'm sure, but my friend needs to reach someone.”

“Didn't my secretary tell you? It makes no difference if the young lady is trying to reach the dead. We must see if they are trying to reach
her.”

“She thinks she's already been contacted—by the person's ghost.”

“Oh? She's seen a ghost, has she?” Oskar's mouth opened to release a breathy chuckle, and I was unnerved to see no evidence of teeth. “Let me guess. It wasn't the best-behaved spirit. It threw things, didn't it? Made a bit of a mess?”

At last Oona spoke. “How did you know?”

“Poltergeists—noisy ghosts—often appear in the presence of girls your age. For some reason, they aren't quite as interested in boys or adults. No one knows why. Some of my colleagues claim that the troublesome spirits are mere hoaxes—naughty little girls teaching their elders a lesson. But I am of a different opinion. It is my belief that adolescence is a time of great power. It may be that the spirits flock to feast on that energy. Or perhaps poltergeists are powers inside of the girls that have yet to be harnessed.”