The Empress's Tomb (9 page)

“That's it. You're on, DeeDee,” I heard Kiki say.

DeeDee entered the park from the north. With her handbag dangling from her arm, and iPod headphones in her ears, she danced down the wooded path, her dreadlocks swinging from side to side. The two young men on the rock watched her go by, their heads following while their bodies stayed still. After passing Betty on the park bench, DeeDee paused to dig through her handbag, pulling out a stick of chewing gum.

“That's right, take your time,” Kiki encouraged her. I searched the surroundings but saw nothing of interest. As the sun faded and the streetlights beyond the trees began to flicker to life, I watched DeeDee blissfully bop all the way to the other side of the park.

“Good job, DeeDee,” Kiki sighed in my earpiece. “Looks like we're out of luck.”

“Hold on. There are men on the move near Betty,” I heard Luz whisper.

I shifted my binoculars, but Betty's bench had been engulfed by shadows. “I can't see anything,” I reported. “It's too dark.”

“Your binoculars have night vision,” Luz said. “Hit the button near your right pinky.”

As soon as I pushed the button I saw the two figures that had been seated on the rock strolling straight for the spot where Betty sat alone on the park bench. Their hands were tucked deep in the pockets of their sweatshirts, their heads bowed, and their faces hidden beneath hoods. Betty looked around frantically, but there was nowhere to flee. Too far away to run to her rescue, I watched helplessly from my perch on the hillside. As Kiki sprang from her hiding place, and Luz and Oona bolted from the bushes, a shrill scream bounced off the cliffs behind me. I knew in an instant it wasn't Betty. Two enormous black squirrels had leaped from the branches of a nearby tree and landed on the two hooded men.

As the men spun in circles, trying to pry the squirrels' sharp claws from their skin, a third squirrel bounced into Betty's lap before springing to the aid of its colleagues. I dropped my binoculars when I heard the sound of gravel crunching nearby and looked up in time to see a tall, lanky figure emerge from behind a tree and begin climbing the path to the top of the cliffs.

“Here,” it said, stopping in front of me. “I believe you're looking for this.” In the darkness, I could see it was a boy my age, but his face was so filthy it was impossible to know what he looked like. He handed me a black backpack. “Tell your friends to get out of the park.”

“What? Why?” I didn't appreciate being ordered around by someone who smelled like a pet store.

“Those men down there aren't alone. Tell your friends to leave right now. I see your mouthpiece. I know you're all wired.”

“Get out of the park,” I told the Irregulars. “NOW,” I added with urgency.

“Good,” said the boy. He stuck two fingers between his lips and blew a deafening whistle. As he started back up the path, three large squirrels scampered up the cliffs and fell in line behind him.

•     •     •

With a clap of her hands, Luz's work space flooded with light.

“You installed a Clapper?” DeeDee teased. “As seen on TV?”

“It's technology at its best,” said Luz. “One clap switches the lights on, two claps makes me a cappuccino, and if I clap three times, the lasers come on and turn you all into toast. Make yourselves at home.”

It was easier said than done. Limbless robots already claimed most of the chairs, and every flat surface in the workshop was heaped with wires, electrodes, and tools that would have thrilled a torturer. The five of us stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, trying not to touch anything that might leave us burned or brain damaged.

“So what was
that
about?” Kiki asked me. “I was planning to give those guys in the park something to remember us by.”

“There were more of them than you thought. We weren't the only ones planning an ambush tonight.”

“And you know this because …,” Oona said.

“Because the boy with the squirrels told me,” I said. “He also gave me this.” I held out the black backpack. Inside were the map and the motion detectors.

“How did he know it was ours?” asked DeeDee.

“I don't know,” I admitted.

“You saw him? What's he like?” asked Betty.

“It was hard to tell in the dark. All I can tell you is that he was tall and dirty, and he stank like a yeti.”

“Did you see the size of his squirrels?” asked Oona. “I thought Lopez was a pansy until I got a look at those monsters.”

“Malaysian giant squirrels,” said Kiki. “They're an endangered species.”

“Are you all right? Did they hurt you?” DeeDee asked Betty.

“No, one just jumped into my lap. It dropped this.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a locket on a golden chain. “Weird, huh? It must have just stolen it from someone”

“Does it open?” I asked. “Maybe there's something inside.”

“I haven't had a chance to look,” said Betty, undoing the locket's clasp.

Inside the locket was a scrap of paper. Both sides were covered with tiny handwritten words. Betty walked over to a lamp to read, and the rest of us crowded around her.

“What's it say?” I asked.

Betty looked up at us, her face red with embarrassment. “It's a passage from an opera.”

“Go on, give us a taste,” said Kiki with a smirk.

Betty cleared her voice and started to read.

“O soave fanciulla, o dolce viso, di mite circonfuso alba lunar,

in te ravviso il sogno ch' io vorrei sempre sognar.”

“You speak Italian?” DeeDee asked in astonishment.

“No, but I know what it means. It's from an opera I've seen a million times.
La Bohème.
My parents designed the costumes for the last production at the Met.”

“Well?” said Luz.

Betty grimaced. “It's something one of the main characters says. I can't translate perfectly, but when he sees a girl named Mimi's face in the moonlight, he says he knows she can make his dreams come true.”

“Wow,” said Oona. “That's one smooth-talkin' squirrel.”

“Last I checked, squirrels aren't fans of the opera. Betty's got an admirer,” I said.

“Too bad he's a criminal,” said DeeDee.

“Watch it! Some of my closest friends are criminals,” noted Luz, gesturing toward Oona.

“I'm not a criminal. I'm a
business
woman,” Oona insisted.

“Nobody's perfect,” mumbled Betty. I could see she was flattered.

“He does seem sophisticated,” I added. “But doesn't
La Bohème
end in tragedy?”

“Don't get carried away,” Kiki cautioned. “I'm not saying you're not naturally irresistible, Betty, but even criminals don't usually fall in love so quickly. There may be something else going on here.” Standing on tiptoe, she sniffed at Betty and couldn't hide her disgust. “Feet. I thought so. Isn't that the wig you were wearing yesterday?”

Betty frowned. “I washed it,” she said. “I thought I'd gotten all the Eau Irresistible out. You think it was just the perfume that made him write this?”

“Come on, don't be disappointed,” Kiki consoled her. “This is
good
news. If you're attracting boys without even trying, it could mean that Iris's special formula really does work.”

“I'm sure you'd get plenty of love letters if you stopped wearing hairy moles and dressing like a freak,” Oona remarked.

“Nice, Oona.” DeeDee's voice dripped with sarcasm.

“I was just trying to say that she's pretty under all that crap.”

“Thanks,” said Betty. “But that crap is who I am. Why would I want someone to like me for anything else?”

Most of us spend far too much time thinking—and worrying—about how people
see
us. I would recommend spending some of that time focusing on one of the other five senses—
smell.
I don't intend to waste your time by warning you of the dangers of body odor. (For that discussion, please refer to
Your Changing Body,
available at the Atalanta School Library.) Instead, I'll offer six handy tips for using your nose—and the noses of others—to your advantage.

Cramming for a test? Scientists have discovered a simple trick that may improve your memory by up to thirteen percent. (Which could make the difference between a C and summer school.) As you study, periodically spritz the air with fragrance. (Rose is said to work well.) Then spray your pillow with the same scent before you go to sleep. The odor may help your brain retain more of what you've learned.

First train yourself to recognize the fragrances of different soaps, detergents, perfumes, and shampoos. Then practice identifying people by their individual scents, which can be as unique as their fingerprints. Eventually you'll be able to walk into a room and know who's been there before you. (A handy trick if you suspect someone's been snooping through your bedroom.)

Unless you're a chemistry prodigy or you hang around with Swiss scientists, it may be difficult to get your hands on some Fille Fiable. However, if there's someone whose trust you need to win, just do a little detective work. If you can find out what perfume her mother or grandmother uses, the smell should make her less likely to mistrust you.

Who hasn't wished for the power to put a grumpy parent, teacher, or probation officer in a better mood? You should consult an aromatherapy guide to choose the ideal scent for your situation, but one of the most popular is lavender, which relieves stress and can lower blood pressure. Other fragrances may alter moods in different ways. The scent of citrus can increase productivity, for instance, while vanilla helps create a warm, cozy atmosphere.

Nothing says
gotcha
like the odor of a well-hidden dirty diaper, deceased hamster, or rancid pork chop. Enough said.

Studies performed by such trusted sources as
Cosmopolitan
magazine have proven that fragrance can make almost anyone seem more attractive. A pleasant-smelling perfume, lotion, or shampoo will entice others to remain in your presence longer, giving you time to showcase your stunning personality. But be careful—too much of a good thing tends to make people nauseous.

The day after we recovered the map of the Shadow City, Betty Bent stepped out her front door to find a massive squirrel peering down at her. Painted in exquisite detail on the side of the building opposite hers, it wore a golden locket and a charming smile. The sign it was holding read WE'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR YOU.

“He knows where I live,” Betty panted, running up to the rest of us as we loitered across the avenue from the Marble Cemetery, waiting for the sun to set. “He must have followed me home last night.”

“
Who
followed you?” asked Luz.

“The squirrel boy!” Betty screeched as if the answer should have been obvious.

“You saw him?” asked DeeDee.

“No, I didn't
see
him!”

“Then how do you know he followed you?” Kiki asked, checking my reaction out of the corner of her eye. Like the other girls, I was finding the whole scene very amusing.

“First of all, he painted a giant squirrel across from my apartment. Then, just before I left to meet you guys, a squirrel dropped this through my window.” Betty thrust a slip of paper at Kiki.

“May I follow you home?”
Kiki read with a grin.

“That's kind of sweet,” I said.

“He's a stalker,” Oona announced, and Luz nodded in agreement.

“Stalkers don't usually
ask
for permission,” DeeDee noted.

“Well, I guess the question is this,” said Kiki Strike. “Do you
want
him to follow you home?”

Betty looked like she'd been poked with a stick. “I hadn't thought of it that way,” she mumbled at last.

“Don't worry,” said Oona. “He'll forget about you and go back to petty larceny once the perfume wears off.” Kiki shot Oona a look that wasn't entirely friendly.

“What?” Oona exclaimed. “You guys have a problem with the truth?”

“You're hopeless, Oona,” I sighed. “Let's just get started. It should be dark enough now.”

•     •     •

Oona picked the lock on the cast-iron gate that stood squeezed between two buildings, and the Irregulars slipped inside the Marble Cemetery. Other than an elderly man with an eye patch who mowed the grass twice a month in the summer, we were the graveyard's most frequent visitors. Few in Manhattan even knew it existed, and aside from the bouquet of white calla lilies, which appeared without fail every Valentine's Day, we
had seen no evidence of mourners. To an untrained eye, the cemetery looked like nothing more than an abandoned lot surrounded by a crumbling stone wall. But set deep in the grass were six mossy marble slabs that covered the entrances to dozens of underground tombs. The corpses of wealthy New Yorkers occupied all but one of the tombs. Inside an empty stone sarcophagus engraved with the name Augustus Quackenbush was a tunnel that led to the Shadow City.

A month had passed since the Irregulars had last been together in the Marble Cemetery, and it should have felt like old times again. But as the six of us carefully pried one of the marble slabs out of the earth and descended into the tombs below, I was already wishing the night was over.

“This place could really use some air freshener,” Oona whined as we marched to the end of a marble hallway lined with mausoleums.