Inside the Shadow City

by Kirsten Miller

  A figure was standing at one of the telescopes that ring the observation deck. Wearing a slick black trench coat and dark hat, it bent over and peered though the lens of the telescope. As I approached, it glanced up at me.

  In all the excitement at the herbalist’s shop, I hadn’t noticed how much Kiki had changed in the two years since I had seen her. She wasn’t more than a few inches taller, but somehow she looked older than fourteen. Her colorless hair fell past her shoulders and her face had lost its elfin appearance. With her translucent skin and dramatic cheekbones, she was bewitchingly beautiful. The only makeup she wore was a lip gloss the same shade as the rubies in her ears.

  “Want a look?” Kiki beckoned me over to where she stood, and I peered into the eyepiece of the telescope. Through a break in the clouds, I could see the statue of Washington Irving, which stood in the park in front of my apartment building more than forty blocks away.

  “It’s funny. Every time I see that statue I always think of him lying in the mud at the bottom of that hole.” There was a hint of nostalgia in Kiki’s voice. I looked up and saw the rain streaming down her pale face.

  “When did you get back from Hong Kong?” I asked.

  “Hong Kong? I haven’t left New York in years.” Then she laughed. “I guess you fell for it after all.”

  “Fell for what?”

  “The postmark on the letter I sent to the Capybaras Corporation. I made a movie in Chinatown with a director from Hong Kong. I asked him to mail it when he got back to China. Pretty smart, don’t you think?”

  “Brilliant. How did you know I was at the hospital?” I demanded.

  “The same way I always know where you are.” She laughed again. Then seeing the serious expression on my face, she added, “You don’t really expect me to tell you all my tricks, do you? Wouldn’t that ruin the mystery?”

  “Fine. Don’t tell me. I don’t care. What do you want?”

  “Your help,” she said.

  “If you wanted my help, you shouldn’t have run away when I saw you in Chinatown.”

  “Sorry about that, Ananka. It wasn’t the best time for a reunion.”

  I looked away from her and into the clouds.

  “Look, Kiki. I know you robbed the Chinatown Savings and Loan, and I know you’re after the NYCMap now. In case you’ve forgotten, we aren’t friends anymore. I have no interest in joining you in your life of crime. I’ll turn you in to the police if I have to.”

  Kiki sighed. “I’m not a crook, and I am your friend. You just don’t know it. I haven’t been inside the Shadow City since the explosion, and I’ve never robbed anyone. What would I want with a bunch of mink coats? I don’t even wear fur.”

  “What about the kidnappings?”

  “Do you honestly think I’d kidnap Mitzi Mulligan? Even on drugs, she’d bore me to tears. I can’t think of anything I want that badly.”

  “So you had nothing to do with any of it?”

  “On the contrary, my dear Miss Fishbein. I’m planning to rescue Penelope Young, the girl who’s still missing. Who better to find a fourteen-year-old girl than another fourteen-year-old girl?”

  “Penelope’s parents have the FBI and practically every police officer in New York looking for her. Why would they need you?”

  “Because the Youngs want their daughter back, and they may be willing to pay the ransom. And if the FBI knew what the ransom was, they’d never let that happen. That’s why the Youngs haven’t turned over the ransom note to the authorities.”

  “The ransom is the NYCMap, isn’t it?”

  “I see you’ve been doing your research. Penelope’s mother has access to the middle layer of the map—the one that shows everything street level in Manhattan.”

  “Let me guess—Mitzi Mulligan’s father had the bottom layer. That’s why they let her go. He delivered the ransom.”

  “Precisely.”

  I walked to the edge of the observation deck and watched the lightning strike in the distance. I hated to admit it, but everything Kiki had said made perfect sense.

  “There’s still one thing I don’t understand,” I announced. “Who robbed the Chinatown Savings and Loan?”

  Kiki came to stand beside me. “I don’t know yet. But you were right to think there was a connection between the crimes. It just isn’t me.”

  “If you’re not the link, what is?”

  “This,” said Kiki, pulling from her pocket the same vial I had seen her take from the herbalist shop. “When I found the dragon that Mitzi Mulligan left behind on Doyers Street, I recognized the disgusting smell inside. It was Devil’s Apple.”

  “I thought it smelled familiar,” I admitted, wishing I had figured it out myself. “But why was Mitzi carrying wart remover?”

  “Devil’s Apple isn’t just wart remover. The main ingredient is a powerful narcotic called mandragora. It’s illegal, but it’s smuggled into Chinatown and sold at herbalist shops. I have a hunch that the kidnappers are using it to drug their victims. There’s no way someone like Mitzi Mulligan is going to willingly use drugs. But Devil’s Apple can be slipped into a sweet drink without the victim suspecting a thing. And it wouldn’t take more than a couple of teaspoons to knock someone out.”

  “So let me get this straight. You think the smugglers who almost found their way into the Shadow City are after the NYCMap now?”

  “No, I’m just saying there may be a connection between the robberies and the kidnappings. We’ll have to ask DeeDee to run a few tests if we want to make sure it was Devil’s Apple inside Mitzi’s dragon.”

  A jolt of anger hit me at the mention of DeeDee’s name. Just because Kiki wasn’t responsible for the robberies and kidnappings didn’t mean she was entirely innocent.

  “You think DeeDee’s going to help you? Come on, Kiki. You nearly killed her.”

  “That was a mistake,” Kiki said quietly. “I never meant to put any of you in danger. There was something I thought I had to do, and I forgot what was really important. You guys were the only friends I’ve ever had. I should have put your safety first.”

  I felt the anger draining out of me. Kiki’s remorse seemed genuine, and it was the evidence I had been looking for—proof that she was a real human being. Still, I wasn’t going to make it easy for her. She was down, and I couldn’t resist giving her a little kick.

  “Friends?” I snorted. “You didn’t even wait to see if DeeDee would be okay. You just disappeared. And you took our gold. You’re crazy if you think Luz will ever forgive you for that.”

  “I didn’t leave,” Kiki insisted. “I was in hiding. I didn’t have a choice. And I know it doesn’t make any difference, but I did keep track of DeeDee. I called the hospital every day to check on her progress.”

  “How were we supposed to know that? None of us have heard from you in two years. Don’t you think you could have called or sent an e-mail?”

  “There are dangerous people after me, Ananka. I couldn’t put you at risk. If they thought you knew anything, they’d come after you, too.”

  “What do you mean? Who’s after you? And why are you willing to put us at risk now?”

  “I can’t tell you who’s after me, but it doesn’t matter anyway. Don’t you see? There’s more at stake this time. This isn’t just about the Shadow City anymore. If the wrong people get their hands on the NYCMap, everyone in Manhattan could be in serious trouble.”

  “This is all too dangerous, Kiki. Stick to making kungfu movies and let the police do their job.”

  “How can the police do their job when they don’t even know what the kidnappers are after? We both know Penelope Young’s mother isn’t going to tell them about the ransom note. She just wants her daughter back. And can you imagine the cops believing us? Think about it, Ananka. Could you live with yourself if the criminals get the NYCMap and you know you did nothing to stop them? That you didn’t even try?”

  “Why am I supposed to trust you?” I asked. “You lied about being Augustus Quackenbush’s grandd
aughter. You lied about attending Atalanta. As far as I know, you haven’t told us the truth about anything.”

  “I guess Oona snitched. So much for forger-client confidentiality. I can’t make you trust me, Ananka. All I can do is tell you what I know and let you make the decision for yourself.”

  “But why do you need me?”

  “I can’t find Penelope without you,” Kiki said. “You’ve got something I need.”

  “What? The map of the Shadow City?”

  “No, though the map might come in handy. I need the Irregulars. And you’re the only one who can convince them to help.”

  “Are you sure you’re not after the Princess again?” I asked.

  Kiki frowned. “Ah, Sidonia. How is she?”

  “Mean, boring, shallow, stupid. A total waste of your time.”

  “That’s what you think. But if you’re worried about Sidonia, I promise she’s the furthest thing from my mind right now.”

  “You swear?”

  Kiki raised one tiny hand.

  “On my mother’s grave,” she said solemnly.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Bannerman Balls

  If by now you’re a little confused, don’t be too hard on yourself. Life is confusing, and anyone who claims that she has all the answers has probably uncovered the wrong ones. Was Kiki Strike a dangerous criminal or just a well-meaning vigilante? I hate to admit it, but I hadn’t a clue. By the time we left the observation deck of the Empire State Building, the only thing I knew for certain was that I didn’t know Kiki at all.

  As our elevator plunged toward the street, I wondered how long it would take Luz to assemble a lie detector. I even considered asking DeeDee to whip up a batch of truth serum. But when we landed in the lobby, I knew there was no avoiding the biggest decision of my life. I could either help Kiki or hinder her. As the leader of the Irregulars, it was a decision I would have to make on my own.

  “How do I get in touch with you?” I asked.

  “If you’re going to help, you can meet me on the northeast corner of Fifty-sixth Street and Third Avenue tomorrow at noon,” Kiki said. “That’s where Penelope Young lives. I’ve got a meeting with Mrs. Young. She thinks I have information about her daughter.”

  “I still don’t know why I should trust you,” I repeated.

  Kiki’s response was blunt. “Don’t trust me, Ananka,” she said. “Trust yourself.”

  The elevator doors opened, and Kiki vanished.

  I thought she might be joking, until I realized it was excellent advice. Although it’s often spoken of in jest, there’s a peculiar form of ESP known as women’s intuition. Every female on earth is born with it. Simply put, women’s intuition is the little voice inside your head that whispers that your new boyfriend may be bad news, that you shouldn’t take the shortcut through that dark alley, or that your sister has been snooping though your stuff again. If you learn to pay attention to the voice, you’re likely to find that it’s often accurate. Of course, I’m not suggesting that all women have supernatural powers. Unfortunately, only a few of us can predict the future or read people’s minds. But I like to think that the rest of us are natural detectives. By paying attention to the little details, we notice when something’s not quite right—even if we can’t pinpoint what it is.

  As I waited for a downtown subway, I took Kiki’s advice and listened to my intuition. When the train pulled into the station on a gust of hot air, the little voice inside my head told me to get ready for another adventure.

  • • •

  Penelope Young’s parents lived in one of the glittering skyscrapers that form the famed Manhattan skyline. From a distance, the building looked perfectly solid and reliably modern, but appearances are often deceiving. According to an elderly doorman in a threadbare uniform, the electricity in the lobby had been out for days. He guided us by flashlight to an elevator that jerked, jolted, and shook with the kind of mysterious thuds that you’d rather not hear while suspended hundreds of feet above the ground. When we reached Penelope Young’s floor, we found that the hallway carpet was spotted with ancient spills, and several knockers had been ripped from apartment doors.

  We tapped at the Youngs’ door, and a tall woman with orange hair answered. Her eyes were bloodshot and her nose swollen. She caught a tear with a handkerchief.

  “Hello, Mrs. Young,” said Kiki. “Thanks for seeing us.”

  “It’s nice to meet you girls. Please, come inside.” She led the way through the apartment and gestured to a sofa in the living room. A breeze was blowing in through a large crack in the window. “You say you know something about Penelope’s disappearance? Are you friends of hers?”

  “No,” said Kiki. “We’ve never met Penelope. But we do know why she was kidnapped, Mrs. Young, and we’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  Penelope’s mother stopped sniffling.

  “If this is a joke, it isn’t very funny. Maybe you two girls should leave,” she said.

  “We’ll leave if you ask us to, but unless you tell us what we need to know, our next stop is the FBI. They may find it interesting that you’ve been keeping the ransom note from them,” Kiki replied.

  “Ransom note?” said Penelope’s mother, trying to look surprised. Her acting needed some practice.

  “Yes, Mrs. Young. The one that demanded the NYCMap.”

  “How do you know that? Did you come here to blackmail me?”

  “Blackmail is such an ugly word, Mrs. Young,” said Kiki. “I assure you that we only have Penelope’s best interests in mind. If you’re willing to talk to us, we can help you find her.”

  “But I don’t have anything to tell you,” the woman moaned. “Penelope just disappeared.”

  “On the night Penelope was abducted, the doorman saw her leaving the building wearing a yellow party dress. Do you have any idea where she might have been going?” asked Kiki.

  “Noooo.” The woman paused to sob. “Penelope would never go anywhere without my permission. She’s such a good girl. A perfect child. So quiet and shy. I’ve never had a moment’s trouble from her.” Mrs. Young broke down, and we spent five unpleasant minutes watching her cry. “I’m afraid I’m just not up for being blackmailed today,” she told us between sniffles.

  “I understand, Mrs. Young. In that case, let’s get right to business. May I take a look at the ransom note?”

  Mrs. Young managed to retrieve an envelope from a nearby desk before breaking down again. The note was handwritten on expensive stationery.

  We, the kidnappers, are pleased to make you this offer: Penelope Young in exchange for layer #2 of the NYCMap. Instructions will be delivered forthwith.

  “Have they made any further contact?” Kiki asked.

  “Nooooo,” the woman wailed.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Young,” said Kiki, rising from the sofa. “We’ll be in touch. In the meantime, I’d like you to call me if you hear from the kidnappers.”

  She handed Mrs. Young a business card. I almost laughed when I saw that it read: Kiki Strike, Detective.

  “So you’re a detective now?” I teased Kiki once we were inside the creaking elevator. “Like Nancy Drew?”

  “Nancy Drew was just an amateur,” Kiki sniffed, as if insulted by the comparison. “I’m the real thing. What did you make of Mrs. Young? Any thoughts?”

  “A couple. First of all, anyone who thinks her daughter is the perfect child hasn’t been paying much attention. Penelope was sneaking out of the house just like Mitzi Mulligan,” I said.

  “My conclusion exactly,” Kiki agreed. “Anything else?”

  “Our kidnappers aren’t exactly run-of-the-mill. The paper the note was written on was pretty pricey. The penmanship was superb. And what kind of wacko uses the word forthwith?”

  “So you think you’ll be able to convince the Irregulars to help?”

  “I hope so,” I told her, crossing my fingers inside my pocket and praying we’d get lucky.

  • • •

  Si
nce Luz was likely to make a scene, addressing the Irregulars as a group would not have been the smartest move. Instead, I opted for the strategy of statesmen and warlords around the world—divide and conquer. We would visit each of the Irregulars separately to make our case. Kiki’s powers of persuasion would be put to the test, but two on one, we might have a chance of convincing them.

  Oona was first on our list. I didn’t think she would put up much of a fight, and Kiki thought she might be able to tell us something about the dragon that Mitzi Mulligan had been carrying the night I found her on Doyers Street. So after our brief interview with Mrs. Young, Kiki and I headed to Oona’s place of business—the Golden Lotus nail salon.

  As with many upscale businesses in the city, there was no sign marking the entrance, and only those in the know were welcome to drop by for a visit. Inside, the salon resembled the sort of spa where you might find a Roman empress getting her mustache waxed. The walls were decorated with ancient-looking murals, and a mosaic on the floor depicted an oracle lost in a trance. Wealthy clients lounged in plush chairs, trading gossip with their friends as young women dressed in simple white smocks painted their nails in garish colors.

  An elegant woman stopped us at the door.

  “May I help you?” she asked in an accent that shifted between Northern Italian and North Dakotan. Although everything about her appearance was designed to communicate snobbishness and style, I knew she was merely an actress that Oona paid to front the salon.