“It was an accident!” she cried as Mr. Donaldson strode over.
“Girls!” he huffed. “Your behavior is unacceptable.”
“But—” I said.
“But—” she said.
“No buts!” He made us walk beside him while he started his lecture.
“The Cloisters is a museum that opened in 1938. It incorporates actual cloisters and chapels dating back to the twelfth century and imported here from Europe. A cloister is a place of seclusion within a convent or monastery. It might be a walkway or courtyard where one goes to reflect. As you will see, the ancient stone architecture and the tapestries and medieval artifacts inside give a real feeling of another time altogether.”
We trooped up the wide steps to the entrance, with the stone ramparts looming above us. I pretended for a moment that we were knights returning to our castle after a crusade or a jousting tournament. There would be a goat roasting on the fire in the main hall and troubadours ready to tell us a tale. Except there weren’t any Middle Ages in New York City and Alyssa was the only dragon around here deserving a lance through the heart.
I thought about pushing her down the icy stairway and ripping open her bag. I could see her nose dripping with mud from my boots and her silver jacket soaked in slush. I saw her being carted to the dungeons by knights and left to hang by her wrists from chains in the ceiling, her face squidged up as she howled for mercy. I grinned for a couple of seconds before I realized I’d better come up with a more realistic plan.
Alyssa and I marched along, obediently following Mr. Donaldson, not looking at each other.
“Thief,” I said without moving my lips.
She sneered. “Prove it.”
“Oh, I will,” I answered. “I promise I will.”
7 • The Cloisters
Our guide’s name was Gerry. He was wearing a tie printed with coats-of-arms, and he didn’t have much hair.
As soon as Gerry started talking, Mr. Donaldson forgot about us, and Alyssa slid away from his side like an eel.
“Look at the doorways in the Romanesque Hall,” said Gerry as we stepped into the first gallery. “The finely carved details are worth close examination. They are lovely examples of the medieval belief that entering a Christian church was symbolic of passing through the gateway to heaven.”
Well, here on earth, Alyssa was torturing me. Standing safely next to Megan, she took out a lip gloss and rolled it across her mouth in slow motion. I swear it was my own tube of Cherry Cola. Ohmigod, if she was already using my lip gloss, how long before she tried everything in the makeup kit? What if she pulled out the film canister right here? And yanked off the cap and spilled it all over?
“The heart of every monastery,” Gerry went on, “was its cloister.” He led us into a walkway lined with columns, surrounding a wintry garden full of dappled light. “And the centerpiece of every cloister was the fountain, or wellhead.”
There was an old, stone, deluxe sort of bird-bath in the middle of the garden, with no water in sight. I guess it would be frozen anyway, this time of year.
I stood off to one side, shifting from foot to foot. My eyes were sore from watching Alyssa without blinking. I needed help. I let kids pass until Hubert and Jean-Pierre came up next to me.
“Hubert!” I whispered, catching the tail of his jacket.
“Aside from being a place of reflection and study,” Gerry continued, “the cloister was the place where monks washed their clothing, using this communal fountain. They also washed themselves here, but probably only a few times during the year!”
“Eeew!” squealed Alyssa. “Information I do not need!”
“Hubert!” I said again.
“Huh?” He jumped a little, finally hearing me.
“My makeup bag is not in my backpack!”
“Huh? So?” His look was completely dense, as if I were speaking Portuguese. Jean-Pierre watched politely.
“I’m sure Alyssa took it.” I emphasized every word.
Gerry was still talking, and Mr. Donaldson grimaced to shush us.
“Oh, Billie,” said Hubert. “Give it a rest. You turn everything into a drama. You probably left it in your locker.”
“But the Vanishing Powder from Jody is inside!” I had my mouth so close to his ear, his hair tickled my nose.
“Well, that’s a dumb place to keep it,” said Hubert.
“The cloister was also a passageway,” Gerry explained, moving us along again, “and would have taken the monks to their daily meeting in a chapter house something like this one.”
Now we gathered in a room with a fancy, arched ceiling and hard wooden benches lining the walls. Gerry told us to sit down, so I quickly squeezed in between Hubert and Jean-Pierre.
“This is where the monks would assemble to discuss the business of the day,” said Gerry, “and listen to—”
“Hubert!” I poked him.
Mr. D. gave me another look. Hubert leaned away from me and made a big show of being fascinated with what Gerry was telling us. What could I do? I felt tears brimming up in my eyes.
I turned to my other side and found myself staring straight into Jean-Pierre’s eyes! His eyelashes were about two inches long. My stomach rolled over and I looked away fast, swallowing the tears. Alyssa glared at me from the bench opposite. Hah, the least I could do was make her jealous. I looked back at Jean-Pierre and smiled. He totally smiled back.
“Any questions?” asked Gerry.
“Yeah,” said Josh. “When’s lunch?”
“Not yet, Josh,” said Mr. Donaldson. “In fact, since it’s too cold for a picnic, we’ll be eating on the bus ride home.”
“If you’re hungry,” said Gerry cheerfully, “here’s something to think about. How do you like dried fish, kids?” He patted his nonhair, like he was being cool.
“Yuck!”
“That’s what I thought you’d say! But if you were alive in the Middle Ages, instead of potato chips you’d be eating crunchy, scaly little fish wafers, straight from the barrel!”
“Gross!”
“All that salt might make you thirsty,” continued Gerry. “But water was considered unfit as a beverage, so you would quench your thirst with ale or wine.”
Jean-Pierre walked next to me on the way to the Gothic Chapel. My head was hot from trying to think of something to say. My neck was hot from not looking at him again. I felt like he was a magnet, and I was a pin, the way my whole self seemed to wobble in his direction. This was bananas! He was only a boy.
But, in the chapel, the only light came through tall, narrow, stained-glass windows. It was eerie and churchy and too dark to stand next to a boy. I moved off to a spot by myself and started to breathe again.
There were stone effigies of dead knights and ladies lying all over the place, as if all the pieces of a giant, granite chessboard were taking a nap. Victor started making ghoulie noises, but Mr. D. hushed him right up.
“This is probably Margaret of Gloucester,” said Gerry, pointing to an effigy in the center of the chapel. “Effigies were made to represent and honor the dead, and to adorn their coffins. Margaret is presented in the highest fashion of her day. She is wearing a belt, as most ladies did, to carry her precious objects.”
Like my backpack, I thought.
“She has a change purse, to carry coins for the needy. She has a sheathed knife—”
“Can you tell us about that, Gerry?” asked Mr. Donaldson.
“The knife was not for self-defense,” said Gerry, “but more a symbol of her station in life. A lady who used a knife to cut her food was educated and elevated above the common folk. She also has a needle case, another sign of a protected, easy life. The engraved seam of her sleeve is a significant detail, too.”
He pointed to a line carved into the statue’s arm. “The more constricted a woman was by her clothing, the more important she was. Real ladies’ were literally stitched into their clothing.”
Wow. Even in the Middle Ages, people cared about who
was wearing what.
“Why doesn’t she have any hands?” asked Sarah.
“The hands were likely damaged in transport,” explained Gerry, “but they would probably have been carved in a position of prayer.”
“Excuse me,” I said. “Is it true that the punishment for stealing back then was having your hands cut off?”
“Hmm,” said Gerry. As he started to answer I looked around for Alyssa to send her a knowing smirk. But Alyssa wasn’t there. My heart lurched. Drat! I had gotten interested in the Middle Ages for five minutes and lost sight of Alyssa! She had probably sneaked out of the chapel and gone who knew where.
“Where’s your twin?” I asked Megan a minute later, as casually as I could, with my whole self twitching.
“Bathroom,” she whispered as we filed along to the Treasury on the lower level.
I stumbled down the stairs with the rest of the group, hearing nothing but wind roaring between my ears. I bumped smack into the glass door of the Treasury area, and that woke me up. Maybe she just has to pee, I told myself. Wait five minutes before you panic.
I tried to pay attention, but we were looking at case after case of silver goblets and gold chalices and buckles and brooches and clasps. Amazingly, I wished I were looking at Alyssa.
“We won’t go into the gardens,” said Gerry, “because in January there’s nothing much to see except a few dry stems and gnarly twigs. Please come back in the spring and see the garden in full bloom! We grow many herbs and flowers used by medieval healers for making medicines and potions.”
Potions? I was almost rocking with nerves. It was time to panic. Alyssa still hadn’t come back to the group. I wondered how long before somebody noticed.
“Thank you, Gerry,” said Mr. Donaldson. “You’ve been most informative. Let’s collect our coats from the checkroom,” he said to us, “and get back to the bus for lunch.”
I held my breath.
“Mr. Donaldson?” said Megan. “Alyssa must be still in the bathroom.”
“Well, go get her.”
Megan was back quickly.
“She’s not there,” she said, shrugging. “She might have gone up the other stairs.”
Mr. Donaldson sighed. “She’ll be waiting in the lobby. Come on, people.”
“Michele,” I said, as calmly as I could, “you go ahead. I’m just going to check again for Alyssa. She, uh, wasn’t feeling well.” Michele joined the crowd pushing up the stairs, and I went down the hall to the ladies’ room.
There were four cubicles in the bathroom. I leaned down to check underneath the first one and the second. No feet. Where had she gone? I pushed the door of the third stall, and it swung gently open.
Goose bumps raced down my arms. My neck burst into cold flames. My ears prickled. Spread out across the back of the toilet were the contents of my makeup bag: my lip gloss, my comb, my eye glitter. I reached out and picked up the open film canister that had held the Vanishing Powder. Every last speck was gone.
“Billie?”
I jumped nearly to the ceiling.
Alyssa’s voice was right behind me. I spun around.
“Billie?”
You know how it says in mystery books “her blood ran cold”? Well, mine froze solid. The thing I’d been most afraid of when my backpack went missing had happened. Alyssa had used my Vanishing Powder. And now she was invisible.
8 • Black Magic
Alyssa?”
After all the times in my life I’d wished that Alyssa would vanish from the face of the planet, she chooses to do it in the bathroom at the Cloisters!
“I’m right here.” Her voice was missing that bossy note. “Only, I—I—you know …”
“Yes, I do know, you stupid thief! How dare you! Ohmigod—you—you are—” I was so mad I was shaking. I scooped up the film canister and snapped on the rubber lid, trying to hold my shoulders still. I picked up the makeup kit from the floor and dumped everything into it. Then I slammed the kit into my pack.
Alyssa said nothing. I thought for a second she might have fainted, because Alyssa never says nothing. Then she made a weird, shuddery sound. It wasn’t exactly a sob, but it came close. Like she was trying to stop herself from crying in front of me. I slowly turned around.
“I always knew you were hiding something,” she croaked. “I don’t know how you did it, but this could really get you in trouble, Billie Stoner. My parents could arrest you for this. My parents could put you behind bars in five seconds—”
“Wait a minute! Your parents are going to arrest me because you stole my backpack?”
“My parents are going to arrest you because you’re some kind of a creepy witch practicing black magic on innocent people.”
That made me laugh out loud. As if I were smart enough to invent something this good! It was my friend Jody who was the witch—I mean, genius.
Then I felt a quiver of nerves. How would I explain this situation to Alyssa’s parents? But I was determined not to show Alyssa I had even a moment’s worry.
“And speaking of witches,” I said, “take a look in the mirror. Oops, duh, it’s blank! It’s so typical that you are blaming someone else for your own stupid crime.”
“And making someone disappear isn’t a crime?”
“I didn’t make you do anything, Alyssa. You stole from my backpack and then you stole from my makeup case and then you started to use my stuff! I am not even a speck responsible for your criminal act! Believe me, I’d rather be looking at your ugly face right now!”
I took a breath. I could hear my mother telling me that “an insult is the tool of a weak argument.” I took another breath. Since I was right, I could lay off the insults and just make her—what? Make her say she’s sorry? Make her reappear? Ohmigod! What was I supposed to do now? What was Mr. Donaldson going to say when he saw her? I mean, couldn’t see her?
“Listen,” I said. “We’re supposed to be getting on a bus….” What should I tell Mr. D.? Or should I not say anything? I felt trapped. I took a step toward the sink and crashed right into Alyssa.
“Hey! Watch out!” She grabbed me to steady herself, and my sleeve disappeared. My arm flickered, as if it might go next.
“Whoa!” she said, letting go instantly. “Did I do that?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do I have magical powers now?”
“No, you do not have magical powers! But while you’re gone like this, anything you touch will disappear. So keep your hands to yourself.”
She immediately gripped my arm again. It wavered and vanished.
“Let go, Alyssa! I just told you not—”
Without warning, the bathroom door flew open. Alyssa let go of my arm as Michele came in. She had nearly caught me shouting at an empty room.
“Billie, come on!” she said. “Mr. Donaldson is having a cow about you and Alyssa.”
“I’ll be right there, Michele. I have to, uh, use the facilities.”
“Well, what have you been—”
Her ponytail disappeared. Suddenly her hair went dim and then was gone. Alyssa must have been holding on to it. Michele’s face was intact, but she now looked like a hard-boiled egg with a face painted on.
Alyssa started to giggle. Michele jumped, and I laughed at the look on her face. But the laughter was coming from two directions. In an instant I knew I had to distract her.
“Aaaeeeyy! A spider! In your hair!” I shouted.
Michele clapped her hands to her head. “Get it off! Get it off!”
I flapped at her like I was helping, and she ran from the room with a howl. I fell against the wall and cracked up. I couldn’t help it. And Alyssa sounded like she was choking, she was laughing so hard. It was a couple of minutes before we caught our breath. I couldn’t believe I was having fun with Alyssa!
“This could rock,” she said. “This could really be a party. How long does it last?”
Hold on, I thought. She shouldn’t be getting so pleased with herself.
“It depend
s,” I said.
“On what?”
“On quite a few things.”
“Like?”
I didn’t answer.
“Like what, Billie? It just wears off, right? How long do I have?”
What should I say? I was thinking that maybe she deserved a little punishment. After all, she was still a dirty, rotten thief. Finally, I had some power over her.
“Glue number one,” I said. “This powder does not wear off.”
“What?”
“It does not wear—”
“I heard you the first time. But it’s really creepy the way your eyes keep missing mine. You’re looking sort of past me, like I’m not really here. It’s distracting. So, anyway, if it doesn’t wear off, what happens?”
“Hmm,” I said. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out, won’t we?”
I wished I could see the face that went with her choking growl.
“You are totally whack, Billie Stoner. If you don’t tell me right now, I’ll—”
“You’ll what? Sue me? Gall the police? Report me to the Department of Witchcraft?”
“Oh, get lost!” she said, practically spitting.
That did it. I marched toward the door.
“Wait!”
I ignored her and pushed it open.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m getting lost.”
9 • Hiding the
Invisible Thief
I stomped into the hallway.
Alyssa was right behind me.
“Wait a minute!” she pleaded. “Please wait!”
I waited, but I didn’t turn around.
“It really doesn’t wear off?”
The tremble in her voice was more than a bit satisfying.
“It really doesn’t.”
“So what happens?”
There were heavy footsteps on the stairs, and Mr. Donaldson’s feet came into view.
“Oh, no!” Alyssa’s boots squeaked as she yanked open the bathroom door to hide herself. I didn’t have time to remind her that she was invisible before Mr. Donaldson was looming over me. The bathroom door swung slowly closed.
The Invisible Enemy Page 3