Burbank blinks behind his thick lenses. He can’t even meet my eyes. His hands are trembling. I can tell how disturbed he is by what he’s seen. “And what?” he says. “We’re supposed to stop it?”

  “How?” asks Jericho. “By turning invisible?”

  “All due respect,” says Moe, “but I think we’re a little overmatched.”

  “Every power has a seam of weakness,” I say. “Our job is to find it, and crack it wide open.”

  The room goes silent again. As I look from Jericho to Burbank to Moe, I’m secretly hoping that I picked the right team. I’m praying that these guys are as strong and competent as their ancestors were. And I’m worried about what the hell happened to the other two I invited.

  Without their skills, I wonder if we have a chance at all.

  CHAPTER 7

  MADDY GOMES SITS at a long wooden table in the City College library, huddled over her notes from her Culture & Crime lecture. Her stomach is growling and her eyes are burning from trying to decipher her handwriting. When she looks up at the clock, it’s already 10:00 p.m. Except for a lone librarian posted somewhere on the other side of the building, she’s all by herself. Not unusual. She’s usually the last one here.

  Maddy leans her chair back and raises her arms above her head. She takes a long stretch backward and allows herself a huge yawn. Suddenly, her wrists are grabbed from behind, jerking her off-balance. She hears a female voice, low and intense.

  “You’re mine now, bitch!”

  Maddy pulls free and spins around in her seat. Her assailant stands there grinning. “Gotcha!”

  Of course it’s Deva. Deva Keane. Maddy’s classmate and partner in Criminology. Who else would be accosting her in the school library?

  “Dammit, Deva, I’m trying to study!”

  “Right. I deduced that. From the books and notes and all.”

  Deva, slim and pretty, reaches over and grabs Maddy’s color-coded index cards off the table. She shuffles them like a card sharp and then tosses them into Maddy’s backpack. “Study time is over,” she says. “Party time… has begun!” Deva swings her hips to a beat that only she can hear.

  Maddy can tell that her friend has been partying already. The wine on her breath mixes with the citrusy scent of her body wash. She’s also made a change of wardrobe, from her shapeless classroom sweats to a shimmery dress that rides halfway up her thighs.

  Maddy shakes her head. “You do know we have an exam in three days, right? Covering everything from the start of the semester to now?”

  “Right,” says Deva. “And we both know you’ll help me cram like a maniac for the next two nights.”

  “Lichtman’s tests are diabolical.”

  “You’ve got her figured out. You’ve got everything figured out.”

  Maddy isn’t so sure about that. Some days, she’s not even sure if she picked the right school. Or if she should be in college in the first place. All she knew was that Lamont’s big old mansion on Fifth Avenue was starting to feel like a prison. She needed a life of her own. Friends of her own. And she knew Lamont would take care of the tuition.

  “Anyway, I can’t go clubbing like this.” Maddy tugs at the front of her baggy T-shirt. Airtight excuse. Done. Case closed.

  “Correct,” says Deva. “I can’t be seen with you in that.” She reaches into the cloth bag over her shoulder. “But in this…” She holds up a silk dress as shimmery as her own, and equally short.

  “Forget it,” says Maddy. “Not my look.” T-shirts and jeans are usually as dressed up as she gets.

  “C’mon. Please! I know a great place.” Of course she does. Deva knows all the great places. When Maddy sits next to her in class, she can usually spot glitter in her hair from the night before.

  “I have to get home,” says Maddy.

  Deva puts on a dramatic pout. “You can’t send me out into the city alone,” she whines. “It’s dangerous.”

  “No. You’re dangerous.”

  Maddy exhales slowly and stuffs her notebooks and pens into her backpack.

  She pauses for a few seconds, then snatches the dress and heads for the restroom to change. “For the record, I’m only coming to protect you from yourself.”

  CHAPTER 8

  DEVA FLASHES TWO passes at the entrance and leads the way downstairs into the club. She turns to Maddy. “My treat,” she says. “In exchange for kidnapping you.”

  The sound and heat roll up the staircase as they descend. When they reach the bottom, Maddy rocks back in disbelief. She realizes that they’re standing on the uptown platform of the abandoned 14th Street subway station. The dance floor covers the tracks and extends into the tunnel—the same tunnel where Lamont dispatched the Voodoo Master’s bloodsuckers more than a century ago. She’s walking in the footsteps of the Shadow.

  Maddy rests one hand against the tile wall and closes her eyes, half expecting a grisly flash from the distant past. But all she feels is the vibration of the speakers and the slick condensation rising from a couple hundred bodies. Live ones. Within a second, her head clears. Deva spots Maddy’s hesitation and shouts above the din. “Been here before?”

  “Never!” Maddy shouts back. “But I’ve heard stories!”

  The bass rumbles through the floor and passes right through Maddy’s body. The crowd is young and ecstatic, dancing mostly in darkness, illuminated only by sporadic strobe blasts. The club is more funky than fancy. Maddy feels overdressed.

  A bar table along one wall is filled with bottles of cheap beer and booze. A giant garbage bucket full of ice sits to the side. In places like this, admission covers all you can drink. And people drink a lot. The air reeks of sweat and alcohol.

  Maddy leans in tight to Deva’s ear. Even this close, she still needs to shout. “Do you know anybody here?”

  Deva shakes her head and shouts back. “Just you!” She grabs Maddy by the arm and pulls her into the center of the crowd, creating a tiny space for the two of them. Deva backs off a few inches and starts to move—eyes shut, hips pumping, arms swinging.

  Maddy feels the perspiration starting to prickle her scalp and neck as she breathes in the thick atmosphere. At first, it makes her queasy. Then she just surrenders to it. To all of it. The noise, the smell, the humidity, the raw human energy. And Deva’s pure joy. It’s infectious.

  Maddy’s getting jostled from all sides, but it doesn’t matter now. She keeps her eyes on Deva’s pulsing silhouette and does her best to mirror her moves. Deva’s sparkly dress lights up in the strobe bursts like a series of punchy snapshots.

  By the second song, Maddy’s hair is damp with sweat, blond strands swinging across her face. Her head is buzzing and her skin is warm and tingly. She’s happy she came. Happy to feel like a normal teenager for a few hours. Happy to just melt into the crowd.

  As the second song segues into the third, two figures bump their way into the sliver of space between her and Deva. Two guys, lean and glistening, shirts peeled open to expose taut chests. In strobe flashes, they look enough alike to be brothers. Same stringy hair. Same perfect teeth. Same cocky physicality.

  Maddy shifts her body to make room, but the men follow her with hip-thrusting moves until she’s being pressed from both sides. And not in a good way. The guy on her left places a damp hand on her shoulder, his fingers brushing her neck.

  “Let’s have a drink!” he shouts.

  Maddy pulls his hand away. “No, thanks!”

  The brush-off doesn’t work. He just grinds in closer. Oppressive now. His friend has moved on to Deva, working the same moves. Now they slide in behind the girls, grabbing their hips and moving in tight.

  “One drink!” the first guy shouts in Maddy’s ear. Maddy sees Deva doing her best to push away from the other one, but the space is too tight for a clean escape.

  Maddy shouts again, louder this time. “Leave us alone!”

  “Don’t be so stuck up!” the guy shouts back. There’s a nasty edge to his voice now. Maddy realizes that her refusal is not registering.

  She looks to the side. Deva has dialed her moves way down, just shifting her weight from one leg to the other as the predator leans over her. Maddy catches his eye, then jerks her head to lure him over. Then she pulls the guy behind her around so that both men are facing her. She smiles and crooks her finger to bring them in close. She leans forward until her head is between the two of them, her lips practically touching their ears.

  “Go stick your heads in the ice bin!” she shouts.

  The men lean back. Their eyes go dull. They turn and move through the crowd, pushing other dancers aside until they reach the bar area. The huge bin is overflowing with ice water and melting cubes.

  Maddy and Deva watch as the two men grab the edge of the bucket and plunge their heads in up to their shoulders. Dancers back off to dodge the splatter. The punks stay under for just a few seconds. Then a massive bouncer yanks them both out by their collars and shoves them up the stairs toward the exit.

  Deva wraps her arm around Maddy’s shoulders, laughing hard. “Thank you!” she shouts. “You preserved our honor!”

  “Not a problem!” Maddy shouts back. “I have a way with men!”

  CHAPTER 9

  “DAMMIT, WHERE IS she?” I hate it when Maddy’s out late. And the Scotch isn’t calming me down.

  I’m sitting with Margo in the main parlor of the mansion, waiting for the sound of the front door opening. I know the city is safer now than it was before, but it’s still a risky place for a young woman—even one as sharp as Maddy. I keep reminding her how much evil still exists in the world. I always tell her to never, ever let down her guard.

  As usual, Margo tells me to ease up.

  “Lamont, she’s in college now, not high school. If we try to hold her too close, we’ll just end up pushing her away. Be grateful she’s still living at home and not in some seamy dorm. Give her some space. Trust her instincts.”

  “You’re right,” I say. “Maybe I’m extra paranoid tonight.”

  “Because of Hawkeye and Tapper?” asks Margo.

  She put her finger on the problem. My missing team members. The two who never showed up.

  “Exactly. I need them here. And I have no idea where they are.”

  Their ancestors and namesakes were two of my most trusted associates. Brave. Loyal. Unstoppable. I expected the same from their descendants. They were the hardest two to locate and the hardest to get messages to. Their last known location was Zurich. But now they’re totally off the grid.

  “Remember,” says Margo, “the original Hawkeye and Tapper were both ex-cons.”

  She’s right, of course. Back in the 1930s, Hawkeye and Tapper were tough, hard men, well acquainted with the dark side. Which is exactly why I hired them.

  “I know they were criminals,” I shoot back. “That’s what made them so good at fighting crime.”

  “Well, maybe the bad genes won out in this generation,” says Margo. “Maybe these guys aren’t coming at all. Maybe they’re locked up somewhere. Or maybe they’re dead.”

  I drain my glass. “I appreciate the encouragement.”

  My other guests are already upstairs in the guest rooms, exhausted from their travel. After just a few hours with them, I can tell that they have a lot in common with their ancestors. Jericho is tough and brilliant. Moe is resourceful and street smart. And Burbank is an electronics savant.

  But we’re about to go up against somebody called the Destroyer of Worlds. Even when we find his weakness, we’ll need all the help we can get.

  CHAPTER 10

  MADDY WAKES UP at 8:00 a.m., facedown in her pillow. She turns her head slowly and opens one eye to glance at the clock. Christ. Has she really only been home for three hours? She’s drained and dehydrated, and her feet feel like two throbbing lumps. The shoes she borrowed from Deva were at least a size too small. She pushes herself up and swings her legs out from under the covers, then waits a second to let her vision settle. She needs food. She needs fluids. She needs caffeine.

  As Maddy comes down the main staircase and turns toward the kitchen, she hears a raucous mix of unfamiliar voices. Then she remembers. Oh, shit. Lamont’s guests must have arrived. Maddy stops and squeezes her head between her hands.

  Why now? After last night, all she wants is a little peace and quiet.

  For a second, she thinks about going back to her room and making herself more presentable—maybe something nicer than her gym shorts and ratty sweatshirt. No. Forget it. What they see is what they get. She shuffles her aching feet toward the smell of strong coffee and warm toast.

  When Maddy walks through the alcove into the kitchen, the sun is stunningly bright. At first, all she can see around the table are backlit shapes.

  “Good morning, beautiful!” says Margo. She squeezes Maddy around the shoulders and plants a kiss on the top of her head. Maddy blinks. Way too early to be so chipper.

  “Morning, Margo,” says Maddy softly, waiting for the rest of the room to come into focus. She sees Lamont standing up, coffee mug in his hand, as the others around the table turn in her direction.

  She’s hoping there might be somebody her age in the group. But it’s not looking good. Everybody around the table is older, much older. Maddy does a quick assessment of the group.

  The guest on the right is a Black man who looks like he could bench-press the refrigerator. The guy next to him is short and pudgy and a little pink in the face. The third guy reminds Maddy of one of her college professors. Seems awkward—a little disconnected.

  Lamont walks over and pulls her toward the table. “Everybody—this is Maddy.” Maddy gives a polite little wave. “Hi, everybody.” Margo sticks a mug of coffee in her hand. Thank God. The first sip sharpens her brain, and she starts to evaluate the scenario. For starters, Lamont and Margo never have overnight guests. So whoever these guys are, they must be important. And close. Like family. She sees Lamont moving from one chair to the next, making introductions as he goes.

  “Maddy, I’d like you to meet Moe Shrevnitz… Jericho Druke… and Burbank.”

  Maddy doesn’t say anything. She just stares at the three visitors. The names are shockingly familiar. She’s known these names for just about her whole life. They’re the names of three of the Shadow’s closest associates. And she’s read all about them in story after story. Jericho Druke, the strongman with brains. Moe Shrevnitz, the Shadow’s crafty driver. Burbank, the master of communications. What the hell is going on here? Maddy looks around the table, trying to form a question that makes sense.

  “You… you’re all from the 1930s. Does that mean you were…?”

  Margo steps up. “No, no,” she says. “I know what you’re thinking. These gentlemen weren’t frozen and thawed like Lamont and me. They’re a few generations down. They’re descendants. Like you.”

  Maddy sees Jericho sit up straight in his chair. “Descendant?” he says. He looks over at Lamont. “Hold on! You mean, this girl is your…”

  “Right,” says Lamont. “Our great-great-great-great-granddaughter.”

  “See the resemblance?” asks Margo, resting her chin on Maddy’s shoulder.

  Moe takes another sip of coffee. Burbank starts picking the crust off his toast.

  Jericho lets out a slow breath. “Unbelievable.”

  “Nice to meet you, too,” says Maddy.

  She leans back against the kitchen counter. The whole gathering seems like a dream—like something that could never, ever happen.

  It seems impossible.

  But if there’s one thing she’s learned in her brief time with Lamont Cranston and Margo Lane, it’s that absolutely nothing is impossible.

  CHAPTER 11

  AFTER BREAKFAST, I ask Maddy to stay behind with me while Margo takes our guests on a walking tour of the Upper East Side. Maddy clears the table as I slide the cooking pans into the sink. I notice that she’s being very quiet. Then the patio door slides open. It’s Jessica, back with Bando after their morning walk. A daily ritual for these two. As always, Jessica lights up when she sees her only grandchild.

  “Maddy! You’re awake!” she says. “Did you meet Lamont’s friends?”

  Maddy sets a pile of plates and flatware down on the counter, then turns and folds her arms. She’s clearly peeved. “You guys could have tipped me off, you know.”

  “About what?” I ask.

  “About the fact that three characters from the Shadow stories would be showing up for breakfast. Like that’s a normal, everyday event.”

  “I understand, dear,” says Jessica. “It takes some getting used to.”

  Maddy grew up immersed in the Shadow legend. It was an escape for her. A fantasy world. Like every other Shadow fan, she assumed that the stories were just stories, made up by some pulp-fiction writer. When she discovered that me and Margo were real people—and that she and her grandmother were our descendants—it shook up everything she knew about how the universe works. And right now, I can tell she’s really frustrated. Especially with me.

  “Look,” she says, “you’re Lamont Cranston. You’ve lived with this craziness forever! But I’m still getting used to it. And every time I start to think things are getting back to normal, some other freakish event happens. It’s a lot! That’s all I’m saying. I need a little time to adjust. You can’t just spring things on me. Especially strange people from the past!”

  Jessica cups Maddy’s face in her hands. “You seem a little sleep deprived, dear. Have you been studying too hard?”

  Maddy sighs. “I’m fine, Grandma.” Jessica wraps Maddy in her arms. Maddy melts into her. They’ve got a connection that’s beyond anything I’ve ever seen. For all those years while Maddy was growing up, Jessica was the only family she had. Margo and I are newcomers in her life. Latecomers. I know she loves us, but she always says we’re from a different world. And we are.

  “I love you, Grandma,” says Maddy, her face buried in Jessica’s sweater.

  “Love you, too,” says Jessica. “More than anything.”