“You saw my school reports?”

  “As you say,” says Dache, “I see everything.” He taps the marble sphere and nods at Maddy. She wrinkles her face.

  “What? Me? I’m supposed to make that thing move? I have no idea how to do that.”

  Dache stares at her. “You know more than you think you do, Madeline.”

  Maddy shakes her head. This is a waste of time. She closes her eyes and raises her arms like a sleepwalker, aiming her fingers loosely toward the sphere. “Abracadabra,” she mutters.

  “Why are your eyes closed?” asks Dache.

  “I’m concentrating. Isn’t that the idea?”

  “That’s the opposite of the idea. Relax your thoughts. Tension is counterproductive. It accomplishes nothing.”

  Maddy blinks. Opens her eyes. Moves her palms sideways. The ball starts to roll slightly to the right. “Holy shit!” She glances at Dache. He nods slightly. She moves her palms in the opposite direction. The ball rolls to the left. Maddy’s eyes open wider.

  The ball keeps moving. It rolls down a long incline toward a garden bed. Maddy flicks her fingers. Tries to stop it. But the ball just picks up speed. Maddy waves her hands back and forth. No effect. “Hold still, dammit!” she shouts. The ball jumps the border stones and crushes an entire row of chrysanthemums.

  Maddy flushes with frustration. “See that? I told you this was useless!”

  Dache stands, unperturbed, hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe. “Failure is not useless. It is a necessary step.”

  “Don’t fortune cookie me!” says Maddy.

  She has a headache now. And she hates feeling embarrassed. She thinks back to the night a year ago when Lamont and Margo first tried to teach her how to turn invisible. It was humiliating. Since then, she’s discovered more powers. Like the power to shoot lightning from her fingertips. And she’s learned them on her own, without any help from some wizened instructor.

  She has no patience for this.

  Maddy whips her arm forward. A bolt shoots out and blasts the sphere into a thousand fragments. She turns on her heel and heads back toward the house, raising her middle finger straight into the air.

  “Class dismissed!”

  CHAPTER 17

  MADDY HEADS INTO the mansion through the closest available door, a lower entrance that leads directly into the basement. Without his training toy, she figures maybe Dache will give up and leave her alone. As soon as she passes through the entrance, she hears voices from down the passageway. It’s the sound of grown men bickering.

  “This could be useful.”

  “It’s a piece of crap!”

  “Don’t touch that! You’ll blow your hand off!”

  She recognizes the voices. Burbank. Moe. Jericho. When she rounds the corner into a large underground storage room, there they are, sorting through a pile of equipment and parts on a long metal bench. Maddy pauses in the doorway. “What’s going on?” she asks. “Scavenger hunt?”

  “Looks like Khan left a lot of shit behind,” says Moe. “Lamont told us to salvage anything we think we can use.”

  As Maddy walks into the room, a chill comes over her. Just breathing the dank air reminds her that this level of the mansion was Khan’s hidden domain. One of the underground chambers was a cooler for storing the bodies of his victims. Another was used for testing poison formulas. The wine cellar down the hall was where Khan installed his personal communication center, the same room he tried to destroy with a lightning strike—with Maddy, Margo, and Lamont inside. They were all lucky to escape alive. Maddy hasn’t been in the basement since it was repaired.

  “This asshole had everything,” says Jericho, sorting through a carton of antipersonnel mines and grenades.

  “Be careful with those, please,” says Burbank. He’s at the other end of the table, fiddling with the dials on a military-grade radio. So far, he’s getting nothing but static.

  Maddy steps up and starts picking through the random clutter on the table. Surgical saw blades. Vials of acid. Incendiary bullets. Bits and pieces of pure evil in the wrong hands. She pulls back from the bench and squeezes her eyes shut. She’s dizzy for a second, then levels out. The chatter among the others becomes a wordless hum in her head. Comforting. Strangely familiar. She realizes that these guys are exactly what she’d always imagined their ancestors were like. Capable. Eccentric. Obsessive. She can feel why Lamont feels better just having them around. She’s starting to feel the same way.

  She turns away from the table and opens her eyes. She sees Moe leaning against the back wall, making a cat’s cradle with a length of twine. Maddy can tell that he’s bored with all the electronics and weaponry. Not really his thing. When she catches his eye, he puts down the string and jerks his head toward the door. “C’mon, Shadow Girl, let’s see what else is down here.”

  Moe turns right out of the storage room and heads down a dimly lit passage. Maddy follows close behind him. After about ten yards, they reach a rusted metal door, half ajar. Moe yanks it open the rest of the way. Behind the door is a metal staircase, leading down. Light glows from below.

  “What’s down here?” asks Moe.

  “No clue,” says Maddy. “I didn’t even know the basement went down this far.”

  Moe leads the way. The staircase takes a couple of sharp turns before ending in front of another door, this one gleaming stainless steel.

  “Watch out,” says Maddy. “It could be booby-trapped.”

  Moe runs his fingers along the perimeter of the door. He gets down on his hands and knees to peer underneath. “Looks clean.”

  “If you say so,” says Maddy. Not sure why she trusts him, but she does.

  Moe touches the metal handle lever and presses it down. Maddy expects it to be locked. But it’s not. It swings smoothly on heavy hinges, triggering a bank of lights that illuminate the space inside.

  Moe peeks in and starts grinning from ear to ear. “Now we’re talking!” Maddy follows him through the door. They’re standing in an underground room carved out of the bedrock beneath the mansion’s foundation. The air smells of rubber and motor oil. Parked in the middle of the huge space is an array of massive vehicles.

  “Holy crap!” says Maddy. “This must be Shiwan Khan’s motor pool.”

  Maddy and Moe walk slowly down the row. Three massive personnel carriers. Two vans with one-way windows. A modified Humvee. A PA truck with roof-mounted speakers. All with brutish military designs. Sturdy. Functional. Intimidating.

  “Interesting collection,” says Moe.

  “If you like flat black and camo,” says Maddy.

  When they reach the far end of the garage, Moe stops short. “Sweet God.” Maddy peeks over his shoulder. Sitting near the wall under a separate bank of bright lights is a massive armor-plated limousine with a midnight-blue finish. Moe steps up and runs his hand reverently along the side panel. He gives a soft whistle of appreciation. Maddy gets another chill, this one more intense.

  “Khan’s personal ride,” she says softly.

  Moe turns to her with a broad smile. “Not anymore!”

  CHAPTER 18

  I POUR MYSELF a cup of coffee and then fill another cup on the counter. Morning light shines through the cracked kitchen window. Margo is at the stove, scrambling eggs. Jessica is already sitting at the table in slippers and her favorite housecoat. I watch her closely as I hand her the coffee. No shakes. No trembles. She’s rock steady.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “He means after last night,” says Margo.

  “Those little buzz bombs?” Jessica waves her hand like shooing a fly. “I’ve seen worse.”

  I glance at Margo. She just smiles and shakes her head. Maddy’s grandmother is one tough character. The truth is, I can’t imagine what she must have seen in her sixty-six years. I know for sure that she saw the civilized world descend into chaos and cruelty under the Khan regime. I know she raised Maddy on her own in a tiny one-bedroom walkup—and taught her how to survive in a very dangerous world.

  Then, a year ago, she had to deal with the shock of having me and Margo show up in their lives out of nowhere. Jessica was arrested, imprisoned, and nearly killed in our battle against Khan. But none of those things seem to affect her. She just put them in the past and moved on. Right now, she’s more peeved by something she sees out of the kitchen window.

  “Look at that!” she says, pointing into the distance. “Mindless!”

  I lean over to see what she’s looking at. It’s a huge construction crane poking into the sky on the far side of Manhattan.

  “I can’t believe they’re actually going through with it!” says Jessica.

  Now I understand what has her so irritated. It’s not the first time we’ve heard about it. She’s looking toward a huge site on the East River where the 2088 World’s Fair is under construction. Jessica does not approve of the project, to put it mildly.

  Margo sets a platter of scrambled eggs on the table. “If you ask me, the city could use a little distraction,” she says.

  “Waste of time and resources,” says Jessica, taking a small helping of eggs. “People are still trying to get back on their feet. There’s no cell service, for God’s sake. The power grid is spotty. This is no time for an overgrown circus!”

  Margo looks at me across the table. We both know there’s no point in arguing.

  Suddenly, I sense movement in front of the house. I hear the sound of a car horn from the driveway. Is it possible my missing operatives have finally shown up? I jump out of my chair and head through the front hall.

  Better late than never!

  CHAPTER 19

  I RUN THROUGH the foyer and open the front door.

  “How ’bout a spin, boss?”

  It’s Moe, standing by the driver’s-side door of a sleek midnight-blue limo. Not exactly what I was hoping for. Unless he’s got Hawkeye and Tapper hidden in the trunk.

  I step onto the driveway and take a good look at the vehicle. “Khan’s car? Where did you get this?”

  Moe flashes a big grin. “Maddy and I found it in the subbasement. Quite the little dealership he had down there.”

  Moe is practically bouncing in front of the car’s open door. I can tell he’s dying to test it out. Why not? I know exactly where I want to go.

  I turn and call back through the doorway, “Margo! I’m going out!”

  “Be careful!” she shouts back. Like always.

  I walk around to the other side and climb into the front passenger seat. The interior is all hand-tooled wood, soft leather, and sleek electronics. The car is a custom-made hybrid—electric engine with a small gasoline reserve. But gasoline is notoriously hard to come by these days. Black market only.

  “Don’t worry,” says Moe. “Plenty of juice in the battery.”

  The limo makes a satisfying hum as Moe rolls down the driveway toward Fifth Avenue. “Where to, boss?”

  I cannot believe how much he sounds like the Moe Shrevnitz I worked with back in the 1930s—the one who bugged his cab to let me listen in on his passengers’ conversations. One of the best natural detectives I ever met.

  “Head crosstown,” I tell him. “I want to check out the fair.”

  “What fair?” Moe asks. I guess Margo didn’t cover it on their tour of the neighborhood.

  “A World’s Fair,” I tell him. “Like back in the old days. I think the city fathers are trying to pretend things are back to normal. Head east.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  As we ease out onto the street, I can see people staring at the limo, then turning away and ducking into doorways, terrified. Moe sees it, too. “Jesus. Is my driving that bad?”

  Then it hits me. “It’s not you, Moe. People recognize the car.” To people who lived through the years when Khan ruled the world from New York, the vehicle we’re in represented danger, intimidation, and death—not two buddies out for a joy ride.

  “Lower your window,” I tell Moe. I do the same. “Now wave. Nice and friendly.”

  I watch the expressions on pedestrians change from fear to puzzlement. That’s okay. Better than scaring the hell out of them.

  As we drive toward the river, we pass through a patchwork of Upper East Side neighborhoods. Some are recovering nicely; others are still run-down or burned out. For every shop and store that’s reopened, several are still boarded up. The city is moving in the right direction, but slowly.

  It’s only a five-minute ride to the World’s Fair site—a ten-acre parcel extending out over the East River. The old FDR Drive runs like a six-lane ribbon underneath, but rising water levels have put it mostly underwater. Moe pulls up in front of a chain-link fence. The site is humming with last-minute construction. Several buildings and exhibits are still shrouded in scaffolding and canvas, but the main pavilion is unveiled and complete, looming like a giant spaceship near the front entrance. A huge lighted crawl runs around the peak. GRAND OPENING NEXT WEEK! it says. Ambitious, from the look of things.

  With a patchy communication grid, the city has had to rely on posters, flyers, and word of mouth to circulate the news about the fair. And as everybody in the city has been hearing, the main pavilion is not the most impressive part of the site. Not by a long shot. The fair’s signature attraction sits on a huge platform overhanging the river. I guess you’d call it a Ferris wheel. Except there’s no wheel. The seats are floating in midair in a circle that rises about fifty stories high. Supported by nothing.

  Moe leans over and squints through my side window. “How the hell…?”

  “Neodymium magnets,” I tell him. “And a little luck.”

  I can tell right away that Moe is in Jessica’s camp. “What a bunch of claptrap,” he says. “What do people need with a World’s Fair when the world is going to hell?”

  Fair question. And here’s my answer:

  “That’s when they need it most.”

  CHAPTER 20

  AS WE EXIT the fair site and drive north, we hit a string of really bad blocks. Abandoned buildings. Empty lots. Stray dogs. Sad and depressing. In this corner of town, it’s like the Khan years never ended.

  Moe pulls to a stop at a red light. Suddenly, we’re surrounded by a gang of scrawny kids, about nine or ten years old. They cluster around the car, banging their palms on the hood. Fearless. Or maybe just desperate.

  Moe blasts the horn and leans out the window. “Scram, you little pissants!”

  I spot a row of run-down shops on my side of the street. I tap Moe on the arm.

  “Pull over.”

  Moe shakes his head. “If we stop, the little pricks will slash our tires!”

  “I’m pretty sure these tires are slash-proof. Park right here.”

  Moe rolls to a stop at the curb. As I open the door, I take a deep breath—and turn invisible. I can’t resist looking back to see Moe’s face. His jaw is hanging down.

  He watched me disappear on that first day in the library, but I’m not sure he really believed it. He does now.

  I walk across the sidewalk into a little bodega and head straight for the candy aisle. I pick up an empty cardboard box from the floor and start filling it with chocolate bars, lollipops, bubble gum, licorice sticks. Then I hit the snack aisle. I toss in mini bags of chips, pretzels, cookies, and any other treats I can lay my hands on, until the box is stuffed and overflowing.

  The clerk at the front counter backs away when he sees the box floating toward him. I toss a bunch of bills on the counter. I’m probably overpaying by about fifty bucks, but who cares? This guy needs the cash a lot more than I do.

  When I walk back outside, the kids are still clustered around the car. But the floating cardboard box gets their attention. Especially when candy starts flying out of it.

  The kids run over, grinning and shouting like crazy. There’s a lot of bumping and grabbing over the treats, but it’s a friendly scramble, and there’s plenty for everybody. When the box is almost empty, I drop it on the ground. The kids dive in to grab the rest.

  When I open the car door and slide back into the front seat, I decide to stay invisible, just to test my limits. Moe presses back against his window and stares in my direction. I can tell he’s still freaked out. When my voice comes out of nowhere, his head just about hits the roof of the car.

  “What’s wrong, Moe? You act like you’ve never driven the Shadow before.”

  CHAPTER 21

  MOE DROPS ME off by the front door and pulls the car around back. Margo is waiting for me in the kitchen. She seems impatient, distracted.

  “Where have you been?” she asks.

  “We went to check out the World’s Fair. I wanted to see the spectacle for myself.” I pour myself a glass of water and sit down at the kitchen table. “Don’t tell Jessica—but I think it shows promise. They have a Ferris wheel design that…”

  The look on Margo’s face stops me in midsentence.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “I hate to throw cold water on your fantasy,” says Margo, “but the World’s Fair happens to be a murder scene.”

  Margo has a way of getting straight to the point. She sits down across from me at the table. I look around to make sure we’re alone, then lower my voice, just in case. “Murder? Murder how? Was it the drones? Did they hit somebody on the way in?”

  “Not the drones,” says Margo. “The killer is a stalker. Strikes at night. The victims are high school and college kids. Maddy’s age.”

  “Victims? Plural? How many?”

  “Four so far.”

  “The fair’s not even open yet. What were they doing there?”

  “Who knows? Whatever kids do at that age,” says Margo. “Drinking. Partying. Having sex. Or maybe just trying to get a sneak peek at the attractions—like you.”

  “So why isn’t this big news?” I ask. Broadcast and social media haven’t come back yet, but the underground city grapevine is alive and well. When something important happens—good or bad—word gets around. But nothing about this?