Amanda Lester and the Black Shadow Terror

by Paula Berinstein

  He sat down. “So it couldn’t be Gavin or Geraint or Gregory or Guy?”

  “Nope, it’s George.”

  He grinned like the sun and poured more coffee. “Care to make a little wager?”

  “You’re on,” she said. “Ten pounds says it’s George.”

  “Pretty confident, aren’t we?”

  “Yup.”

  “You’re on then,” he said, holding out his hand.

  She reached out and shook on the deal.

  “So what do you think these monsters are?” she said, changing the subject. She poured fresh tea and added milk.

  “If I didn’t know better I’d say Hugh was behind them,” he said.

  “I agree,” she said. “He is a wunderkind, but he can’t travel through time.”

  “Apparently Simon can though.”

  She sipped her tea. It was already cold and she put the cup down. “Indeed. Why do you think he wasn’t drawn through with us?”

  “That is the question, isn’t it?’’ he said. “We were touching at the time. Maybe he didn’t go because he wasn’t touching us.”

  “Do you think whatever caused the time travel also created the monster?”

  “It’s hard to say,” said Nick, pushing his cup away. “It might have been transferred from somewhere else. Maybe its wires and ours got crossed.”

  “You mean Simon’s history machine latched onto some pre-historic or future creatures and pulled them through time?”

  “It’s just as logical as anything else,” said Nick, playing with the cup.

  “So maybe if we get back they’ll be returned too. I mean to their own time. We don’t want them coming back with us.”

  “In theory either of those things could happen. We just don’t know.”

  “So how are we going to get back?”

  “I think at this point we’re going to have to rely on Simon.”

  “I sure hope nothing happens to him,” she said. “With all that weird stuff going on at Legatum, and Blixus and Moran and my mother and those ninjas who destroyed the Windermere campus on the loose, who knows?”

  He wrapped his hand around hers and squeezed. “He’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”

  Amanda knew there was no way he could keep that promise, but she had so much faith in him that she didn’t care. It was the thought that counted.

  “I can’t believe how wonderful you are,” she said.

  As Amanda and Nick walked toward Scotland Yard he glanced over at her with a huge smile on his face.

  “What?” she said. His mood was infectious and she giggled.

  “I was just thinking. Have I ever told you how I fell in love with you?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It was the night of the explosion. I was wearing a disguise and sneaked out of the dorm to watch. I ran into you in the foyer and you were impressed that I was so resourceful in eluding Mrs. Scarper.”

  “Actually that came later,” he said.

  “Really? Not the day of the orientation,” she said, stepping over a horse pie. “When we first met? I was coming out of the bathroom with Simon’s coat. I’d, uh, sort of vomited on it. I was so embarrassed but you were nice anyway. And tall. I was always struck by how tall you were.”

  “Nope,” he said. “Not then. Although I was tall.” He grinned mischievously.

  “In class then?’’ she said. “I was brilliant in self-defense. Remember?”

  “No, not self-defense. I do remember David kicking you in the nose though. That wasn’t so brilliant.”

  “Not that time,” she said. “Don’t you remember when I brought Professor Peaksribbon down?”

  “Sorry, nope,” he said with a wink.

  “We were doing judo. You remem—” She jabbed him in the shoulder. “You’re teasing me. You do remember. I was too impressive not to.”

  Nick grinned. It was at times like these that she wanted to grab him and kiss him down to the ground. Not that she didn’t want to the rest of the time, but that teasing smile got to her like almost nothing else he did.

  “Was it at dinner that first night?” she said. He shook his head. “No, I shouldn’t think so. You were flirting your head off with Editta.”

  “That was an act,” he said.

  “I know. Just saying. Well then, Professor Tumble’s disguise class? When I did Simon’s makeup?”

  “Nope.”

  “I give up. When did you fall in love with me?”

  “Before I ever met you,” he said.

  She stopped dead and he had to back up. “What?”

  He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. “Blixus told me to go through the incoming class roster and pick out a mark. The more I learned about you the more impressed I was. You were so interesting. I watched all your movies on YouTube, read all your scripts, studied every aspect of your productions: the costumes, sets, lighting, acting, direction. I thought you were the most brilliant girl I’d ever seen. Not to mention the most beautiful. I couldn’t wait to meet you and your gorgeous hair.”

  “But I was a dork,” she said. “I drowned my sorrows in food and I had no friends.”

  “You just hadn’t found the right ones,” he said.

  She gazed into his blue eyes. They were sparkling like the sun and she wanted to jump into them. “I’ll say.” He leaned down and kissed her softly and she felt herself melt—until she realized what he’d said. “Wait a minute. I was your mark? How dare you!”

  “You know how we operated,” he said. “I’ve made no secret of it. But it’s all in the past. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “I’m not sure I like the idea of being targeted by some nefarious gangster I’ve never even met,” she said playfully.

  He laughed. “Nefarious, is it? I’ve never thought of myself that way. Dashing, perhaps. A bit crooked. But never nefarious.”

  “You were totally nefarious,” she said. “You still are. You’re just on the right side now.”

  “Nefarious, am I?” he laughed, and reached out to tickle her. She dodged him and ran ahead, laughing. He raced after her, caught up, and lifted her into the air.

  “I’ll show you nefarious.” He put her down and wrapped her in his arms. She nestled into him and turned her face up to kiss him. Suddenly she heard a raspy voice behind her.

  “This is the best opportunity we’ve had to nab Moriarty in months,” said an unknown man.

  Amanda and Nick froze. “Did you hear that?” he said under his breath.

  She nodded. “Who is that?”

  “A cop,” said Nick, who was facing in the right direction and could see over her head. “In plainclothes.”

  Amanda began to turn her head.

  “Don’t,” said Nick. “Follow my lead.”

  He bent down and kissed her passionately, keeping an eye on the man behind her. While she was enjoying the kiss she was also watching Nick’s eyes. She broke off the kiss and said, “What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know how to tell you this,” he said. “I think it’s Lestrade.”

  “Lemme see, lemme see,” she said, squirming out of his grasp.

  He grabbed her and held her still. “Not yet. He’s looking this way.”

  “But he mentioned Moriarty.”

  “Let’s listen,” said Nick.

  “We’ll station operatives all around the house and grounds,” the man Nick had identified as Lestrade was saying. “Waiters, guests, servants. Parrot’s got a valuable jewelry collection. Her guests will be wearing priceless pieces. He won’t be able to resist.”

  “It’s a good thing you talked her into cooperating,” said the other man.

  “It wuz easy,” said Lestrade. “She’s as excited as a monkey. Seems to think Moriarty is romantic. Is she ever in for a disappointment.”

  “He ain’t a bad-looking bloke,” said the second man.

  “I ain’t never noticed,” said Lestrade. “And don’t let anyone catch you talking like that.”

 
Amanda giggled. Nick quieted her with a finger on her lips.

  “Now look . . .” said Lestrade, and his voice faded away.

  “What’s happening?” said Amanda.

  “They’re going back inside,” said Nick.

  She whirled around and saw a short, stocky little man and an average-sized man walk into the front door of Scotland Yard.

  “Which one is he?” she whispered.

  “Shorty,” said Nick.

  “Oh nuts,” she said. “I missed his face.”

  “He looks just the way Watson described him,” said Nick. “Like a ferret.”

  “Do I look like him?” she said, neatening her hair.

  He gazed down at her with loving eyes and enfolded her in his arms again. “Not even close.”

  “We have to go to that party,” he said when they had stopped kissing a few minutes later.

  “I was just thinking that," she said.

  “While you were kissing me?” he said, teasing.

  She broke into a grin. “Of course not. Just before and just after.”

  “Right," he said. “Me too.” He hugged her to him.

  “We'll need fancy clothes,” she said, picturing the costumes she’d seen in various movies.

  “Piece of cake,” he said. “I'll just pick a few more pockets.”

  “I feel kind of guilty about that,” she said. “Some of those people worked hard for their money.”

  “Can you think of a better cause?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Well then, how about King's Cross this time?” he said taking her hand.

  As they made their way to the most crowded station in London he said, “So when did you fall in love with me?”

  “This morning," she said without missing a beat.

  “When I spilled my coffee," he said. “I knew that would get you.”

  “You mean you did that on purpose?” she joked.

  “You don't really think I'm that clumsy, do you?” he joked back.

  “The clock,” she said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “When you broke the clock in the common room because the ticking was bothering me. That was when I fell in love with you. I just didn't realize it until later.”

  “You fell in love with me because I broke a clock?” he asked incredulously.

  “Yup," she said. “What's the big deal? You fell in love with me when I threw up on a coat.”

  “Before that," he corrected her. “That just made me love you more.”

  “You really watched all my films and read all my scripts?” she said.

  “I did.”

  “You're crazy, you know that?” she said.

  “I have an idea, yes," he said. and winked at her.

  The trawl through King's Cross was going well. Amanda would create a diversion—a small scream, a little shove and then an argument, a flirtatious glance—and Nick would relieve the mark of his or her funds. But then they miscalculated. Amanda had faked a fit and Nick attempted to pick the pocket of a tall, well-dressed bearded man who was sauntering by with a companion. But as he reached for the man's wallet, a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

  Amanda leapt to help him when she was grabbed from behind. The two men hustled Nick and Amanda out of the way and, still restraining them, faced them. Amanda gasped. The man who had grabbed her was none other than Dr. Watson.

  “Who are you?” the tall man spat. It was Sherlock Holmes in disguise.

  “You're Sherlock Holmes," she stammered.

  “I repeat," he said. “Who are you?”

  “This is the girl whose shoulder I fixed last night,” said Watson.

  “I'm aware of that, Watson," said Holmes. “I want names.”

  “I’m Nick Muffet and she’s Amanda Lester,” said Nick.

  “Why are you here?” said Holmes. “You are no ordinary thieves.”

  Amanda and Nick looked at each other. He blinked twice to tell her to run, grabbed her hand, and they raced off through the crowd. They darted this way and that, attempting to elude Holmes and Watson. She had a bit of a time keeping up with him, but they managed to exit the station and get far enough away to tell that they'd been successful. No one seemed to be following them.

  “That was close," she panted when they stopped.

  “He knows something,” Nick said.

  “Of course he knows something,” she said. “He’s Sherlock Holmes. The question is how much. Can he possibly know who we really are?”

  “I don't see how," said Nick.

  “I wouldn't put anything past him," she said. “It’s like he’s psychic.”

  “Well it doesn't matter now. We’ve got the money. And we’re safe. Come on. Let's go buy some fancy dress.”

  As they walked along looking for a haberdasher or a tailor's—they weren't sure exactly where to go—she felt almost a sense of panic. “That was creepy.”

  “Being caught? It's not so bad. I’ve had that happen many times.”

  “No, not that. I'm talking about the experience of feeling someone look right through you and know all your secrets. I’ve always had an aversion to that man, but now there’s another reason.”

  He stopped walking and drew her into his arms. “I won't let them hurt you.”

  She sighed deeply. “You know you can't fix everything.”

  “I will always keep you safe," he said. “If it’s the last thing I do.”

  “Oh, Nick. You are such a dreamer.”

  He stroked her hair and kissed it gently. “And since when is that a fault?”

  “It isn't. It’s just not realistic.”

  He drew back and gazed at her. “I am always realistic, Amanda. It's just that I think big. It’s the only way to make things right.”

  “I appreciate that you think that way, I really do. It's just that sometimes you have to recognize that you can't win.”

  “No, never. I will never give up. And I don't like hearing you say you would. Or will. Promise me you'll never give up, my love.”

  She could feel herself about to cry. “I don't want to.”

  “Then don't.”

  A tear ran down her face. This was an area she did not want to get into. “It's not as simple as that.”

  “It is. You must fight them, always.”

  “Oh, Nick. You don't know what you're saying. What they did to me.” She burst into tears.

  “Then I'll fight hard enough for both of us.”

  He held her even tighter and kissed her again. She always loved it when he did that, but these days it no longer made her feel safe. Nothing did anymore, not since the Moriartys had invaded her mind. But she wasn't about to tell him that. She'd slipped just then, telling him how she really felt and crying, and she was annoyed with herself.

  When the Moriartys had brainwashed her, she'd told herself she'd never complain, never let anyone know how bad it was. But then she'd awakened screaming when Nick was there, and he'd put his fist through the wall of his boat and vowed to fix her. And then it had become impossible to keep her grief to herself.

  But she'd tried anyway. Even when the visions made her ill, or terrified, she'd tried not to show how she felt. But like Sherlock Holmes, Nick always knew. Still, she made herself believe that if she tried hard enough he'd think she was better, when in fact she was getting worse. The monk had known. Her father had known. Nick knew. Even Sherlock knew. So why couldn't she admit the truth and get help?

  Because somewhere deep down she was afraid that if she let someone mess with her mind she’d lose herself, lose the part of her that made her Amanda. The part that loved to make films. The part that gave her enough courage to face the Moriartys. The part that enabled her to cope with the fact that her mother was a murderous criminal. The part that loved Nick. And most of all, the part that Nick loved. Her essence.

  That was why she didn't want him to save her. Because she didn't want to lose herself.

  And as she realized that, it became clear to her that she was
being ridiculous. She would never lose herself. Whatever she did, no matter what anyone did to her, she would always be Amanda, the girl who loved film, loved adventure, loved life, and loved Nick. She might become tired, she might get discouraged, she might feel burned out, she might be terrified, but those things didn't make up Amanda Lester. They were just bumps in the road she traveled.

  She turned to Nick and took his hand. “You know what? Forget everything I just said. I was just a little freaked out for a moment. I will never give up the fight, no matter what.”

  Nick grinned at her. “I knew that.” He pulled her close and said, “Come on. Let's go get some fancy duds.”

  As it is in today's London, the Burlington Arcade proved to be a premiere shopping location and Amanda and Nick found some high-end haberdashers to explore there. The ready-made clothing was expensive, but Nick had managed to score just enough money to pay for a luscious lavender gown for Amanda and a set of tails and top hat for himself. They had to settle for some rather down-market shoes, but a couple of bottles of polish helped dress those up enough that they were confident no one would notice.

  “You look absolutely beautiful," Nick said when she tried on the dress.

  He didn't look so bad himself. Seeing him all dressed up like that made Amanda’s heart flutter—so much so that she was speechless. All thoughts of the Moriartys vanished as she took in the sight of him.

  “Come on, let's get a picture taken," he said, taking her hand.

  “Doesn't it take days for them to develop pictures in this time?” she said, finding her voice at last.

  “We'll come back and get it later," he said.

  “If we're still here.”

  “Who knows how long it will take Simon to bring us back? We might as well have a good time while we have the chance.”

  That would be a memento and a half. Imagine bringing something like that back to the twenty-first century. “Okay. Let's do it," she said.

  The photographer's studio smelled strongly of chemicals, but Amanda thought it was a good smell. It reminded her of film, and that was always inspiring. The photographer was a young fair-haired man who loved cracking jokes. Some of them were a bit beyond her— too English and too Victorian- but Nick seemed to get them and he laughed his head off over and over. The mood gave them happy expressions, and Amanda hoped the picture would turn out well.