“Is your grandma asleep?” asked Lamont.
“Snoring like a chainsaw,” said Maddy. Bando stirred from his blanket and scurried over to nuzzle Lamont’s leg. Lamont gave him a long scratch on the head.
“Come with me,” said Maddy. “I need to show you something.”
Maddy led him to her sleeping area, a space smaller than one of Lamont’s old walk-in closets. It was separated from the living room by a flimsy fabric curtain. Maddy reached under her bed and pulled out a battered cardboard box.
“My private collection,” she said.
Maddy sat on the bed, the box on her lap. Lamont sat down next to her. Inside the box was a stack of yellowed magazines, each with the same header in bold type: The Shadow.
Maddy pulled the top magazine from the pile. The cover illustration showed a swarthy man in a black leather coat and a wide-brimmed hat. A long red scarf covered his lower face. He brandished a heavy-duty pistol.
“So,” said Maddy. “That’s you?”
Lamont shifted awkwardly on the bed. He remembered those stories, and they embarrassed him. Dime store trash. He’d only read a few.
“Inspired by me, obviously,” said Lamont, choosing his words carefully. “But I never dressed like that. Never even owned a hat. Never carried that ridiculous gun. I guess they had to jazz things up to goose their sales.”
“Okay, then,” said Maddy. “What about this?” She dug under the jumble of magazines and pulled out something that looked like a compact radio. Maddy pressed a button marked play. A somber organ melody played, and then a man started speaking, his voice clear and resonant, even through the tiny speaker:
“The Shadow is in reality Lamont Cranston, a wealthy young man about town. Years ago, in the mysterious Orient, Cranston learned a magical secret—the hypnotic power to cloud men’s minds so they cannot see him. Cranston’s friend and companion, the lovely Margo Lane, is the only person who knows to whom the voice of the invisible Shadow belongs!”
The radio show. Lamont remembered that, too.
“Also inspired by me,” he said. “And Margo, of course.”
Lamont recalled that at first he’d been flattered that a radio show would be based on his detective business. But he’d also been worried about the publicity interfering with his actual cases. It was hard to be discreet with your name on the radio every week. On top of that, the announcer’s voice drove him up the wall.
“Why do you have all this stuff?” he asked.
Maddy pressed pause. “I told you. I’m a huge fan of The Shadow. I figured you were too. I assumed that’s why you chose the name. I mean, who just decides to call himself Lamont Cranston?”
Lamont bristled.
“I am Lamont Cranston!” he said, trying to keep his voice down. “How many times do I have to tell you?”
Maddy pressed play again. “Okay, Lamont,” she said, “what about this?” It was the same man’s voice again, now even more dramatic.
“Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?” A pregnant pause, and then—“The Shadow knows!”
The announcer gave the word Shadow a distinctive inflection, the verbal equivalent of a knowing wink. Then, after another pause, he added a low, maniacal laugh. Lamont scoffed.
“I never laughed like that in my life,” he said. “Total showbiz nonsense!”
Maddy slapped the magazine on top of the machine and held them both up in front of Lamont’s face.
“So you’re telling me that this guy is made up, but you’re real?” said Maddy. “Why should I believe that? Why shouldn’t I think you’re just a crazy rich guy who thought he found a way to live forever and picked a famous name so nobody in the future would know who the hell he really was?”
Lamont had to admit it all sounded absurd. A fictional detective with magical superpowers. Who was actually based on a real person. Who somehow came out of a deep sleep after more than a hundred years! If one of his old clients had told him that tale, he wouldn’t have believed it either. Lamont reached over and pushed the cardboard box aside.
“Put that junk away,” he said. “I’ll tell you the real story.”
CHAPTER 37
LAMONT CLEARED HIS throat and pressed his fingers together, not sure where to begin.
“This is going to sound strange,” he said.
“Stranger than a dead body coming back to life?” said Maddy.
“I wasn’t dead,” said Lamont.
“I know, I know, just cryogenically decelerated.”
Lamont leaned forward. “Look. The lab, the research, the equipment—all mine. I paid for it. It was a gamble, pure and simple. I had no way of knowing if it would actually work.”
“Were you really poisoned?” asked Maddy.
“Absolutely,” said Lamont. “And I knew who did it. And I knew nobody would have the antidote—not back in those days. The plan was always that if something happened to me and Margo, we would be preserved until there was a way to bring us back.”
“Wait.” said Maddy. “You know who poisoned you?”
“Yes. Without a doubt,” said Lamont. “It was Khan. My archenemy.”
Maddy stared at Lamont. She blinked hard. She bit her lip.
And then she burst out laughing.
“Your archenemy?” Maddy squeaked. Just saying the word set her off again. She rolled back on the bed, knees to her chest, red-faced, almost out of breath.
Lamont sat quietly, just looking at her. Maddy finally inhaled deeply and sat back up, holding her belly. She tried to settle herself.
“Khan?” she asked. “Shiwan Khan? The evil villain from the Shadow stories? He’s the one who poisoned you?”
Lamont nodded. “No question.”
At this point, Maddy was pretty sure she had a lunatic on her hands. Or the world’s most extreme prankster. Maybe it had all been a setup—the lawyer’s letter, the warehouse, everything! Maybe the whole frozen-body scene had been fake! But why play such an elaborate trick? And why make her the patsy? It made no sense.
“Maddy,” said Lamont, “look at me.”
She did. He was calm. Calmer than she’d ever seen him. Instantly, all her silliness ceased. He stared into her eyes, persuading her. Convincing her. Not with thoughts or words or sounds. It was as if he were letting her absorb his memories—transferring them to her in a single blast. Not hypnosis. Not deception. In fact, it was the opposite. It was total clarity.
Maddy exhaled slowly, stunned by the fast-motion movie that had just unspooled in her mind.
“Oh my God,” she said softly. “It’s all true.”
And then she passed out.
CHAPTER 38
LAMONT TUCKED MADDY’S legs under a blanket and put a pillow under her head. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t come to until morning. Bando sniffed around the room. He looked at Maddy, and then at Lamont. He whimpered and pawed the floor.
“Okay, pal,” said Lamont, “I guess I could use another walk.”
The night air had gotten cooler. Within a block, Lamont was wishing he’d brought a jacket. But then he remembered that the only jacket he owned was the top half of a tuxedo. Come to think of it, a leather coat might be nice. And a stylish scarf.
Lamont looked around to make sure he was alone. He cleared his throat. Then he spoke out in his best imitation of a radio announcer voice.
“The Shadow knows!”
He tried it at different speeds and volumes. “The…Shadow…knows!” “THE SHADOW KNOWS!”
Then he tried it with the laugh. He felt ridiculous.
Luckily, only the dog was around to hear it.
As they walked, Bando roamed from garbage pile to garbage pile, sniffing at the trash and gnawing at the occasional discarded bone. At the bottom of a utility pole, Bando lifted his leg and released a thin stream. Lamont heard a man’s voice, muffled, coming from the other side.
“…and let us all remember that the marks of a superior society are safe streets, clear rules, and mutual consideration…”<
br />
Lamont walked around to see a small screen—the same kind he’d seen in midtown. And now he was getting his first close-up look at the man who was speaking. World President Gismonde. His face filled the frame.
“Surely we can agree that the comfort of all depends on the efforts of all. When times are hard, it is the small gestures that lift us up…”
Suddenly Lamont felt a bright flash in his brain, stunning and painful. He saw Gismonde’s image replaced by the face of a fawning maître d’.
“Everything to your liking, Mr. Cranston?”
His mind reeled back a hundred and fifty years. And in that instant, it came to him. He’d seen Gismonde before. A long time ago.
Gismonde…was Khan!
Lamont stooped over, holding his throbbing head. Was it possible? There was a time, more than a century ago, that Lamont thought he had eliminated this evil creature, and now here he was again, staring him right in the face.
Just then, Bando starting yipping. Somebody was coming.
CHAPTER 39
BANDO’S BARKING SNAPPED Lamont’s attention back. He turned. Footsteps were approaching fast from around the corner. Seconds later, two young men burst into view, one stocky, the other tall and gawky. Both breathing heavy, eyes wild.
“Let’s go! Let’s go!” said the stocky one. But his companion hesitated, bent over, chest heaving.
“I can’t!” he wheezed. “No more! I can’t!”
“They’ll kill us this time,” his friend said. “C’mon! Move!”
When Lamont stepped out from the other side of the utility pole, the men looked up, terrified, as Bando kept barking. Lamont heard the tromp of heavy footsteps in double-time rhythm from the darkness behind them. Disciplined. Relentless. Close.
Lamont looked to the left. A huge metal garbage bin sat at the edge of the sidewalk, angled back from the pavement. He stepped forward and scooped Bando up in his arms. He looked one man in the eyes, then the other.
“Don’t run,” he said calmly. He pointed to the bin. “Hide there.”
The men stared back at Lamont. Then, without a word, they hurried to the side of the massive container. The chunky man lifted the heavy rubber lid. The bin released a powerful stench of decay and filth, but neither man flinched. The stronger one cupped his hands and hoisted his skinny buddy over the edge. Then he muscled his way up and swung himself over.
Lamont stood in the middle of the sidewalk with Bando in his arms. Within seconds, flashlight beams hit him square in the face, so bright he could barely make out the men behind them. He raised his hand against the glare. Now he could see that there were four of them. Black uniforms. Black helmets. Black guns.
“Which way?” the lead officer shouted.
Bando growled. The officer stepped closer. Lamont could see himself reflected in his dark helmet visor.
“Two men!” the leader said. “Which way?”
Lamont tightened his grip on Bando. He pointed down a dark side street.
Bando growled again. The lead officer aimed his pistol directly at his snout. “Control your animal,” he said to Lamont. Then he followed the rest of his squad into the darkness.
After the police disappeared, Lamont walked back and knocked gently against the bin. He lifted the lid partway and looked inside. The men had burrowed into the garbage. Their now filthy faces stared back like doll heads from under the stinking refuse.
“They’re gone,” said Lamont, flipping the lid open. “Have a beautiful night.”
“And you as well,” came two voices in unison.
Lamont headed back toward the apartment. Bando skittered ahead, sniffing everything and anything on the way. The wind was kicking up. Lamont’s head was still throbbing. But he realized that there was probably a lot more pain in store. Because if he knew about Khan, the odds were that Khan knew about him, too.
CHAPTER 40
WHEN I OPEN my eyes the next morning, Lamont is sitting on the floor of my room, reading one of my Shadow magazines. My head feels sore and scrambled.
Lamont looks up. “Are you okay?”
I don’t know how to answer. What do you say to somebody the morning after he’s reached into the depths of your brain? But now I understand a few things for sure: Lamont Cranston is real. The Shadow is real. And they’re the same man. And he hasn’t just been around for a hundred and fifty years. He’s been around for ten thousand years!
“I’m sorry,” says Lamont. “I know that was a lot to absorb. But it would have taken me all night to explain it. This was way more efficient.”
“Ten thousand years?” I ask. That’s how much history I have crammed in my head right now.
“These powers have existed even longer than that,” says Lamont.
“But why did you get them?” I ask.
“I worked for them,” says Lamont.
“In Mongolia,” I say.
“Correct,” says Lamont. “The Kharkhorin valley.”
“The Kagyu monks!” I blurt out. This is insane! How do I suddenly know all this stuff? This was definitely not from the radio show.
“My parents raised me,” says Lamont. “But the monks trained me. Martial arts. Invisibility. Everything. But there was another student there at the same time. A better student. An orphan from the mountains.”
“Shiwan Khan,” I say. There’s no doubt. I know I’m right.
Lamont nods. He puts the magazine down. He looks worried, like there’s a new weight on him.
“And now he’s here,” Lamont says.
“What do you mean, ‘he’s here’?”
“Khan. He’s here. He’s in the city right now.”
“Where?” I ask. I’m picturing some dark, mysterious cave. Lamont nods toward the window, looking north.
“He’s living in my house.”
It takes me a couple of seconds to put it together.
“Your house? Wait. You mean Nal Gismonde is Shiwan Khan?”
“One and the same,” says Lamont.
Suddenly Grandma pops her head through the curtain in my doorway.
“Enough gabbing, you two! Time for breakfast!”
CHAPTER 41
WHEN WE COME out of my little nook, Grandma is shuffling around in her robe and slippers. Sunday breakfast is already on the table. Nothing fancy. Just some fruit, bread, and hard-boiled eggs. We all sit down.
I hardly know where to start. Or if I should start. I’m not really the same person I was before last night. And now I know that Lamont is something way different from anything I thought he was. I’m not sure Grandma can handle it. But this isn’t something that I can keep to myself. So here goes…
“Grandma, you know all those Shadow books and radio tapes I’ve been collecting since I was ten?”
“You mean all your illegal contraband?” Grandma says. “What about it?”
I look at Lamont. Then I reach out and put my hand on Grandma’s arm.
“Grandma,” I say, “I don’t know how to put this, but the Shadow is real. And Lamont…is the Shadow!”
Grandma smiles.
“I know, dear,” she says. “Have some fruit.”
What’s going on here? Am I nuts?
“Grandma!” I shout. “What do you mean, you know? Detectives with ancient superpowers don’t just show up out of nowhere! They don’t just sit down to Sunday breakfast! Why are you acting like what I’m saying is normal?”
“I didn’t say it was normal,” says Grandma. “I just said it was a fact. Lamont and I had a long talk the other night. Frankly, dear, I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to catch on.”
The teakettle starts whistling. “Be right back,” says Grandma, “There’s something else.”
Something else? I press my fingers against my temples. I’m not sure I can deal with anything else right now.
Grandma comes back from the kitchen with a cup of hot tea and a yellow envelope. I see Lamont sit up straight in his chair. Grandma drops the envelope in front of me.
; “What’s this?” I ask.
“I found this in my father’s desk after my parents died,” she said. “No name. No date. No explanation. I was going to show it to Lamont the other night, but I think he might have found it on his own. I know somebody was in that drawer.”
I can see Lamont getting nervous across the table.
I pick up the envelope. It feels like it might fall apart in my hands.
“Go ahead,” says Grandma. “Open it.”
I reach into the envelope and pull out what’s inside—a cracked black-and-white photograph of a young woman. Big eyes. Blond hair. Movie-star beautiful.
My heart starts pounding. I’ve never seen her before, but it’s like I’ve known her all my life. I put the photo down on the table.
“This is Margo Lane,” I say. “The real one.”
Grandma looks over at Lamont.
“Is that right, Lamont?” she asks, “Is this Margo’s picture?”
Lamont doesn’t say anything. He just nods.
“Well then,” says Grandma, “I’m so happy I saved it.”
CHAPTER 42
SIXTEEN HOURS LATER, I still have Margo Lane on my brain. Obviously, she was beautiful. And from what Lamont says, she was a really brainy investigator. I also know that she was way more than just a “friend and companion.” That’s just a line from a radio script. I can tell Lamont really, really loved her. I mean, loves her. Present tense. Because he swears she’s still alive.
That’s why we’re on our way to some secret club, where he thinks he might find her. Margo loves nightlife, he says. But there’s another reason for going there too.
“Trust me,” says Lamont. “You need this.”
We’re in a part of town where everybody carries a knife or a bat for protection. Sometimes both. Especially at two in the morning.
“It’s right over there,” says Lamont.
The next thing I know, we’re going down a dark staircase.
“Welcome back!” A voice from the bottom of the stairwell. I see a woman who looks tough enough to break me in half. She gives Lamont a nod.
The Shadow Page 9
