“Oh, I think you’ll find it very hard to get rid of me completely, Isabel.”
Isabel turned to her children. “Come along, darlings.” She placed a hand on Ian’s shoulder and beckoned for Natalie to follow. “It’s impossible to enjoy art with awful American tourists everywhere.” She shot a final look at Grace. “They have no sense of decorum.”
As they followed Isabel out of the alcove, Ian glanced over his shoulder. Grace raised her eyebrows and then gave him a small nod. An odd mixture of pride and shame swept through him. He wasn’t sure whether stopping his mother from stabbing the painting had been brave or incredibly foolish.
Ian blinked as he stepped into the sunlight. It was like waking up from a dream, as if the strange events inside the cathedral had occurred long ago, or perhaps not at all. He shook his head, as if to separate his real memories from the illusions. There had to be something he was missing, something that would explain what had happened.
They climbed into the car. Natalie drew her knees up to her chest and closed her eyes, though Ian was pretty sure she wasn’t going to sleep. Isabel had taken out her phone and seemed to be talking to their father. “Did I wake you?” she asked. “Oh, good . . . yes . . . yes, exactly. They did brilliantly.” She reached over and squeezed Ian’s hand, then wiped her palm on her skirt. “Although they’re in desperate need of a shower.”
Ian sank back into the leather seat. His mother was proud of them. They’d done something right — even if they hadn’t known the whole plan. Sitting in the warm car, the thought of cutting a piece of art seemed laughably harmless. Who cared that the figures looked like real people?
He remembered the expression on his mother’s face when she’d first looked at Grace. Sometimes, being a Lucian meant you had to destroy whatever was in your way.
Grace stood in front of the altarpiece, smiling at the familiar faces. She’d come to see the “Lamb” a number of times since its return to Ghent, but it’d been many years since her last visit. She was glad for the chance to say good-bye. Grace had considered bringing Amy to show her the painting that meant so much to her, but was grateful she’d decided against it. It was better that her grandchildren know nothing about Clues or the Vespers yet.
Grace reached into her pocket and pulled out a portable X-ray device she’d built based on a prototype she “borrowed” from the Ekaterina stronghold in Cairo. She held it up to the panel Isabel had been examining and pressed a button. An image appeared on the screen. It looked almost identical to the painting, except for one key difference. There were words embroidered onto one of the saints’ sleeves. A Dutch phrase. It must have been painted over at some point, because it was no longer visible to the naked eye.
Grace smiled grimly as she scanned the other panels. Each revealed another phrase. Some were in Dutch. Others were in Latin, and a few were written in languages Grace didn’t recognize.
She scanned the center panel, “The Adoration of the Mystic Lamb,” and inhaled sharply.
Zij zullen de aarde zerplaatsen.
They will move the Earth.
So it was true.
A wave of nausea passed over her, and she stumbled, grabbing on to a wooden rail for balance. Everything she’d done, all the sacrifices she’d made to find the Clues — what was the point if the Vespers had the power to destroy them all?
Grace took a deep breath. It was time to go. She had a long trip back to Massachusetts, and she didn’t want to risk missing her weekend with Amy and Dan. There weren’t going to be many more of those. Although similar thoughts had passed through her mind countless times over the last few months, she still felt an ache in her chest.
She turned for one final look at the paintings her mother had loved.
Her mother had never really left her.
And Grace had no intention of leaving Amy and Dan.
“They are not only works of art. Today they are the symbols of the human spirit.” President Roosevelt’s words ran through Grace like someone had turned on a wireless radio inside her head.
She looked at the altarpiece and smiled. Some things were more powerful than death.
The human spirit lived on.
The author would like to acknowledge Mallory Kass for her words, and Rachel Griffiths for her wisdom.
— C.R.
Copyright © 2012 by Scholastic Inc.
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, THE 39 CLUES, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2012931145
e-ISBN 978-0-545-44319-7
Cover design by Charice Silverman
Cover: metal texture: © optimarc/Shutterstock; bank safe in 3D: © Spectral-Design/Shutterstock; round metal object: © J. Helgason/Shutterstock; bank vault door : ©SVLuma/Shutterstock
Endpapers: Ghent altarpiece: ©akg-images/The Image Worksl; Cathedral of St. Bavo: © Steve Mayes (RF)/Alamy; Stationary: Gustavo Toledo/Shutterstock; metal texture: © optimarc/Shutterstock
First edition, May 2012
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