Hidden City
by Kyra Wheatley
The Shades of Silence
Book#2
© 2016 H.S. Happy Star Games Ltd
All rights reserved
Published by G5 Entertainment AB
Other «Hidden City» books by Kyra Wheatley:
Lost in the Shadows (Book#1)
The Shades of Silence (Book #2)
Darkness Outside and In (Book #3)
The Reality of Dreams (Book #4)
Prisoners of the Mist (Book #5)
Are you the one to reveal the secret of Shadow City? Play Hidden City®: Mystery of Shadows to find out! Available on iOS, Google Play, Amazon, Windows, Mac.
Chapter One
As soon as Nicole stepped out of her apartment building, she spotted a blonde girl in a short leather jacket and blue jeans. The girl was running so fast, and she looked so alarmed, that Nicole immediately deduced that she was being chased.
It was balmy and quiet, and the sun was hidden behind a light gray haze over the roofs of the City. Feeling a burst of female solidarity, Nicole darted across the street so she could help the girl. She shouted, and the girl stopped. Breathing hard, the girl demanded, “Who are you?”
“IЇ” Nicole stammered, caught off guard by the question. “My name’s Nicole. What’s yours?”
“Valerie,” the girl exclaimed. “Are you new? Of course you’re new! When did you get here?”
She had a pleasant, guileless face. A huge key hung from her neck, and a wide leather bracelet with rivets encircled her right wrist. Nicole studied the girl. She looked completely ordinary, as if she came from the same time as Nicole. Her instincts told her that she could trust Valerie, that Valerie wouldn’t hurt her—except she herself had gotten into trouble, simply because of her temperament and carefree nature. Such girls always stumble into adventures.
“I haven’t been here long,” Nicole said. “Who’s chasing you?”
“Chasing?” Taken aback, Valerie jumped up and looked behind her. “Why would someone be chasing me? No one’s chasing me! What gave you that idea? I’m just—” She glanced at a small wristwatch. “Oh no, I’m late! I’m going to the store. It’s closing soon. Come on!”
Valerie grabbed Nicole by the elbow and dragged her down the street. Store? What store? Confused, Nicole hurried along with the girl.
“What kind of store?”
“Tiffany’s! It only opens once a month, for a half-hour in the morning, and there’s no other time when you can enter,” Valerie said. “You’re lucky you showed up at just the right time. Here it is!”
They reached an intersection. On the other side, there was indeed a store: a low, dark stone, Gothic building with two gargoyles perched on the gabled roof. One of the winged stone beasts, with a thorn crest on its head, was looking to the side, while the second one was staring, wide-eyed, directly at Nicole.
The sparkling ground-floor window was impossible to miss. Behind it, makeup kits were arranged on light-colored cloth, pearl beads hung from small tables that were elegantly draped in fabric, necklaces and earrings glimmered on stands, and potbellied perfume flasks gleamed faintly. Powder puffs, brushes, and other enticing baubles lay in artful disarray on a vanity table.
“It’s already open!” Valerie cried.
“You were running so fast, it was like devils were chasing you,” said Nicole, surprised. “But it’s just a cosmetics and trinket store. What’s going on, some sort of clearance sale?”
Valerie was indignant.
“Just a cosmetics and trinket store? There’s nothing like it left in the City! No lipstick, no perfume—you can’t find it anywhere anymore! Hurry up, or we won’t have time to look around.”
Nicole and Valerie crossed the intersection. The glass doors flew open with a tinkling sound, and the girls found themselves inside. There were no sales clerks or customers, only shelves of cosmetics and glass display cases filled with ornaments. The store smelled like a perfume factory. Soft music played. Looking around, Nicole asked, “Who opens the doors?”
Valerie made a helpless gesture.
“No one. Probably the City, or they open themselves.” She gestured toward an elegant oval clock over the doors. “It’s already 9:06. It’s closing in twenty-four minutes—for a whole month!”
Suddenly, Nicole started. She thought she saw a man standing in the depths of the store, but it was only a mannequin. He was frozen next to the half-open back door, as if he were inviting people to enter. The man was of medium height, dressed in a tuxedo and a white dress shirt with a bowtie. A watch chain was poking out of one vest pocket. One arm was stretched out in front of him. A cufflink shone on his sleeve, and on his wrist was a silver bracelet. The mannequin seemed oddly familiar to Nicole. She crept closer, passing the low shelves that were laden with cosmetics. There were products by Chanel and Gucci, but there were also unfamiliar brands, and some bottles looked old, as if they’d come from a museum.
“It’s Mr. Chuck!” Nicole thought, dumbfounded. She froze with her mouth hanging open. The mannequin was an exact copy of the manager from the Quarter Past Two office.
Valerie had already disappeared among the display cases and shelves. Nicole glanced into the gap in the open door that the mannequin was standing next to. A dark staircase descended sharply, and a moist chill floated up from the basement. She shivered and stepped away. She started to feel ill at ease—this mannequin didn’t inspire trust. In fact, you could say the opposite—it inspired distrust and scared her a bit. Farther down by the wall were another ten or so “Mr. Chucks” in different poses and wearing different clothing: one in shorts with a bright, flowered silk shirt, another in a suit with a double-breasted jacket, and a third in athletic wear.
“Valerie,” she called, looking around.
“Don’t distract me!” Valerie peeked out from behind the distant shelves. She was holding a purse and a paper bag stuffed with an assortment of items, yet she still managed to turn a tube of lipstick in her fingers. “Go pick out what you want. I’m busy. We need to hurry before they close.”
There was nowhere to put the “purchases.” Nicole didn’t carry a purse, even when she was at home, so she’d landed in the City without one. She actually preferred backpacks to all these elegant items, but she couldn’t exactly go to an interview with a backpack over her shoulders—that wouldn’t look professional.
“What will happen if we don’t get out before they close?” Nicole asked, slowly walking among the shelves.
“You’ll turn into a mannequin.”
“No way! Do you mean that all these mannequins—no, I don’t believe you!”
Nicole looked around like someone being hunted. The grotesque poses, the conceited faces that were so smooth they looked varnished . . .
“Not even that happens in the City,” Valerie answered. “Of course, it’s possible that these are urban myths, but in any case, there’s no other way out of the store. If you got stuck here for a whole month, what would you eat? People who stay in the store might not turn into mannequins, but they most certainly disappear.”
“What if we went out through the basement?” Nicole asked, stopping in front of a small display case showing off a few open wooden boxes lined with velvet. Such boxes usually held jewelry, but cosmetics were sold here, and what cosmetics! Expensive ones! Nicole never would have been able to indulge in anything like them. Truth be told, she really wasn’t very interested in makeup.
“No, I personally wouldn’t go down into the basement for anything.” Valerie was slipping another small bottle into the paper bag. “Did you look down there? It’s scary. There used to be a lot of mannequins here. For some reason, t
hey were all male. Why would there be male mannequins in a women’s store? There’s men’s cologne, but not much. Anyway, almost all of the mannequins disappeared, but I saw them in the basement once when I dared to go down. Well, I ran away immediately. Who brought them here? They just stand in rows, quietly watching. It’s creepy! I’m not looking down there anymore.”
Nicole was only half-listening. She was transfixed by a makeup kit that was modest compared to the other items and that was lying on the edge of the display case. It was a small box—cardboard, not wood—and it held eyeshadows and eyeliner.
And mascara. A little black tube with a gold ring and an unfamiliar logo was inlaid with tiny sequins. It was a circle with crisscrosses, and the straight lines extended slightly outside the circle. The sequins seemed to shine with a languid garnet color. There were indecipherable symbols running around the gold ring—like Arabic script. It was impossible to look away, and she wanted to pick the thing up. Nicole couldn’t stop herself from reaching out.
Valerie walked over, looked at her, and said in a conspiratorial tone, “If there’s something calling out to you, you need to take it. It’s something important, not something fake.”
Nicole picked up the mascara. The feel of the object seemed to send a spark through her body, and her fingers trembled slightly and she caught her breath. It was similar to when she found the hairpin at the Station, but this time, it was much stronger and the sensation was more striking. It was like touching some sort of marvel.
“What do you mean, ‘not something fake’?” she asked with fascination, unable to tear her eyes from the small black cylinder with the gold ring lying on her palm.
“Oh, you understand. I don’t really know how to explain it. As a rule, the mist often brings all sorts of things.”
“That’s what Gumshoe told me.”
“There you go. You can find truly exceptional things even among ordinary objects that you understand. They have all sorts of features . . . strange ones, even improbable ones. And if something’s chosen you, you’ll definitely feel it. Like right now.”
“But what’s special about it? It’s like any other mascara.”
“No, this is Mascara with a capital M! Such important things always start with a capital letter—you know? Tell me when you figure out what’s special about this Mascara. What exactly there is about it, you’ll understand later. Shoot, we’ve been babbling—it’s already twenty-nine past. Let’s run, or the doors will lock and we’ll have to stay here with these mannequins.”
Nicole started. She had the impression that the basement door had creaked. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that the plastic Mr. Chuck had changed position. Or was she seeing things? She gasped in horror. Her feet were rooted to the floor, but Valerie grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out. When they had jumped outside, the glass doors closed behind them with a quiet tinkle.
Nicole turned around. The window grew dim, as if it were covered in an age-old dust, and now, she couldn’t see if anything was happening in the store—or even if anything were happening at all. Nicole clutched the “Mascara with a big M”—the only thing she’d had time to take from the peculiar store.
They walked for a while down the street and then sat down on a stone bench to rest. Valerie started to rummage around in the purse and the paper bag, bragging about her loot. She chattered nonstop, her eyes shining and her cheeks flushed. The girl seemed like a light, carefree creation who didn’t know stress . . . and she was a bit annoying. Nicole listened for a while, but finally, she couldn’t hold back.
“But who do you put makeup on for here?” she asked.
“For yourself!” Valerie cried, sticking her snub nose in the air. She put on a pair of large earrings, took out a round mirror, and started to look at her reflection. Nicole smiled despite herself.
“But you understand that a woman washes for herself but makes herself pretty for men—to attract them, why else? Or other women, if she’s interested in them. Are there any nightclubs here?”
“Not really. There’s nothing here.” Valerie waved her arms in disappointment. “And we’re short on men. Gumshoe is too serious. He only thinks and talks about work and doesn’t pay attention to me. Train Attendant is kind of old, and he treats me like a father. He doesn’t take me seriously. Cardsharp is too flighty. It’s always hard to find him—he’s always rushing around somewhere.”
“Where are you from?” Nicole decided to change the subject.
Valerie became morose. “I’d rather not discuss it. I don’t like talking about it.”
She thrust her spoils back into her bag, and the girls stood up and slowly started down the street, enjoying the warm, dim sunlight and the quiet that comes with an early autumn day.
“Will you at least tell me how you got here?”
“I was at a dance.” Valerie pointed her nose in the air and took a breath. “They released some smoke. You know, a kind of fog from the stage where a band was performing. There was lots of fog piling up. I was dancing in it. There were people around me, and then I could only see silhouettes. The music was still playing. The spotlights were jerking around, and then, instead of people, there were shadows in the fog. They got farther and farther away from me. Suddenly, for some reason, I felt scared, and it was like I was alone. Things were rolling around—it was terrifying. And I could no longer see anyone. I went up to the stage. The music was getting more muffled and softer. The drummer was hitting the drums, but it was hard to hear. Bam! Bam! Then, instead of silhouettes, there were strange shadows thrashing around. I took a few more steps and came out from under the staircase in City Hall. It’s true,” she added, nodding at an amazed Nicole. “Instead of the drums, the clock was striking, you know? Have you seen the big clock over the staircase in the corner, the one with the pendulum? It was striking twelve. And a lamp was burning there, and bats were flitting around the lamp. It turns out that I had seen their shadows. So that’s how I ended up here. Through City Hall.”
“Have you been in the City long?”
Valerie sighed. “I can’t remember exactly. I live in a little house next to the Station. Train Attendant and I are friends. He—well, sometimes he helps me, and sometimes I cook for him when I’m bored. I like to cook. I also clean the room and car where he sleeps.”
Just then, they were passing a small cafe, and Valerie looked at the window. “I feel like eating something,” she said. “We need to get our hands on some food. How are you feeling?”
Nicole listened to her feelings and said, “I could really go for a cinnamon roll with a cappuccino and a little sandwich with cheese and a small olive. Just a small one. What do you say, should we go in?” She reached for the door handle.
The little cafe looked inviting. It would be interesting to find out what currency a restaurant in the City took. Or was everything free, like in Tiffany’s?
“I wasn’t talking about the cafe. We can’t go in there!” Valerie gasped and tried to hold her back, but the door was already opening, and Nicole stepped inside.
“Why can’t we? Come on in.”
Valerie backed away fearfully, blinking.
“No, I—how? It’s the Red Rose. It’s off limits!”
“But it’s open,” Nicole said with surprise. “What’s the problem? Is it dangerous?”
“No, it’s not dangerous, but . . . I won’t leave right away. First, I’ll watch you from outside.”
“OK, watch. Whatever you want.”
Nicole lingered, looking at Valerie’s frightened face, but since she was already ravenous, she found her resolve and stepped forward.
It was quiet, empty, and pleasant inside. Slanting rays of sunlight shone through the glass. Specks of dust swirled in them. It was not a large room. It held a counter, small wooden tables, and Viennese chairs with curved legs. Playing cards were spread out on one table. Another table held a saucer with an empty cup. A coat rack holding a jacket and a raincoat stood in the corner. Bottles gleamed on shelves at
the bar. A tray lay on the counter, and on the tray . . . Nicole slowly raised her eyebrows. The tray held a saucer with two fragrant cinnamon rolls, a white cup filled with cappuccino, and a little sandwich with cheese and a small olive. A silver fork and spoon rounded out the spread.
Nicole looked back and pointed to the counter and motioned: come here. Outside, Valerie stood stock-still, watching Nicole through the window. Nicole shrugged, picked up the tray, sat down, and attacked the food, hoping that this would at least make Valerie come inside. She didn’t doubt for a second that the food had been prepared especially for her. But by whom? Who had left the tray on the counter? It was as if someone in the Red Rose had heard her words and then whipped up the meal. The coffee was steaming, and the rolls were fresh out of the oven. Even the cheese on the sandwich was still soft. It was a miracle!
The delectable food calmed her. Nicole wiped her mouth with a napkin and looked around for the washroom. It seemed to be through a door to the left of the counter. She got up and headed toward it, leaving the remaining coffee on the table.
The washroom was clean, as if someone had just tidied it. Nicole looked in the mirror and remembered the mascara—or rather, the Mascara—that she had found in the store. Why not try it? She took out the little tube, unscrewed it, and made up her eyes precisely, if not exactly adeptly. She blinked. She started to screw the cap back on. There was a soft squeak, and she jumped. Minute, concentric waves were dispersing in the air from the place where the cap screwed onto the tube. They were semi-transparent—as if made of soft glass—and they sailed fluidly through the air and fell.
“What is this?” Nicole asked her reflection in the mirror over the sink.
She looked carefully at the Mascara from all angles and put it in her pocket. She put her hand on the edge of the sink. Bam! There was another wave, but now just one, a bigger one.
“Oh, my gosh!” Nicole moistened her lips, which had suddenly dried, and whispered, “What’s going on? Am I seeing sounds?”
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