The Empress's Tomb

by Kirsten Miller

  The address Luz had given us belonged to an old office building near Madison Square Park. Oona and I stood in front of it with our heads tilted back at an uncomfortable angle. The overcast sky hid the top of the structure from view.

  “Are you sure this is it?” asked Oona. “I was expecting something a little more …”

  “Mysterious?” I offered as the clouds thinned and we caught a glimpse of the upper floors. On top of the otherwise ordinary building sat a penthouse designed to resemble an ancient Greek temple. A wisp of smoke from a nearby chimney weaved between the sturdy stone columns that supported the structure. Painted on the triangular pediment beneath the building’s roof, a single green eye looked out over Manhattan.

  “Is that what you had in mind?” I asked.

  “Pretty much,” murmured Oona.

  Inside the lobby, we scanned a list of the building’s businesses. Tucked between Norton’s Custom Taxidermy and the Proctology Association of Manhattan was Oskar Phinuit, Liaison to the Spirit World.

  “Looks like we’re going to the penthouse.” I felt a pleasant twinge of excitement in my belly. Oona merely looked nauseous.

  • • •

  An old-fashioned elevator delivered us to the twenty-fifth floor. Tall windows lit a room that was empty but for a single desk. Behind it sat an elderly woman wearing a tweed suit that must have been purchased before the Second World War. The waves in her ebony hair looked hard to the touch, and the bud of a black rose was pinned to her lapel.

  “We bought two dozen chocolate bars from your schoolmates yesterday.” She spoke in the clipped, crisp voice of a 1940s movie star. “Come back tomorrow. We may have need for more then.”

  “We’re not here to sell candy.” I felt a little annoyed. At certain times of the year, it was hard to go anywhere in the city without adults expecting you to force chocolate on them. “We have an appointment with Mr. Phinuit.”

  “Monsieur Phinuit, if you please. And your name is …”

  “The appointment is for my friend. Her name is Oona Wong.”

  “I see.” The woman peered over the rims of her glasses. “Does Oona Wong speak?”

  “Too much.” My joke landed with a thud. “She’s just a little nervous,” I added.

  “In that case, please come forward.” The woman retrieved a clipboard from a desk drawer.

  “Oona would like to reach—”

  “No, no, no!” The woman wagged a finger at me. “Don’t tell me. And for heaven’s sake, don’t tell Monsieur Phinuit. If the person you’re trying to contact would like to be reached, Monsieur Phinuit will know. Now, there are a few questions I must ask you. Are either of you prone to fainting?”

  We both shook our heads.

  “Do you have any imaginary friends or hear voices in your head? Good. Are you currently taking any medication or abusing any controlled substances? Good. Have you visited a medium in the past? No? That’s fine. Have you ever had a near-death experience in which you saw a bright light at the end of a tunnel? No? Well, I suppose you’re both still young. Last question. Did you happen to bring any food with you? No? Excellent. It would interfere with Monsieur Phinuit’s ability to concentrate.”

  She made a few notes on her clipboard and shoved it back inside its drawer.

  “Please follow me, and I will take you to Monsieur Phinuit. Remember, it’s important that you speak as little as possible. Answer any questions he may ask, but do not volunteer any information.” The receptionist rose from her chair and with one quick yank, straightened her long, tight skirt. She moved quickly across the wooden floorboards in impossibly tiny steps and stopped in front of the room’s only door.

  “May you reach the other side,” she said.

  • • •

  Beyond the door lay a larger room. Three of its walls were entirely glass, and for a moment, I experienced the sensation of floating in space. A dense, gray fog pressed against the windows, swirling and churning. What appeared to be faces and figures formed in the clouds but dissolved before my brain could make sense of them. My ears detected a faint hiss—the sound of a crowd whispering in the distance.

  “Bonjour.” Near the far windows, an enormous man filled a wooden chair big enough to serve as a park bench. “Please. Come closer.” As we obeyed his command, a weak beam of sunshine briefly pierced the fog, and Oskar Phinuit’s black suit shimmered like snakeskin. His dainty hands rested on top of his spectacular stomach, and the emerald ring on his left pinky rose and fell with his breath. His face wore an oddly sated expression, like a python that’s devoured an entire sheep. I wondered if he had eaten everything in the room.

  “Have a seat.” He motioned to two metal folding chairs positioned in front of him. “I apologize if you find my furniture uncomfortable. I must keep my surroundings free of clutter. Even ordinary objects emit psychic signals that can interfere with my ability to channel the spirit world.”

  Recalling the receptionist’s warning, Oona and I took our seats silently. Oskar Phinuit examined us with two green eyes that floated like olives in a sea of pasty flesh.

  “May I be so rude as to ask your age?”

  “Fourteen.” I would have preferred to add a few years, but it’s best to be honest when dealing with psychics.

  Oskar’s eyes opened and shut in one lazy blink. The rest of him remained motionless. “And you would like to talk to the dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see. That may be difficult to achieve. Most children have not lived long enough to forge many contacts in the spirit world. It would be far easier to tell you about your past lives. After all, it was not so long ago that you both were enjoying other existences. Your friend, I believe, was a woman of high standing. You may have known each other.”

  The last thing I needed was to hear that I had been Oona’s maid in a previous life.

  “That would be fascinating, I’m sure, but my friend needs to reach someone.”

  “Didn’t my secretary tell you? It makes no difference if the young lady is trying to reach the dead. We must see if they are trying to reach her.”

  “She thinks she’s already been contacted—by the person’s ghost.”

  “Oh? She’s seen a ghost, has she?” Oskar’s mouth opened to release a breathy chuckle, and I was unnerved to see no evidence of teeth. “Let me guess. It wasn’t the best-behaved spirit. It threw things, didn’t it? Made a bit of a mess?”

  At last Oona spoke. “How did you know?”

  “Poltergeists—noisy ghosts—often appear in the presence of girls your age. For some reason, they aren’t quite as interested in boys or adults. No one knows why. Some of my colleagues claim that the troublesome spirits are mere hoaxes—naughty little girls teaching their elders a lesson. But I am of a different opinion. It is my belief that adolescence is a time of great power. It may be that the spirits flock to feast on that energy. Or perhaps poltergeists are powers inside of the girls that have yet to be harnessed.”

  “You’re saying that Oona could be causing the haunting?”

  “It is within the realm of possibility. But before we draw too many conclusions, let’s see if there is indeed a spirit on the other side who would like to speak with your friend.” Oskar’s eyes rolled back and his head fell forward until it rested on his multiple chins. “There is someone here with us.” Oskar’s voice was garbled, and I wondered if he was finding it difficult to breathe. Behind him, the clouds pressed against the windows as if we were racing through the sky. “A lovely woman of Asian decent. She died many years ago, but she has not found peace.” I glanced over at Oona, who was sitting bolt upright in her chair. “She insists that you change your laundry detergent.”

  “Are you kidding? Laundry detergent?” Oona muttered.

  “Silence!” Oskar roared. “The spirits say what they need to say. Umm-humm? Umm-humm. She wants you to know that you are not alone. Someone is always listening.”

  Oona leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Do you think this spirit writes
for Hallmark?”

  “Oona, shut up,” I mouthed, hoping Oskar hadn’t heard her.

  “There’s something more,” he continued. “You have found yourself faced with a decision. You must choose what to keep and what to let go. If you choose wisely, you will have everything you’ve always desired.”

  Oona was serious once more. “Can the ghost tell me about my father? Does he really want me as his daughter, or is he trying to lure me into a trap?”

  A deep crevice appeared in the fat on Oskar’s forehead as he concentrated. “The message is not entirely clear,” he said. “The spirit says that you must not look to your father for answers. You will find them only inside yourself. The time has come for you to grow up and do your duty. When you accept someone’s love, you accept a great responsibility. Now the spirit is fading. She has said her piece.”

  “That’s it?” Oona couldn’t believe it.

  “Wait a moment. There’s another spirit entering the room. An older woman with dark glasses. I believe she may be blind. She has a message for the other girl in the room.”

  “Really?” I blurted. My great-aunt Beatrice had met her end in August shortly after entering the record books as the first sight-impaired senior citizen to reach the summit of Mount Everest. Later that month, two climbers had come across her corpse sitting upright in the snow, a radiant smile on her frozen lips.

  “She says you should be doing your homework,” Oskar announced. “Wait a moment. I suspect she may be joking. It’s very difficult to tell with the dead sometimes. She wants you to know that the answer to your dilemma lies under the temple. Now she, too, has vanished.” Oskar’s eyes rolled down and he blinked rapidly as they adjusted to the light. “The spirits are fickle today. At times they’ll ramble for hours and hours. Other days, it’s a merely a word or two. Did you hear what you needed to hear?”

  “Maybe.” Oona’s voice lacked emotion.

  “Thank you for your time,” I said as Oona bolted for the door.

  • • •

  As soon as we were in the elevator, Oona grasped my wrists like a castaway clutching a life preserver.

  “We have to go the Shadow City,” she insisted.

  “You mean right now?” Her grip was tight enough to leave bruises, but I managed to wriggle free.

  “I need to know if my father’s behind the kidnappings. We’ve got to get Kiki and take Yu down to the tunnels. Maybe he can lead us to the other kids.”

  “Oona, Yu’s still weak. And Kiki won’t be able to come. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but Verushka may be dying. Kiki needs to stay with her.”

  The doors of the elevator slid open, and I stepped out, but Oona didn’t budge.

  “Verushka’s dying?” she uttered as the doors began to close. I shoved my arm between them and received a painful pinch before they opened once more.

  “The bullet in her leg was poisoned.”

  “We’ve got to get Mrs. Fei over to their house right now! She’ll know how to save her.”

  “Kiki’s already hired a doctor. He’s got the personality of a Gila monster, but he’s supposed to be good.”

  Oona’s breathing began to sputter and her eyes wouldn’t settle. “Oh my God!” she wailed. “Everything’s falling apart!” I suddenly realized why Verushka had kept her sickness a secret. I’d just pushed Oona over the edge.

  “Calm down,” I urged, feeling a little panicked myself. “There’s still a chance that Verushka could recover. And you having a nervous breakdown isn’t going to help anyone.”

  “But what should I do? I don’t know if my father wants to spoil me or kill me, and now some porky medium tells me I have to do my duty? What if Lester Liu hasn’t gone legit? What if he did kidnap those kids? Am I still supposed to play his doting daughter? Do I owe him something just because we’re related?”

  “Are you sure that’s what the spirit was trying to say? It was all a little confusing, if you ask me.”

  “My mother’s ghost said that if I made the right choice, I’d have everything I ever desired. Don’t you think that means I should accept Lester Liu’s offer?”

  I hoped not. If Lester Liu gave Oona everything she desired, what would that mean for the Irregulars?

  “I think she said that you should already know what to do.”

  “Well, I don’t. Who knows—maybe Oskar Phinuit made the whole thing up. Some of that stale old mumbo jumbo could have come straight from a fortune cookie. And that stuff about the laundry detergent—what was that about?”

  “I don’t know, Oona, but I think you should listen to what he said. The second spirit did sound a lot like my great-aunt Beatrice.”

  “Yeah, and the answer to all your problems lies under the temple. Where’s the answer to my problems? It’s not in the detergent aisle at the grocery store, I know that much for sure. Please, Ananka. Can we just have a quick look around the Shadow City?”

  I checked the clock on my cell phone. At eleven thirty I’d told my mother I’d be gone for two hours, and now it was almost four o’clock.

  “All right, Oona. Let’s go back to the salon. If Yu is feeling up to it, we’ll take him down to the tunnels.”

  “Thank you.” Oona sighed with relief. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever heard her use those two words before.

  • • •

  Betty and DeeDee pounced on us as soon as we entered the Golden Lotus.

  “I’m so glad you’re back!” Betty couldn’t stand still. She had been pacing the floor and was finding it difficult to stop.

  “Where’s Yu?” asked Oona, barreling past her.

  “He was working too hard,” DeeDee explained, as Oona frantically checked the waxing rooms. “He nearly fainted. Luz took him home in a cab.”

  “Oona, come back,” Betty called. “Something’s happened.” It was then that I nearly sat on a Malaysian giant squirrel that had curled up in one of the manicurists’ chairs.

  “Did he come to pick you up for your date?” I teased.

  “What’s that thing doing here?” Oona snapped. “This isn’t a zoo. Get your boyfriend’s beast out of my salon.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend. Would you listen? I’m trying to tell you something. The squirrel snuck through the door while we were helping Yu into the taxi. It came to deliver this.”

  Betty handed me a scrap of paper that was still damp with squirrel spit. On it were written the first few lines of a love letter that ended abruptly with one scrawled word: Help.

  “I think Kaspar’s in trouble,” said Betty. “The squirrel won’t leave. We’ve tried to let him out, but he won’t go.”

  “Squirrel boy lives in Central Park. If he didn’t know how to take care of himself he’d be buried with all the John Does on Hart Island by now,” said Oona dismis-sively. “He’s probably just trying to get your attention. It doesn’t matter, anyway. We don’t have time to worry about him right now. I need your help.”

  “Oona,” I said in my most soothing tone. “We’ve got to look into this right away. We can go to the Shadow City later. Yu isn’t even here. What do you expect us to do?”

  “I expect you to get your priorities straight. Who’s more important, Ananka? Me or some kid who let a bunch of squirrels attack Luz?”

  “Of course you’re more important,” DeeDee tried to explain. “And if you were in trouble, we’d drop everything. But if your problem can wait for a little while, we’ve got to help Kaspar.”

  Oona’s energy disappeared in an instant. “Whatever. Do what you want. What good are you guys, anyway? You’re never around when I need you. Kiki doesn’t even show up half the time, and the rest of you are more interested in a kid you barely know. So go ahead, get out of my salon.”

  “You’re kicking us out?” Betty muttered in disbelief. “You’re not going to help us find Kaspar?”

  “I’ve got my own problems,” Oona announced, stomping toward her office. On the wall behind her desk, the mural of the Irregulars was almost complete. “I’ve alwa
ys had to do things on my own, and I guess I always will.” With that, Oona slammed the door. Betty, DeeDee, and I traded incredulous glances.

  “Impressive temper tantrum,” said DeeDee.

  “She’s just stressed out,” I replied. “She’ll come around.”

  “Always the optimist.” DeeDee didn’t believe it for a minute.

  • • •

  Our first stop was Central Park. Not far from Lester Liu’s mansion we heard someone sobbing. The noise appeared to be emanating from an azalea bush the size of a MINI Cooper. I peeked between the branches and found Kaspar’s friend Howard Van Dyke huddled in the hollowed-out center of the bush, cuddling a plump, red-feathered chicken. Curled up next to him were two giant squirrels and a kitten. Howard’s tears stopped when he saw me.

  “Have you come to take me away?” he asked, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his jacket.

  “No, Howard. It’s me, Ananka. Kaspar introduced us, remember?”

  “Oh yes!” Howard was suddenly cheerful. “This is April,” he said, holding up the chicken. “She’s the only friend I have left. I saved her from an evil chef at Tavern on the Green, and we’ve pledged eternal friendship.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, April,” I said, trying to sound social. “Howard, have you seen Kaspar lately?”

  Howard began to cry again. His chicken squawked when he hugged it to his chest.

  “Kaspar’s gone. They’ve taken him back to his cage.”

  “What do you mean? Can you remember who took him?”

  Howard thought for a moment. “I remember … I remember this morning we were eating beans right over there.”

  “Okay, that’s a good start. Do you remember anything else?”

  “I remember a man with shiny hair. He was wearing one of my old suits.”

  My hope faded a little. “How did he get one of your old suits?”