Authors: Riley Clifford
Fireworks
UNLOCK A TOP SECRET FILE
ABOUT THE CAHILLS’ DEADLIEST ENEMY —
THE VESPERS
!
- The seven Rapid Fire stories each contain a fragment of a code. Collect the fragments in order to assemble a complete ten-digit code.
- Go to
www.the39clues.com
. - Click on “
My Cards
.” - Enter the ten-digit Rapid Fire code to unlock a digital card and Top Secret Vesper file!
The code fragment for this story is:
E
Are you ready to save the world?
Fifteen Months After the Clue Hunt
Amy Cahill’s alarm went off at five
A.M.
: another day, the same old drill. Flying classes. Defensive driving. Martial arts. Cross-training. Strength training. Weight training. Research. Language tutors. Logic tests that made SAT prep look like finger painting. She didn’t go to sleep at the end of the day — she crashed, too exhausted some nights even to switch off her bedside lamp. Technically, it was winter break, the day before New Year’s Eve, but it didn’t feel like a holiday to Amy.
How exactly did I become the head of the most powerful family in the world at only fifteen?
she asked herself for the umpteenth time. She’d been a regular girl until her grandmother Grace had died and used her will to kick off a worldwide hunt for 39 Clues safeguarding the source of the Cahills’ power. A hunt that Amy and her younger brother, Dan, had won. Sure, it sounded impressive, but mostly it meant days and days of fear, waiting for really bad things to happen. Knowing that really bad things
had
happened: Her parents had been murdered. And some very nasty people had tried to murder Amy and Dan.
She still couldn’t quite wrap her head around everything that had changed in only a year and a half. And just when Amy thought that maybe it was over, that maybe she and Dan could have a normal life, a new terror arrived to stalk the siblings. The Vespers. A criminal organization that wanted nothing less than world domination.
No
, she vowed,
not on my watch
.
Amy shook the dark thoughts away and climbed into the shower. The lavender soap she used reminded Amy of her grandmother. What would Grace do if she were alive? Would she go on the offensive instead of waiting for the next Vesper attack like her coward of a granddaughter? Amy had rebuilt Grace’s mansion, which had burned down in the Clue hunt. She’d allocated funds to help Cahills in need. She and Dan had traveled to faraway places and invested in expensive technology like the command center on the third floor of the mansion, all in a desperate attempt to find any information on the Vespers. But Grace had wisdom, the love of a good fight, and an unstoppable spirit. Grace was a natural. No matter how hard Amy trained and worked, there was no way she could measure up.
Amy threw on workout clothes and pulled her hair back.
Another day, another threat to the world. If only Grace were alive —
Amy wasn’t cut out for this.
“All right, Amy, let me have it!” Sinead Starling, Amy’s cousin, shouted, hopping back and forth on her toes and holding up two black pads for Amy to punch. Sinead had just finished her boxing session, and now it was Amy’s turn.
They were in the basement gym — weight-lifting machines, cardio, and the boxing studio off to one side. There were wall-to-wall mirrors, springy mats, bins of gloves and tape and pads. For Amy and Sinead, being able to land a right hook once in a while, and, even more important, knowing how to duck one, was crucial.
Amy taped up her knuckles, weaving in and out of her fingers, and strapped on the gloves. She shielded her eyes with her big gloves, like mitts, and began to rock back and forth, hitting each of Sinead’s pads in a one-two combination.
“That’s it?” Sinead asked, and they began to circle each other, like animals sniffing for the alpha. Sinead did a slow swing over the top of Amy’s head, her red hair bouncing out behind her, and Amy ducked out of the way. She jabbed at the pads a few more times.
“Harder,” Sinead said, pushing back with each of Amy’s punches.
Amy hit harder.
“Now uppercut, elbow jab. One-one-two. Come on, Amy, whose side are you on?”
Amy threw harder. She ducked out of the way of an incoming blow. Her arms felt unfastened. Her legs may as well have been trudging through swamps. Her lungs weren’t pulling down enough oxygen — Amy was out of breath before the tough part of her training had even started. The endless, endless training that would never be enough.
“I’m hitting as hard as I can!” Amy yelled back.
“Okay, stop,” Sinead said. Amy stopped. “Look. I know we’ve seen some hard things,” she began.
You were part of it
, Amy wanted to say, but she was breathing too hard.
“I want you to close your eyes, and remember it. In your head. Just relive it for a second.”
Amy closed her eyes and steeled herself to go back to the dark places. To the smell of the flames that burned down her parents’ town house. The crippling pain that had twisted through her, knowing that her parents were inside and she was outside and there was nothing she could do about it.
Amy’s lip was quivering. Once buried in the worst of it, it was hard to reemerge on the other side. “Now,” Sinead said, “I want you to imagine you have thirty seconds to get the person responsible for all of it. If you could give them just a piece of what you are feeling with your fists, what would your fists say?”
Amy landed her hardest blow of the day. A big pop in the center of the black pad.
“Not bad,” Sinead said. “What else?”
Amy let her shoulder rear back. Tired?
Big deal.
No Grace and dead parents?
Suck it up.
Skiing down a mountain with a killer breathing down your neck? Amy landed one combination punch, and then another, and then another, one-two-one-two-one-two-one, fast, faster, the fastest she’d ever gone and the hardest, her arms gaining energy with each impact. The fists balled up in her gloves kept hitting glorious smacks in the center of the pad.
Her arms no longer felt part of her body; it was like they had their own motor, taking off, gaining momentum, rocketing away.
She didn’t notice when she started crying, but there they were, tears dripping on her T-shirt, burning her eyes along with the sweat sliding down her face. And still she kept punching, because it was one of the rare times she’d let herself feel. She was scared: She could have died. Her brother could have died. And now here she was.
Sinead lowered her pads. “Well said,” Sinead said softly, and squeezed Amy’s shoulder. “I think that’s enough for today.”
But it would never be enough. Only Amy and Dan knew about the Vespers. Only they understood the evil the Cahills were up against.
“Hey, kiddos,” Nellie said, peeking her head into the studio. Nellie was Amy’s au pair, but she’d become more like an older sister. “There you are! Time for dinner. I made frog-leg enchiladas,” she said, her smile fading as she took in Amy’s wet-rat appearance and tear-streaked face. “Hey, you okay?”
Amy wiped her forehead with her shirt, took a cold sip of water, and put the bottle down.
“I am. I’m actually okay,” Amy said.
Dan Cahill had been planning the joyride for months.
The regimens Amy tried to push on him every day — the exercise, crash courses: What was even the point? And he couldn’t make himself care about seventh-grade tests and homework anymore, or hockey tryouts, not after what he’d seen. What was algebra when you’d been the target of death threats? Dan didn’t want to be chased and hunted, but since he’d been back home, everything felt like it was coming through in black-and-white instead of color.
Enter the midnight joyride.
Technically, he was thirteen, which meant what he was about to do was not exactly legal. But he’d already driven before, in St. Petersburg. Now he was willing to admit he’d been awful at it, but the one lesson he’d accepted since then from Amy was defensive driving.
A little ride through the back roads would be his shot of Technicolor. He would definitely tell his cousin Jonah about it, after it was over. He already knew exactly which car he had in mind — Grace’s mint green 1969 Ford Mustang, in perfect condition. Even though nobody drove it anymore, Dan waxed it once in a while, just to see it shine. In the glove compartment, he’d found a pair of Grace’s leather driving gloves that still carried the scent of her perfume, even more than a year later.
Gentlemen
, Dan thought as he put the key into the ignition,
start your engines.
Dan always won the races in video arcades, but this time he was racing himself. As if he could work up enough speed to travel back and undo all the bad stuff that had happened.
Dan pulled the seat up so that he could be close enough for a firm grip on the wheel, but far enough away to lightly drape his arm over it, like dudes in music videos. He checked his mirrors, put the car in reverse, and pulled out of the garage onto the driveway.
Sweet!
he thought. Even Amy would have to admit his driving had improved. He was a pro.
Dan fiddled with the old-timey radio dial until he found a rap station. It would be a good sign if Jonah came on the radio right then, hammering out his latest platinum single. Dan turned up the volume knob as high as it would go. Nellie would be asleep. There was no way Uncle Fiske or Amy could hear him when he was all the way down on the driveway. The mansion was too big, the roads too wide.
It was a clear, cold night, and the moon cut like a wafer. Dan cranked down the top of the convertible so he could get the full effect — the wind in his hair, tires giddyupping to life on the icy driveway. To counter the cold air, he blasted heat from the old vents. The Mustang drove smoothly for such an old car, and the wheel felt good in his hands; his foot on the gas, he was in control.
Buckle up
, Dan told himself,
you’re in for a wild ride.
At the end of the long, long driveway leading away from the mansion toward the road, the gate opened slowly, slowly. The wheels skidded slightly on the ice from the recent storm.
He turned the wheel arm over arm in a laid-back, chill kind of way, as if he’d been doing this his whole life. The Mustang made a right turn. Then, when he was headed away from the mansion, he pushed the gas pedal until he could hear the car start to roar. He shifted up into second, grateful that his instructor had taught him how to drive a stick. The roads were empty, there was nobody awake or around for miles, and Dan pressed his foot down hard on the accelerator. Third gear.
Time to see what this baby can do.
The road ahead curved sharply. Dan knew he was supposed to slow down before going into the turn, but he sped up to fourth gear instead, taking the turn at the last possible moment, the car fishtailing to the other side of the street before Dan could straighten out. The car righted itself, sliding only slightly on the ice, and Dan laughed out loud. He could take down anything. Faster. Fifth.
There
, he said to the road,
you like that?