The Empress's Tomb (7 page)

“The Swiss had been using oxytocin, a hormone
secreted by the pituitary gland, which functions as a neurotransmitter …,” DeeDee began.

“Could you try speaking English?” I asked.

“Sure.” DeeDee grinned. “For those of you who prefer to sleep through biology class, oxytocin is a chemical in our bodies that helps us bond with other people. It's part of what helps us fall in love. But in small doses, it makes you trust the people around you. For instance, oxytocin is one of the reasons that girls like to gossip and swap secrets. It's good stuff. We didn't need to change the Swiss formula; we just made it a little more powerful. That's how we came up with Fille Fiable.

“We tested our first batch at a movie theater down the street. There were only R-rated movies playing, and I thought we might be able to convince the people at the ticket counter that Iris was seventeen. It wasn't the best idea I've ever had. The woman selling tickets was behind two inches of glass and she couldn't smell the perfume. But the people standing in line behind us were so outraged when we couldn't get in that they demanded to see the manager.”

“They were
soooo
nice.” Iris was starting to enjoy the presentation again.

“They got banned from the theater,” said DeeDee. “Iris and I had to book it before the perfume wore off and they figured out they were fighting to let an eleven-year-old watch a dirty movie.”

Iris jumped in. “But then I came up with another way to test the perfume. My dad once told me that there are hundreds of dinosaurs in the basement of the Museum of Natural History that nobody ever gets to see. So
DeeDee and I talked one of the security guards into taking us on a tour.”

“It's a little more complicated than that,” DeeDee explained. “You've got to be careful with the formula. You can't just make up something that's one hundred percent unbelievable. We couldn't tell the guard that we were visiting paleontology professors or anything, so we came up with something a little more realistic. We told him that Iris's father was doing research in the dinosaur archives and that we needed to let him know that Iris's mom was about to have a baby.”

“We said his cell phone was turned off,” Iris added.

“It worked perfectly. The guard took us through the whole basement. Iris was right. I couldn't believe what they have stored down there. We saw bones that I swear didn't come from any Earth creature
I've
ever read about. Of course, we had to keep reapplying our Fille Fiable every time the guard turned his back. When we were about to run out, Iris pretended to get a text message that said her dad was already on his way to the hospital.”

“Smart.” Kiki nodded with approval.

“So what's the stuff in the other bottle?” I asked.

Iris held up the crystal vial. Its amber contents shimmered in the light. “This is
Eau Irresistible.
Our second masterpiece.”

“We realized that with a few tweaks, our potion might have other uses,” said DeeDee. “We haven't tested it yet, but if our calculations are correct, it should live up to its name.”

“It's a love potion? Go ahead and spray a little here,” Betty offered, holding out her arm.

DeeDee shook her head. “I don't think that's a good idea. Like I said, we haven't tested it yet.”

“You've got to start somewhere,” said Luz. “Betty looks like a pretty good guinea pig to me.”

“Okay, Betty, but don't come complaining to me if you start sprouting hair in weird places,” DeeDee warned.

“Why would I complain about that? Do you know how much a convincing fake mustache costs these days? I'm ready when you are, Iris.”

Iris removed the bottle's atomizer and passed it to Betty. “I don't think you should have a full spritz. DeeDee was kidding about the hair, but it might cause a rash.”

Betty dabbed a little Eau Irresistible on her wrist and inhaled. “Wow. Smells like feet. Let's see if it works.” She turned to Luz and batted her false eyelashes. “Do you find me irresistible?” she asked in a sultry voice.

Luz leaned toward Betty, as if drawn in by the scent of the perfume.

“You know, Betty, I've never met anyone so completely …” Luz paused as if searching for the right word. “Resistible.”

The rest of us laughed and Betty shrugged.

“It was worth a try, right? All in the name of science.”

“Maybe it works only on the opposite sex,” said DeeDee. “Or maybe you didn't put enough on. We'll have to do some tests before we know for sure.”

Iris stepped toward Betty to retrieve the bottle of Eau Irresistible when her foot caught the edge of DeeDee's rug. Seeing Iris lurch toward her, Betty leaned back too far and her chair toppled over. Kiki snatched the bottle of perfume, but not before most of the contents had
spilled. Betty looked up in shock, her red wig drenched with perfume, as the smell of feet filled the room. Iris watched, petrified, as DeeDee grabbed the hair off of Betty's head and flung it into a corner. Then she dragged Betty to the bathroom and threw her into the shower fully clothed.

“Rinse off as much of it as you can while you still have your clothes on,” we heard her instruct. “Then go ahead and take a shower. There are towels in the cabinet. I'll bring you something to wear.”

“I'm so sorry!” cried Iris as DeeDee closed the door of the bathroom and returned to the lab.

“Accidents happen,” DeeDee mumbled as she ransacked her closet for clean clothes.

Iris ran to the bathroom door. “I'm sorry, Betty!” she called through the crack.

“What about the rest of us?” Luz moaned. “It smells like a giant sweat sock in here.”

“I'll open the windows,” I said, pinching my nose.

“You know, DeeDee, I don't think applying more of the stuff is going to make it work any better,” Kiki informed our host. “Nobody in this room seems very appealing right now.”

“Yeah,” DeeDee admitted. “I think it's back to the drawing board with Eau Irresistible.”

•     •     •

Ten minutes later, Betty emerged from the bathroom and took a seat next to a miserable Iris. She was wearing a chemistry club T-shirt and a pair of DeeDee's jeans, which were three inches too short and covered with
green blotches. Despite her unflattering outfit, it was a little unnerving to see Betty out of disguise. Beneath all the makeup and rubber noses, she was remarkably pretty.

“I thought your presentation was fascinating,” she said, more concerned about Iris than herself. “Don't worry about me.”

“You still stink a little,” sniffled Iris. “It might last a couple of days.”

“I don't mind. I've got a new garbage collector's uniform I've been dying to try out,” said Betty. “You can learn all sorts of interesting stuff by going through people's trash. The smell should make the disguise more convincing.”

“That's true,” said Iris, perking up a little. She handed Betty a plastic bag. “Luz was going to throw your wig out the window, but I know it's your favorite, so I saved it. But you might want to wash it before you wear it again.”

“Or burn it,” said Luz. “Are we done here? I told my mom I'd be home by eight.”

“Not yet,” Kiki said. “Take a seat. There are a couple more things on the agenda.”

“Is this about the squirrel attacks?” Betty wondered.

“You've heard about them?” I asked.

“Sure. A girl at school had her wallet stolen. Everybody was talking about it.”

“Yeah, some kid was mugged in Morningside Park yesterday,” Luz added. “And a giant squirrel popped up on the window of my friend's cousin's dog grooming shop the other night. Those rodents are getting to be a real menace.”

“We'll look into the squirrel issue later,” said Kiki.
“We've got bigger problems right now. Ananka, you want to tell them?”

“Someone's been inside the Shadow City. Kiki and I were down there last night. First we found one of the doors with a red cross standing open, and then we discovered this.” When I held up the Chinese statue, I saw three girls grimace. They knew it meant trouble, and only Iris seemed prepared for the next adventure to begin.

“Could it be the Fu-Tsang?” Betty asked. Thanks to Sidonia Galatzina, the gang of Chinese smugglers had made it into the Shadow City once before. “Don't they smuggle stuff like that?”

“I doubt it's the Fu-Tsang,” said Kiki. “Most of them are in jail. The rest are probably too scared of the rats to go back to the tunnels. Three of them
did
get eaten last time.”

“Then who do you think it could be?” asked Luz.

“We don't know,” I admitted. “We don't even know how they got inside.”

“But we have to find out,” Kiki said. “Anyone have any ideas?”

“I have some motion detectors I just made,” said Luz. “I was going to use them to keep my sisters from snooping through my workshop, but I guess that can wait. I'll have to make a few more, but it shouldn't take very long.”

“When could they be ready?” asked Kiki.

“If I stay up late, I could have everything done by tomorrow. But there's one thing I'm gonna need.”

“What?”

“If we want to put the motion detectors in all the right places,” said Luz, “I'm going to need the map of the Shadow City.”

I shuddered when she said it. All summer, I had taken sole responsibility for protecting the map. After all, there were only two copies left in the world. The first unfinished map was on a disk stolen by Sidonia Galatzina. The second was a single sheet of paper that I usually kept tucked away between the pages of
Glimpses of Gotham.
There were no other copies, no more computer files. After everything that had happened, the Irregulars couldn't risk letting the final version fall into the wrong hands. I've never claimed to possess psychic powers, but the moment the map was no longer in my possession, I knew we were all in trouble.

Several years ago, a mysterious British man began supplying London's journalists with embarrassing stories about the private lives of famous people—and no one could figure out where he'd gotten the information. Many suggested he was hacking into celebrities' computers or staking out their homes with fancy cameras and listening devices. The truth was far… dirtier. All of the scoops came from one low-tech source—the trash.

In the United States, your trash is public property. As soon as you set it out on the curb, anyone is welcome to have a look. It's a treasure trove of information for detectives, journalists, parents, and criminals who have no qualms about picking through your banana peels and used tissues to find what they're after. Just one bag of garbage may reveal the following:

Be careful when throwing out any documents that list bank account or credit card numbers unless you're willing to foot the bill for a stranger's Las Vegas vacation or her calls to the psychic hotline.

One cell phone bill will give a snoop a full list of the calls you've made or received for an entire month. So be careful who you talk to—or shred your bill before it hits the Dumpster.

Been swapping notes with your friend's crush? Did your grandmother foolishly ignore the advice of the witness protection program and send you a birthday card? Have you been doodling unflattering pictures of your loathsome math teacher? Dump them properly, or be prepared to pay the price.

If you're a star student, this may not be your biggest concern. But if your test scores reveal you've been spending way too much time exploring noneducational sites on the Internet, you might want to dispose of the evidence in a discreet manner.

Any outspoken vegetarian who enjoys a secret hamburger from time to time—or health nut who harbors a forbidden love of Twinkies—should keep in mind that one look through her garbage can reveal all of her weaknesses.

You know what they are. Would you care to share them with others?

Countless items in your trash—receipts, shopping bags, airline tickets, surgical dressings—can help someone piece together your activities. Toss them only if you've been on your best behavior.

For the first time in weeks, I was tucked into bed at a reasonable hour, but no matter how many pigeons I counted (I wasn't that familiar with sheep), I couldn't fall asleep. Oona was angry, Kiki was worried, squirrels were attacking innocent park-goers, and someone was inside the Shadow City. But worst of all, the map was in Luz's hands—and out of my control.

The next morning, I practically sleepwalked to school. By the start of first period, I had already left my geometry book on the subway, injured my pelvis by walking into a parking meter, and forgotten to turn off my cell phone. Just as I began to drift off in the middle of Mr. Dedly's lecture on Dutch wall construction, it began playing the theme from
Jaws.
Cell phones were forbidden at the Atalanta School, and I would have rather been caught with a dead body in my locker than a ringing phone in my hand. I winced as every head in the classroom turned toward the purse that was hanging from my chair.

“Out, Ananka,” Mr. Dedly bellowed. “Deliver your musical handbag to the principal's office immediately.”

A girl named Petra Dubois had the nerve to snicker as I stood up.