Amanda Lester and the Black Shadow Terror Read online

  “You mean you want Ramon, that fraud?” said Hugh.

  “Yes, but I’m not a hundred percent certain he is a fraud,” said Blixus.

  “You’re kidding,” said Hugh.

  “Nope,” said Blixus.

  “But there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

  “Probably not,” said his father, “But what if there are? Would you want to miss out on the opportunity to exert all that power?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then do as I say. We’re going to get that kid to contact my brother—if there really are ghosts—and enlist his assistance.”

  Hugh couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Blixus had always been the world’s biggest skeptic. To think that he might now be entertaining the idea that ghosts were real, well it was just too much. Unless he was trying to trick him. Maybe that was the point of the test. Well then let him try. He’d see what his son was made of.

  He did like the idea of kidnapping that weird kid. It would be fun to show him a thing or two, make him understand who was boss. Then, if Ramon ever got back to Legatum, which was doubtful, he could carry the message that Hugh Moriarty was not to be toyed with. He laughed inside at the prospect.

  “I see what you’re saying,” he lied. “I’ll get started right away.”

  Blixus smiled. “That’s my boy.”

  The best way to catch a ghost hunter was with a ghost, so Hugh decided he'd rig one up. With his skills it would be a cinch. He didn't think it mattered what kind of a ghost it was. All Splunk would be looking for was any signs of a woo-woo presence. So a few moans, some electric energy, maybe a bit of evanescence, and he’d be hooked. Then he and Blixus could pounce. Easy peasy.

  With all the chaos surrounding Legatum's move to the new campus, it would be a snap to bypass security, especially since he had blitzed the detectives with all those glitches. He threw together a quick program and set it to go off in the middle of the night, when ghosts were most likely to appear, or so he thought. Then he hired a small plane and told his dad he was ready any time.

  The plan was this. An evanescence would appear to the freaky boy—so gauzy and light that it barely registered. It would lead him outside the castle, to a secluded area where Hugh and Blixus would be waiting. They would chloroform the dumb kid, load him into their hire car, and spirit him back to London. It was so easy Hugh couldn't understand why his dad had picked such a mission.

  Meanwhile he was having the time of his life. His assault on Legatum was going so well it was like a party. He laughed as he tracked the detectives’ frantic efforts to block him, giggling with delight as he thwarted one attempt after the other. He imagined their stupid faces contorting in concentration, then their frowns as each tactic met with defeat. Scapulus Holmes, the so-called genius who didn’t begin to live up to his reputation. Simon Binkle, that four-eyed geek who thought he knew technology but could never follow through. Clive Ng, the little groupie who had nothing of his own to contribute. And worst of all, Amanda Lester, who was no more than a failed artist. She should do them all a favor and go back to California, where she’d fit right in with all the other poseurs. What a waste of space she was.

  But after a while watching his enemies fail over and over again began to bore him, and to kill the time he started to read some of Legatum’s files. Most of it was deadly dull, but occasionally he would come across some juicy tidbit or other. There was something about Professor Browning’s husband—a sketchy account of his death in a cavern. Some kind of accident, the board of inquiry had concluded, although witnesses had made it sound as though Thrillkill had been responsible for the death. There was a lot about a wayward student named Harry Sheriff and a file on the Moriartys that was riddled with errors, but none of that was terribly interesting either. He yawned. Sometimes being a wunderkind got boring. The rest of the world posed so little challenge.

  But as he was about to put the files away he stumbled on one labeled Halpin, Ivy, and the world stood still. The first thing that struck him was her photo. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever laid eyes on, a sylph so delicate and ethereal that she took his breath away. Surely this vision with her long red hair and translucent skin wasn’t the same Ivy Halpin who had huddled in the Penrith cavern with her friends last year while he, his dad, and Nick had tormented them. That girl had been a freckly twerp, no more to him than a flea to an elephant. But this one was beyond perfection. She was a goddess, and he had to have her.

  As he looked through Ivy’s file, Hugh became even more impressed—and obsessed. She was obviously the smartest student at Legatum, way beyond Holmes and Binkle, and if there was anything Hugh respected it was intelligence. She also seemed to have what appeared to mere mortals to be superpowers: heightened senses resulting from her blindness that let her perceive phenomena everyone else missed. In addition she was universally loved, especially by a dense-looking boy called Dreidel Pomfritter, and Amanda Lester, her best friend.

  But there was something about Ivy that disturbed him: that guide dog of hers, the golden retriever named Nigel. Hugh didn’t like dogs. His father had been right. He should have killed Bubble’s dog when he had the chance. He did not fancy the idea of an Ivy Halpin with that thing attached, even one who was as mad for him as he was for her. Nigel would have to go.

  Still, the more he thought about Ivy the more he wanted her. And so he hatched a plan. Not only would he bring the detectives to their knees, but he would do so by creating the most notorious reign of terror since the French Revolution. He would take—by force—their most beloved member and make her his own—forever and ever. Then, not only would he possess the finest girl on Earth, but he’d impress his dad in the process, and rise to that number two position where he belonged. No more having to prove himself with stupid trials. No more being thought of as a kid. He would finally arrive, and the world would be his oyster. Then he would get rid of Blixus, and he and Ivy would rule the underworld like the gods they were.

  Now, what way of kidnapping Ivy would wreak the most terror on the detectives? He could finagle things so they never learned what had happened to her and spent the rest of their miserable lives fearing the worst. Or he could make it extremely plain that he had her, which could also be terrifying, since they had increasing proof of his absolute power. He could kill the dog and deliver it to them in pieces. That would get that fool Binkle, who apparently had a soft spot for both mutt and owner. He could even cut off one of Ivy’s fingers or an ear and send it to them, but now that he thought of it, those last two ideas were so Godfather. Forget that. Hugh Moriarty did not do derivative. He was a creative genius, and he needed to come up with a scheme that showed them he was all powerful.

  Then he hit up on the answer. He would make Ivy fall in love with him—him, Hugh Moriarty, the detectives’ greatest and most powerful foe. He laughed out loud. How the detectives would flog themselves if they saw that their most precious member had not only turned to the dark side but had fallen hopelessly in love with its most potent representative.

  Hugh strode into one of the hideout’s bathrooms and peered into the mirror. He wasn’t a bad-looking specimen. Not that he was the best judge of male attractiveness. But he knew his dad enjoyed his own share of female attention, and he resembled his dad more each day. They shared the same ice blue eyes, thick black hair, chiseled features, and long, lean bodies. Hugh hadn’t caught up to Blixus in the last department, but he was developing that same lankiness and he was only thirteen. He’d get there. Maybe he’d even end up taller and be able to look down on his father. Now that was an idea he liked. He was already smarter and more technically adept than Blixus. If he were bigger too he could take over the cartel completely. The more he thought about this golden future—a future that not only included but to some degree depended on Ivy Halpin—the more certain he was that this was the way to go. He would kidnap the girl, and then either his dashing good looks, his genius, or if necessary Stockholm syndrome, would make her his forever and ever.

&n
bsp; It was time to begin.

  A Blast from the Past

  “Make that double red alert,” said Simon when Amanda phoned him. He sounded as distraught as she’d ever heard him.

  “What’s going on?” she said.

  “Well first of all my history machine has gone crazy, and second, someone’s hacked the school.”

  “What do you mean ‘crazy’?” she said. “I don’t see how I can help with that. I have no idea how it works.”

  “I think you can but you need to see for yourself.”

  She glanced at Herb and he nodded. He’d drive them and spare them the train ride. It would be faster that way. “Okay, Nick and I are coming.”

  When they arrived at Legatum everyone was in a dither. Amanda’s friends were crammed into the Holmes House common room, laptops, tablets, and phones in their hands. The décor gremlins had set up the whole school to resemble a forest, and autumn leaves were falling onto the floor, which had been made to look like the ground. As she beheld the scene a leaf fell onto Simon’s head and he pushed it away.

  “Did you send me this message?” Scapulus Holmes, looking particularly dusky and muscular, was saying to Dreidel Pomfritter, a compact, nice-looking boy with short dark hair and deep brown eyes.

  Dreidel got up and looked at Scapulus’s screen. “Yeah.”

  “How about this one?” said Scapulus, pointing at another text.

  “No, that wasn’t me,” said Dreidel.

  “It’s got your name on it,” said Scapulus.

  “Well I didn’t send it,” said Dreidel.

  “Anyone send me a message asking to meet at the ice cream shop tomorrow?” said Scapulus. His long dreads whipped around as he surveyed the room.

  “Nope.” “No.” “Uh-uh.” “Not me.”

  “Great, another hack,” said Scapulus, pressing his screen. “We need to dump these devices and install another firewall. I’d like to wring that little turkey’s neck.”

  “What’s happening?” Nick whispered. Amanda explained via sign.

  “He is a turkey,” said Nick. “I told you.”

  “Professor Browning says her car’s been hacked,” said Clive nervously.

  “We can’t keep up with this,” said Diamond Blue, Scapulus’s diminutive girlfriend, pinning her long dark hair up out of her way. Despite the fact that both girls had been involved with the famous Sherlock Holmes descendant, there was no rancor between them. In fact they quite liked each other and often compared hair stories, although Diamond’s mane was much more manageable than Amanda’s.

  “Okay hang on, everyone,” said Scapulus. “Time out. We need a strategy.”

  “I know what that should be,” Nick whispered to Amanda.

  “I know,” she said. “But let’s just finish this first.”

  “It seems finished to me,” said Nick. “Hugh has managed to compromise the school. He needs to be taken out.”

  Just then Simon caught sight of Amanda and Nick and hailed them. “Over here.”

  He was sitting in front of his history machine with his face all screwed up. His infamous cowlick was as tall as she’d ever seen it. He motioned to them to come close, his eyes never leaving the device.

  “What’s so critical?” said Amanda, crunching through a pile of leaves to get to him. They were so high they were getting inside her shoes, and she tried to brush them off.

  “Hey, Nick,” said Simon, looking up at last.

  “Hey,” said Nick.

  “I’ve been trying to fix this thing, as you know,” said Simon, brushing a couple of leaves out of his hair. “It’s supposed to pick up vibrations from the past and display what happened.”

  “Any luck?” said Amanda.

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “I think I saw something impossible.”

  “And that was?”

  “Simon, you’re going to have to shut that thing down,” Binnie Belasco, Simon’s tall girlfriend, called out.

  “Can’t,” he yelled back. “Demo.”

  “You have to,” she said. “Scapulus says so.”

  “Need a minute,” said Simon. He turned to Amanda and Nick. “I need to hurry. It looks like Hugh has completely compromised this place. Computers, mobile devices, vehicles. He’s even got video feeds installed somewhere. We haven’t been able to figure out where they are yet.”

  Amanda and Nick exchanged looks. A leaf fluttered onto Nick’s head and traveled down his back. He ignored it.

  “I know,” said Simon. “How did he do it? No one knows. But back to this.” He patted the machine. “I was doing a test, playing around with some stuff Clive and I had a bet about, when I saw the weirdest thing.”

  The strangest expression crossed his face, a combination of bafflement and impatience. He pressed a couple of keys and an image appeared. Amanda gasped.

  “Is that who I think it is?” she said. What she was seeing was impossible.

  “I’m pretty sure it is,” said Simon.

  On the screen was an image of Amanda, in jail, God knew where, and Lovelace Earful, Legatum’s founder who had died in the 19th century, standing outside her cell. Nick and Amanda peered at it.

  “Look at the clothes,” said Nick. “Nineteenth century, late. Straight out of Conan Doyle.” He was right. Amanda and Earful looked as though they’d stepped out of a Sherlock Holmes adventure.

  “Maybe it isn’t me,” said Amanda. “It can’t be.”

  “Listen to the voice,” said Simon. “Sorry, Nick. But trust me, it’s her voice.”

  Amanda cupped her ear and heard what Simon was referring to. It was definitely her. She recognized Earful from his pictures too. He was a devastatingly handsome dark-haired man of about thirty-five. She’d know that sculpted face anywhere.

  “But this is impossible,” said Amanda.

  “I know,” said Simon. “I’m just wondering if the machine has got its images crossed. Maybe it picked your picture up from somewhere and stuck you in with Earful.”

  “Even if it did that, what am I doing in jail?” said Amanda. “In those clothes? And with that hair.”

  Her hair was indeed different. Instead of cascading down her back, her voluminous mane was piled on top of her head in a style she’d never worn in her life but knew well: that of a Gibson girl, that iconic type of woman drawn by the artist Charles Dana Gibson. She’d used it in some of her storyboards.

  Suddenly the machine began to make an awful grating noise, like an electric saw, and shook. It rattled around on top of the desk where Simon was sitting, threatening to fall, and then the screen went dark.

  “What the—” said Simon.

  As the three friends watched, a cloudy black shape began to separate itself from the screen, growing larger and larger, moving toward them and emitting a disgusting odor. It was coming closer and closer, and the kids moved back out of its way. With a huge groaning noise it ballooned up, looming over them like the massive, great shadow of a horribly warped and very stinky human being. Everyone screamed. Diamond, Owla, and Amphora fled out into the hall. Nick grabbed Amanda and shoved her behind him.

  The thing growled, and gasps could be heard all around the room. Bravely remaining at the table, Simon frantically hit keys, to no avail. Then there came a gigantic explosion and everything went black.

  When Amanda came to, Nick’s arms were around her and the shadow was looming over them, twenty feet high. But they were no longer in the common room. It was night and they were outside somewhere, freezing, surrounded by a thick mist. The air reeked of rotten eggs. Nick pushed Amanda away and began to kick at the monster, karate style, but his foot connected with nothing. He tried chopping with his hands, only to be met with the same result, but that didn’t stop him. He kept kicking and chopping until it dawned on him that this was not the way to vanquish the thing. At that point the shadow reached out with something that might be called an appendage and swiped at the pair. Nick dodged it, but the blow knocked Amanda onto her side, wrenching her shoulder. As she cried out it
began to move away, floating above the ground like a demented hovercraft. Nick took off after it, but it disappeared around a corner and dematerialized in the fog.

  “Are you okay?” he said, reaching down to help her up. “Can you stand?”

  “I think my shoulder is dislocated,” she whined. “It really hurts.”

  “We need to get you to a doctor,” he said. looking around him. I don’t know what’s going on or where we are, but I suspect Dr. Wing is not nearby.”

  Amanda surveyed the scene as best she could considering the pain she was in. From what she could see through the fog, they were on a city street surrounded by grimy old Tudor-style three- and four-story buildings. There was something odd about the scene, something she couldn’t put her finger on.

  “It’ll be okay,” she said. “This is just another hallucination. A really smelly one.”

  “No it isn’t, love,” he said. “It’s real . . . except if that’s the case, why can I hear you?”

  “You can hear?” she said.

  “Every word. I heard that thing growl too.”

  “We’re hallucinating,” said Amanda. “The Moriartys transported us to the Osric movie lot and got you back your hearing. Even considering that stinky monster they cooked up, that does seem too nice for them, though, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s not a hallucination,” said Nick. “It may be weird, but it’s real.” He lifted her up gently. She wobbled a bit but managed to stand.

  “No, babe,” she said, holding her painful shoulder. “There’s no way you could hear if this were real. Remember what Dr. Wing told you? Your condition is untreatable.”

  “Do me a favor,” he said quietly, his love for her softening his eyes. “Tell me you love me. I want to hear you say it. It’s been so long.”

  She looked deep into his sky-blue eyes and felt as if she were tumbling through space. She had never seen eyes like that before. It was as if they held the universe behind them. “I love you, Nick.”