Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12 Amy and Dan scoured the store, hunting for trapdoors under tables, behind shelves, and at the back of closets. Dan threw aside a curtain to reveal a small office. There was a cluttered desk, a sink with a hot plate and ancient espresso pot, and a tiny bathroom. No way out. He tried to open the window. It was sealed shut with countless coats of paint. "Dan," called Amy. "Look at this." She was in the listening booth, a tiny enclosure behind soundproof glass. There was a compact stereo system. Two sets of headphones lay on the bench. Dan tapped on the walls. Everything was solid. "No secret passages." Amy frowned at the stack of CDs on the

counter. "Don't you think the musical choices are a little odd?" Dan crouched to read the cases. Green Day, Rage Against the Machine, Eminem, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and, what was this? Twilight of Genius: The Later Works of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. He removed the disc and handed it to Amy, who loaded it into the machine. They set the headphones over their ears. Dan was expecting some kind of secret message, so he was disappointed when a string quartet began to play. He made a sour face at Amy — he'd had enough Mozart to last a lifetime. He examined the CD case. The usual dumb classical music words — cantata, adagio, cadenza. Amy probably knew what they meant. Or she'd pretend to, just to annoy him. His eyes moved to the bottom of the list: Adagio KV 617 (1791). There it was again. He pressed the forward button, skipping ahead to the final track. The floor disappeared beneath their feet, and

they were falling, sliding down a metal chute. The sides were mirrored, reflecting their own shock back at them. Amy pressed both hands against the ramp in a desperate attempt to slow her descent. There was zero traction, even when she tried to dig in with the rubber soles of her sneakers. The surface was flawlessly smooth and slick. What—? Even in her mind, she was unable to form a complete sentence. She squinted, but only darkness loomed below. Suddenly, a pair of electronic doors separated before them, and Amy saw the bottom rushing up. There was no avoiding it. She braced for impact—It didn't come. At the last minute, the slide leveled off and deposited them delicately on a soft cushion made of beanbag material. They hopped to the floor in bewilderment. A hallway stretched before them. Stark white walls were covered with paintings. Muted classical music played in the background. "Another Mozart house?" whispered Dan.

"Can't be," Amy told him. "Some of these paintings are modern. It looks more like an art museum." Dan was mystified. "An underground museum where you have to slide down from a CD shop?" Amy stared at a portrait in an elaborate old frame — a man with part of his face in shadow, a stiff white ruff around his neck. "Dan — I'm pretty sure that's a Rembrandt." Her brother made a face. "You made me mail back the recipe to those monks. Like you're going to let me collect a million-dollar painting." "If it's real, try fifty million." "Ka-ching!" Dan gawked at the artwork that decorated both walls of the corridor. "All this must be worth—" He gulped. "There isn't enough money in the world to buy half this stuff!" Amy nodded. "But here's the thing. Grace was a Rembrandt fanatic. She had tons of books of his paintings. I've never seen this one before." "Fake?" Dan suggested. "I don't think so. The style is perfect. And look —" She led him further down the corridor. "That's

definitely a Picasso. But it isn't famous, either. I think this might be a secret gallery of undiscovered masterpieces." "What would that have to do with Jonah Wizard?" Dan wondered. The classical music ended, and a well- modulated voice announced, "That was the final movement of the Unfinished Symphony by our own Franz Schubert. You're listening to Radio Janus — all Janus, all the time. Next we have a one-of-a-kind recording of Scott Joplin performing at Harry Houdini's birthday party." As the bouncy ragtime piano rang out, light dawned on Amy. "Janus! That's one of the four branches of the Cahill family! The Janus, the Tomas, the Ekaterina, and the Lucian!" "I hate Lucians," Dan hissed. "That's the Cobras' branch. Irina, too — remember when she lured us into that weird command center in Paris?" "I think," said Amy in a hushed whisper, "that this might be the same kind of place. Only this one's for Janus." Dan was confused. "Who puts a command

center in an art gallery?" And suddenly, Amy just knew. It was as if a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle had miraculously assembled itself in a fraction of a second. One moment there was nothing but confusion; the next, a complete picture was spread out before her. "What if each branch of the family has a special skill?" she exclaimed in a hushed tone. "Remember, the famous Lucians were mostly world leaders, great generals, secret agents, and spies. What do those careers have in common? Strategy, plotting — maybe that's the Lucian talent!" "Okay, but that still doesn't help us here—" All at once, Dan clued in. "So you're saying the Janus are artists?" She nodded ardently. "People like Mozart, a great musician. And Rembrandt and Picasso—" "And Jonah Wizard!" Dan added excitedly. "I mean, I think he stinks, but he's a big star." "This is huge! Jonah came here for a reason. We have to figure out what he's after and get to it