Inside the Shadow City by Kirsten Miller Page B

133½ Bank Street?” she asked. I didn’t blame her for failing to recognize me from the Girl Scout meeting. I knew I wasn’t particularly memorable.
    â€œI wish I did. I’m looking for it, too,” I said.
    â€œOh, hi. I’m DeeDee,” she smiled, offering a hand,which I noticed was stained an unusual shade of green. “Are you a member of … ” She remembered the secret nature of the gathering and caught herself before giving too much away.
    â€œAnanka,” I said, shaking her hand. “And yes. I mean I guess we’ll both be members. That’s if we can find the right address.”
    â€œYeah, it’s weird, isn’t it? It’s like the building just disappeared.”
    A thought flashed through my mind.
    â€œIt’s a hidden house,” I said.
    â€œWhat’s a hidden house?” DeeDee asked, eyeing me carefully.
    â€œThey’re all over Greenwich Village,” I explained. “But hardly anybody knows they’re here. You can’t see them from the street. They’re hidden behind other buildings. They used to be stables or servants’ quarters—things like that.”
    â€œDo you think that could be the entrance?” asked DeeDee, pointing to a wooden gate on the side of the building where I sat. It was roughly the same height and width as a large horse.
    â€œIt must be,” I said, rising to my feet.
    We stood nervously in front of the gate. DeeDee reached for a bronze door knocker in the shape of a severed hand.
    â€œHey, you!” shouted someone from across the street, and we both jumped. It was Oona Wong, dressed in a black, ninja-inspired jumpsuit. “Is that the way in?”
    Immediately after we had knocked at the gate, it opened to reveal a tiny woman with unnaturally red hair,wearing a shirtdress that flattered her thin but muscular build. She looked both ways down the street before quickly pulling us inside.
    â€œYou are very punctual,” she said in a thick Russian accent. “This is a good sign.”
    â€œVerushka?” I sputtered. Though the hair and clothing were different, the voice was unmistakable. She smiled at me and placed a hand on my shoulder.
    â€œIt is a pleasure to see you again, my dear.”
    â€œAre you Kiki’s mother?” asked DeeDee.
    â€œNo,” said Verushka sadly. “Her parents have been dead for many years. I am only the housekeeper. Come, I will take you inside. Then I must return for the other girls. I think they will not find the house.”
    â€œI’ve never seen a housekeeper with muscles like hers,” whispered Oona as Verushka turned to lead us through a brick passageway.
    â€œNeither have I,” I agreed.
    We left the passageway and entered an enchanted world. A wall of ivy, shooting its tendrils in every direction, encircled a patch of meadow. Golden daffodils rose from the ground in random bunches. A breeze pushed its way through the high, unmanicured grass and shook the wild rosebuses that grew among the ivy, stirring a storm of pink petals. In the center of the garden, hidden beneath the limbs of an enormous weeping willow, was an ancient wooden cottage with shuttered windows and two toylike chimneys. It was a house fit for Little Red Riding Hood or Snow White. The only proof that we hadn’t been transported to another time and place was the quick, angry blare of a car horn from beyond the walls.
    â€œThis is amazing,” said DeeDee, spinning around to take it all in.
    â€œIt is safe,” said Verushka cryptically as she led us up a stone path and left us at the front door of the cottage. I scanned the yard in vain for any signs of August Quack-enbush’s grave, and then stepped into a living room that was stark and modern.
    â€œThis is more my style,” said Oona appreciatively, stroking a wooden chair that looked more like a prop from a science fiction movie than a piece of furniture. Television