The Empress's Tomb by Kirsten Miller Page A

bench.
    â€œThat’s it. You’re on, DeeDee,” I heard Kiki say.
    DeeDee entered the park from the north. With her handbag dangling from her arm, and iPod headphones in her ears, she danced down the wooded path, her dreadlocks swinging from side to side. The two young men on the rock watched her go by, their heads following while their bodies stayed still. After passing Betty on the park bench, DeeDee paused to dig through her handbag, pulling out a stick of chewing gum.
    â€œThat’s right, take your time,” Kiki encouraged her. I searched the surroundings but saw nothing of interest. As the sun faded and the streetlights beyond the trees began to flicker to life, I watched DeeDee blissfully bop all the way to the other side of the park.
    â€œGood job, DeeDee,” Kiki sighed in my earpiece. “Looks like we’re out of luck.”
    â€œHold on. There are men on the move near Betty,” I heard Luz whisper.
    I shifted my binoculars, but Betty’s bench had been engulfed by shadows. “I can’t see anything,” I reported. “It’s too dark.”
    â€œYour binoculars have night vision,” Luz said. “Hit the button near your right pinky.”
    As soon as I pushed the button I saw the two figures that had been seated on the rock strolling straight for the spot where Betty sat alone on the park bench. Their hands were tucked deep in the pockets of their sweatshirts, their heads bowed, and their faces hidden beneath hoods. Betty looked around frantically, but there was nowhere to flee. Too far away to run to her rescue, I watched helplessly from my perch on the hillside. As Kiki sprang from her hiding place, and Luz and Oona bolted from the bushes, a shrill scream bounced off the cliffs behind me. I knew in an instant it wasn’t Betty. Two enormous black squirrels had leaped from the branches of a nearby tree and landed on the two hooded men.
    As the men spun in circles, trying to pry the squirrels’ sharp claws from their skin, a third squirrel bounced into Betty’s lap before springing to the aid of its colleagues. I dropped my binoculars when I heard the sound of gravel crunching nearby and looked up in time to see a tall, lanky figure emerge from behind a tree and begin climbing the path to the top of the cliffs.
    â€œHere,” it said, stopping in front of me. “I believe you’re looking for this.” In the darkness, I could see it was a boy my age, but his face was so filthy it was impossible to know what he looked like. He handed me a black backpack. “Tell your friends to get out of the park.”
    â€œWhat? Why?” I didn’t appreciate being ordered around by someone who smelled like a pet store.
    â€œThose men down there aren’t alone. Tell your friends to leave right now. I see your mouthpiece. I know you’re all wired.”
    â€œGet out of the park,” I told the Irregulars. “NOW,” I added with urgency.
    â€œGood,” said the boy. He stuck two fingers between his lips and blew a deafening whistle. As he started back up the path, three large squirrels scampered up the cliffs and fell in line behind him.
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    With a clap of her hands, Luz’s work space flooded with light.
    â€œYou installed a Clapper?” DeeDee teased. “As seen on TV?”
    â€œIt’s technology at its best,” said Luz. “One clap switches the lights on, two claps makes me a cappuccino, and if I clap three times, the lasers come on and turn you all into toast. Make yourselves at home.”
    It was easier said than done. Limbless robots already claimed most of the chairs, and every flat surface in the workshop was heaped with wires, electrodes, and tools that would have thrilled a torturer. The five of us stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, trying not to touch anything that might leave us burned or brain damaged.
    â€œSo what