39 Clues _ Cahills vs. Vespers [03] The Dead of Night Read Online Free Page B

“I’m feeling sick, too, and look at me. What if Babe Ruth had said ‘Time to rest’? Or Michael Phelps? Or Neil Armstrong? Come on, guys — what are we?”
    “Hungry,” Natalie said.
    “Sleepy,” Alistair added.
    “Grumpy,” Fiske said.
    “Sneezy,” Phoenix piped up.
    “Shot,” Nellie said.
    Reagan was about to launch into another pep talk when Ted held up his hand. Nellie adored Ted. He’d been blinded in the explosion in the Franklin Institute, and afterward had become subdued and thoughtful. He didn’t demand attention much, but when he did, he had good reason. Now he was sitting bolt upright.
    “’Sup, dude?” Nellie whispered.
    Instead of answering, Ted fell to all fours. “Shoulder to shoulder,” he said softly. “Keep it close. Hunch.”
    It was an order. Cringing at the pain, Nellie dropped beside him. She eyed the ceiling cameras. Ted clearly wanted to hide something.
    In the dust of the prison floor, he scraped in tiny letters:

    “We know that,” Nellie whispered.

    A couple of seconds later, he rubbed the words out.
    Good,
Nellie thought. This was new info. New info always helped.
    Ted had developed an awesome sense of hearing since he’d lost his eyesight. He’d heard voices in the prison before, but never had he located them so precisely. She wasn’t sure how this helped — yet. But that’s why you became a Madrigal. To use info to your own advantage. She’d had a lot of practice with that.
    “Dude, thanks,” she whispered.
    “Well, then, they can hear me just fine,” Natalie said, angling her head upward.
“Request to food personnel! Send extra soy sauce!”
    Nellie stood and clapped her good hand over Natalie’s mouth. Shrieking in surprise, Natalie stumbled backward and fell. “You pulled out my bullet,” Nellie said, “but you’re not going to sabotage us.”
    “That is assault and battery!” Natalie cried out. “I shall contact my barrister!”
    “Back off, Rambo,” Reagan said, pulling Nellie away. “Martial arts training begins next week!”
    Nellie felt pain shooting through her whole body.
Bad move, girl.
    She hadn’t meant to hurt Natalie. The dirt, the close quarters, the pain — they did something to her head. It was only a matter of time before the hostages began to lose their humanity.
    Fighting back the agony, Nellie sidled over to the whimpering Kabra. “Sorry, Nat,” she said. “When we get home? Sushi dinner on me, at my culinary school. But you gotta promise me one thing, okay?”
    Natalie looked up warily. “What’s that?”
    Nellie put her fingers to her lips. “Stay quiet.”
    Wiping away a tear, Natalie nodded.
    Taking Ted’s hand, Nellie spelled out
How far?
with her finger on his palm.
    Ted traced two vertical lines on her palm.
Eleven.
    Nellie knew what he meant —
eleven feet
. She eyed the dumbwaiter door. It was shut tight. The captors had been using the little elevator to convey food and fresh laundry. Up until now, the Cahills had no idea from how far up the stuff had come.
    But now they knew they were just a few feet away from their tormentors. On the other side of a thin ceiling. Connected by a dumbwaiter. A dumbwaiter on which they’d already tried to stow away, unsuccessfully.
    No, not a dumbwaiter . . . that’s not how the floors are connected.
    An escape idea began to form in Nellie’s brain. While in culinary school, she had also been taking an art course. Her teacher had taught her that art wasn’t only about the objects you painted. It was about the spaces between them.
    “No secrets, please, Gomez,” Reagan said. “We’re a team.”
    Nellie shushed Reagan and drew everyone into a huddle again. She looked carefully from eye to eye and began mouthing words silently:
    Reagan tried the dumbwaiter, but not the shaft.

    Vesper One felt it again. The itch. How odd.
    Over the years, he had weaned himself from touching the scar. There was no reason to. It was old, completely healed. The urge to scratch was merely