Fifteen Months After the Clue Hunt
Amy Cahill’s alarm went off at five A.M. : another day, the same old drill. Flying classes. Defensive driving. Martial arts. Cross-training. Strength training. Weight training. Research. Language tutors. Logic tests that made SAT prep look like finger painting. She didn’t go to sleep at the end of the day — she crashed, too exhausted some nights even to switch off her bedside lamp. Technically, it was winter break, the day before New Year’s Eve, but it didn’t feel like a holiday to Amy.
How exactly did I become the head of the most powerful family in the world at only fifteen?
she asked herself for the umpteenth time. She’d been a regular girl until her grandmother Grace had died and used her will to kick off a worldwide hunt for 39 Clues safeguarding the source of the Cahills’ power. A hunt that Amy and her younger brother, Dan, had won. Sure, it sounded impressive, but mostly it meant days and days of fear, waiting for really bad things to happen. Knowing that really bad things
had
happened: Her parents had been murdered. And some very nasty people had tried to murder Amy and Dan.
She still couldn’t quite wrap her head around everything that had changed in only a year and a half. And just when Amy thought that maybe it was over, that maybe she and Dan could have a normal life, a new terror arrived to stalk the siblings. The Vespers. A criminal organization that wanted nothing less than world domination.
No
, she vowed,
not on my watch
.
Amy shook the dark thoughts away and climbed into the shower. The lavender soap she used reminded Amy of her grandmother. What would Grace do if she were alive? Would she go on the offensive instead of waiting for the next Vesper attack like her coward of a granddaughter? Amy had rebuilt Grace’s mansion, which had burned down in the Clue hunt. She’d allocated funds to help Cahills in need. She and Dan had traveled to faraway places and invested in expensive technology like the command center on the third floor of the mansion, all in a desperate attempt to find any information on the Vespers. But Grace had wisdom, the love of a good fight, and an unstoppable spirit. Grace was a natural. No matter how hard Amy trained and worked, there was no way she could measure up.
Amy threw on workout clothes and pulled her hair back.
Another day, another threat to the world. If only Grace were alive —
Amy wasn’t cut out for this.
“All right, Amy, let me have it!” Sinead Starling, Amy’s cousin, shouted, hopping back and forth on her toes and holding up two black pads for Amy to punch. Sinead had just finished her boxing session, and now it was Amy’s turn.
They were in the basement gym — weight-lifting machines, cardio, and the boxing studio off to one side. There were wall-to-wall mirrors, springy mats, bins of gloves and tape and pads. For Amy and Sinead, being able to land a right hook once in a while, and, even more important, knowing how to duck one, was crucial.
Amy taped up her knuckles, weaving in and out of her fingers, and strapped on the gloves. She shielded her eyes with her big gloves, like mitts, and began to rock back and forth, hitting each of Sinead’s pads in a one-two combination.
“That’s it?” Sinead asked, and they began to circle each other, like animals sniffing for the alpha. Sinead did a slow swing over the top of Amy’s head, her red hair bouncing out behind her, and Amy ducked out of the way. She jabbed at the pads a few more times.
“Harder,” Sinead said, pushing back with each of Amy’s punches.
Amy hit harder.
“Now uppercut, elbow jab. One-one-two. Come on, Amy, whose side are you on?”
Amy threw harder. She ducked out of the way of an incoming blow. Her arms felt unfastened. Her legs may as well have been trudging through swamps. Her lungs weren’t pulling down enough oxygen — Amy was out of breath before the tough part of her training had even started. The
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