Inside the Shadow City by Kirsten Miller Page A

almost any title.
    â€œOkay, then. Here are our assignments. Before we pay our first visit to the Shadow City, we need to do a little research.” Kiki handed a card to Luz. “Luz, you’regoing to learn all you can about underground New York. You won’t find any information on the Shadow City, but we need to know where all the subway tunnels, water pipes, and sewers are. I think we’ll be too far down to run into any of them, but we should make sure. I don’t want any surprises.”
    Next, Kiki addressed DeeDee.
    â€œYou’re going to be studying the use of explosives in dangerous situations. We may come across barred doors or parts of the Shadow City that have been walled up. We’ll need to find a way to get past any obstacles.
    â€œAnd no surprises for you, Betty,” said Kiki, handing out another card. “You’re going to design our uniforms. They should be tough, comfortable, waterproof, and reasonably fashionable.
    â€œOona,” Kiki continued, “we need to know everything we can about picking locks that date from the nineteenth century.”
    â€œPicking locks really isn’t my thing,” Oona complained. “Aren’t there any documents that need forging?”
    â€œThere will be,” Kiki snapped. “But this is what we need to know right now. I was planning to invite a lock-picking prodigy to join the Irregulars, but the girl I had in mind turned out to be extremely untrustworthy.”
    Oona snatched the card from Kiki’s fingers. “Just my luck,” she muttered under her breath.
    â€œAnd here are a few locks to practice with,” said Kiki. She pulled out a sack filled with ancient and rusty locks and tossed it to Oona. Then she turned to me and held out the last of the index cards.
    â€œThis subject should be self-explanatory,” she said.I looked down at the card and discovered a single word.
    Rats,
the card read. Instantly, my skin began to crawl.
    â€œThere’s no doubt they’re down there,” Kiki said with a touch of sympathy. “We have to be prepared. You guys can go ahead and get started. I’ve already found what I need.” I followed her eyes to a pile of books stacked on the fireplace mantel. For a moment, I thought she was mistaken. The only books in that area were on diamonds and precious stones—subjects that, as far as I knew, had nothing to do with the Shadow City. But rather than say anything, I assumed there was a reason for everything. I left Kiki alone in the living room and guided the other girls to the information they would need. Then I went off in search of the rat-related books, which were housed underneath the kitchen sink, in a rodent-proof box next to the home of our resident mouse.
    â€¢ • •
    My mother had named the mouse Hubert Jr., in honor of her father, who had claimed to be the world’s foremost expert on rodents. A man of great compassion, my grandfather had once planned to devote his talents to ridding the world of rodent-borne diseases. (As a teenager, Hubert Sr. had repeatedly tried to contract the bubonic plague in order to cure himself.) However, when he discovered that his medical training would require the sacrifice of scores of lab rats, he became so disgusted with the human race that he chose to focus on saving the rodents—not their tormentors.
    Like most sane people, my parents and I did not share my grandfather’s love of all things small and furry.But out of respect for him, we had never attempted to harm Hubert Jr. He had been allowed to live a long and productive life (for a rodent) and in a way, he had become a part of the family.
    Rats, however, are not mice. Hubert Jr. was old and feeble, but he was still somewhat charming. Rats, on the other hand, are filthy, flea-ridden creatures with teeth as sharp as hypodermic needles. In New York, they will always be the subjects of legend. Gangs of hungry rats are said to roam the