He slipped it out of his pocket. The number was blocked.
Suspend judgment. The whole story is always more complex than its parts. Wait. AJT
Dan almost dropped the phone. He read the message again. He reached out and touched the letters
Arthur Josiah Trent.
What he had hoped for as long as he had a memory had happened. He’d gotten a sign.
His father was still alive.
Sneak Peek
The race to stop the Vespers continues with more dangerous heists to perform, historic treasures to find, and hidden traitors to unmask. Stay one step ahead of your enemy and help save the kidnapped Cahills by following Amy and Dan’s next adventure.
Turn the page for a sneak peek! (Just keep your eyes peeled for Vesper spies …)
In all his eleven years, Atticus Rosenbloom never imagined he’d die on a bed of fresh rolls and sticky buns.
Of course, he never imagined being tied up, shoved into a sack, thrown into the back of a bakery truck, and taken on a high-speed tour over every pothole in the Czech Republic, either. If he needed any proof that hanging out with Amy and Dan Cahill was trouble, this was it.
“Wohogashamee?” he shouted. It was the best he could manage for “Where are you guys taking me?” with a bandanna pulled across his mouth.
It was no use. They couldn’t hear him.
He fought back desperate tears. This had to be a mistake. They must have wanted some other nerdy kid with dreads, a plaid shirt, and beat-up Vans.
He jerked his body left and right, trying to loosen the ropes around his wrists. His head banged against a row of metal shelves. Breads and pastries cascaded to the floor, their sweet, yeasty smell seeming to mock him.
“Careful with the crullers, will you?” came a taunt from the front seat. “We may need them on the flight.”
Atticus froze. He knew the voice.
His brain, which had absorbed eleven languages already, did not forget distinctive sounds. Or near-death experiences. Like yesterday’s, when Dan and Amy lay trapped in a locked, burning library. Atticus and his half brother, Jake, had tried to help, only to be attacked by a woman and a guy dressed in black.
A guy with the same voice as this cruller-loving kidnapper.
Dan said they were killers. Twins. Vespers.
Suddenly, the whole thing was making some awful sense.
He knew Dan and Amy were Madrigals, the elite branch of the world’s most powerful family, the Cahills. The Vespers were bad guys who had kidnapped seven Cahills. As ransom, Dan and Amy had to perform nasty tasks – breaking into museums, stealing ancient artifacts, solving impossible codes. Which they were capable of doing, because they’d found something equally impossible called the 39 Clues.
So why did the Vespers gas Dan and Amy in a library? And why do they want me?
Nuts. The whole thing was nuts!
The truck veered abruptly to the right. Atticus slid on a layer of raspberry jam and banged against the rear door.
As he screamed in pain, the truck came to a sudden stop. The door opened and a pair of hands untied his sack. In a moment, Atticus was squinting against the sudden sunlight. The whoosh of a jet engine nearly knocked him over.
“Sorry for the bumpy ride,” his abductor said, yanking the gag out of his mouth. “The next will be smoother.”
Atticus’s eyes quickly adjusted. The guy was maybe in his twenties. He looked like he’d wandered off the set of a magazine shoot for Travel + Leisure – blond, blue-eyed, tanned, and buff. Atticus could feel the rope being untied from his hands and replaced with a handcuff on one wrist behind him. A silky female voice added, “How many boys your age can say they’ve been on a private jet – for free?”
“I’m not a boy!” Atticus blurted, the words spilling out of his mouth faster than he could think. “Okay, chronologically, yes, eleven years old fits the definition, but in actuality, I’m a college freshman. So if you’re looking for a boy, you’ve made a mistake!”
The woman came around to his side, her wrist now cuffed to his. “Just because we’re holding hands, college boy, don’t get any ideas.”
Atticus recoiled from her clammy grip. She was unmistakably this guy’s twin, but with the blondness cranked up to eleven. Her baker’s uniform had extra-long sleeves to hide the handcuffs from sight.
“We don’t make mistakes, Atticus,” the guy said. “We know you won the county fifth-grade chess championship, and the state spelling bee on the word renaissance. By the way, I always had trouble with that word -”
“Let me go right now or I’ll scream bloody murder!” Atticus shouted.
The man grabbed Atticus by the shirt collar. “If you scream, little dude, there will be bloody murder. And with that one hundred seventy-five IQ, you’re too smart to put your brother and father in danger.”
Atticus tried not to panic. The bits of knowledge – the cruel taunts – were like pricks of a tiny knife blade, keeping him off balance.
The man looked away briefly, checking his reflection in the window of a tan-brick building nearby. He ran his fingers carefully through his hair. “You babysit, Cheyenne. I’ll run ahead to see that the jet’s ready.”
“Make it quick, Casper,” his sister said, pushing Atticus forward. “And be sure there are enough mirrors on board for you.”
“Your names are Casper and Cheyenne?” Atticus managed.
“And our last name is Wyoming. Want to make something of it?” Cheyenne yanked his wrist, picking up the pace. “We’d planned on giving you a meal, a parachute, and a safe landing. We could always forget the parachute.”
“Wh-what are you going to do with me?” Atticus asked.
“We’re taking you to a more secure place,” Cheyenne replied. “For a few questions. A simple transfer of … guardianship.”
The blade twisted.
Atticus had always taken pride in being different. In being one of a kind. But there was one aspect he’d trade in a nanosecond.
He could still hear his mother’s words on her deathbed:
All he knew was that Guardians fought the Vespers. And that he was the only one left.
“I – I don’t know anything about Guardians!” Atticus said.
“Maybe you’ll change your mind when we’re through with you,” Cheyenne said.
Atticus’s legs wobbled. “What if my mom died before she could tell me anything?”
“I’d say that was pretty bad parenting,” Cheyenne said with a shrug.
Atticus’s panicked eyes scanned the airport. In minutes they would be on a plane, speeding away from Prague. He would be Hostage Number Eight. Caught by two Vespers who had already tried to gas Dan and Amy.
The Wyomings would think nothing of whacking Atticus Rosenbloom.
Casper was barking orders to a gray-haired airport worker at a hangar fifty yards beyond the tan-brick building. Cheyenne was pulling hard, trying to walk faster.
Atticus hated holding hands with this creep. The last female he had ever held hands with was his mom.
Mom, who was the kindest, smartest woman he ever knew.
Mom, who was a Guardian. Who told him in her last breath to
