Still, Art looked at us as if we were exactly what he was expecting.
As he turned and started out the door, we stared after him. But then he stopped and called back over his shoulder. "Well? Are you coming or aren't ya?"
We got up and followed Art exactly the way we'd come.
No one asked about Mr. Solomon, but one glance at the girls following in the maintenance man's wake told me that we were all wondering the exact same thing.
Well, make that two things: 1.) Where was Mr. Solomon? and 2.) What had happened to Art?
The man walked with a slight limp, his right foot never landing evenly upon the stone floor. His left hand hung against his side at an odd angle, and thick bottle-like glasses must have made the world look very different through his eyes.
But none of that kept him from snapping, "Walters!" when Tina whispered something to Eva, so I'm pretty sure there wasn't anything wrong with his hearing.
We passed ancient wooden doors with locks that looked like they must have required two-ton keys. We climbed higher, past rooms that looked like sets from old monster movies.
When we neared the top, we all walked faster, toward the elevator, anticipating that we were smart enough, seasoned enough, savvy enough to guess what would come next. But one of the golden rules of covert operations is Always anticipate, never commit, and that would have been a good time to remember it.
Because Art called, "Ladies!" And the entire class skidded to a stop. We turned to see the man standing in front of one of those enormous doors that, until then, I'd never seen open. He reached inside and flipped on a switch. Light replaced shadow and danced over the stone floor as he took a step on his crooked leg.
"Bex," I whispered as we followed him inside. "Did he seem…"
But I didn't finish. Oh, who am I kidding—I couldn't finish. Because the room we were stepping into wasn't just an ordinary room. It wasn't a place for an ordinary class.
Rows of clothes lined two long walls. In the center, shelves stood covered with accessories. Mirrors sat in a long row along the back of the room, shelves and drawers, all neatly labeled, sat waiting.
"It's a closet," Eva Alvarez said in awe.
"And it's…huge," Tina Walters replied.
I know normal girls would probably love to find themselves inside a closet two times the size of most suburban houses. But not this closet. This closet could only truly be appreciated by a Gallagher Girl.
We all stepped inside, knowing we were on the verge of a lesson unlike any we'd ever had.
Eva reached out for another switch, and the lights surrounding the mirrors at the back of the room came to life, washing over hats and wigs, glasses and false teeth. Overcoats and umbrellas.
I looked at the man who had brought us there. I turned my gaze from his crippled leg and mangled arm…and I knew.
Art stepped to the center of the room and said, "Ladies." He took off his glasses with his left arm, which, for the first time, seemed normal and straight. He kicked off his right shoe, picked it up, and let a small pebble fall into his hand, and then stood squarely upon his right leg. And then finally he pulled off the gray wig and dropped it onto the low center shelf that ran the length of the room.
Tina Walters gasped. Anna Fetterman stumbled backward. Mr. Solomon was the only one in the room smiling as he swept his arms around the Gallagher Academy closet. "Small changes. Big differences."
He unbuttoned "Art's" shirt and stood in front of us in a white T-shirt (the black trousers, however, he kept on). "Welcome to the science of disguise."
A full minute later, half the class was still staring at Joe Solomon, wondering how old, kinda-pitiful Art could have been the same totally hot guy we had seen every school day for more than a year.
But I was turning, staring at a chameleon's utter fantasy—a place with the sole purpose of making a girl disappear.
And then I saw Bex, and my joy was instantly replaced with unease.
Because she was smiling. And nodding. And whispering, "Plan B?"
Chapter Sixteen
Covert Operations Report
After learning that Operative McHenry was in danger from a person (or persons) knowing the real identity of the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women, Operatives Morgan, Baxter, and Sutton decided to implement a shadow operation to oversee Operative McHenry's security.
It also involved a lot of shadow of the eye variety.
Was it crazy? Yes.
Was it necessary? Maybe.
Was there any way to talk Bex out of it? Only if we agreed to go with the hog-tying option, so really, it seemed like our best bet.
We spent all of Friday afternoon researching, planning, and doing some seriously covert accessorizing, but by
Saturday morning all I could do was walk with Bex and Liz through the halls and fight the combination of nostalgia and nerves that seemed to be growing stronger with every step.
After all, I hadn't been outside the grounds (unofficially) in months; I hadn't opened any of the secret passageways; I hadn't broken any rules. (Okay, I hadn't broken any big rules.)
But as I reached for the statue of the Rozell sisters (two identical Gallagher Girls who had posed as double agents— literally—during World War I), I couldn't shake the feeling that I was about to trigger an opening into something much darker and deeper than any secret passageway I'd ever found before.
And that was before I heard Liz cry, "Ew!" and saw her jump back, stumble over Bex's foot, and slam against the wall, skinning her elbow in the process.
The Operatives brought the necessary equipment for a detailed deception-and-disguise operation.
They did not, however, bring the necessary equipment for killing spiders.