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jacket over his broad shoulders. “But listen, when you get tired of waiting for Mike . . . Mark . . . ?”
    “Max.”
    “Give me a call. I’ll take you somewhere nice. Ever been to Paris?”
    “Not recently,” I murmured as he left. I made a note in the margin of the ledger (
Catacomb Club???
) and resolved to track it down in the notebook.
    Sitting in the chair now, waiting for Doug, my mind went back to it—the notebook!
    As Doug entered the room, I remembered the revelation I’d had in the mausoleum about the tattered collection of old secrets. “Hey,” I said excitedly, “I think I know how to figure out
‘Volta’
! I’ve been trying to translate it when I should’ve been looking deeper into . . .” Doug spun around with an odd grin, and with speed I didn’t know he possessed, he snapped handcuffs around my wrist and the arm of the chair, binding me tightly. Before I could react, he cuffed my other wrist. “Notebook?” I muttered, but he was snapping a third pair of handcuffs around my ankles to the chair legs. “What are you doing?”
    He took a step back. “Applying restraint. Just in case.”
    “In case of what?”
    “In case,” he said, stepping back, “you think you’re some kind of hard-ass.”
    “Huh?”
    “Sugar Ray Rispoli and her killer left hook.” He chuckled mockingly.
    “What does this have to do with an experiment? What are you doing?”
    “Holding up a mirror. Showing you who you really are, you big . . . nosed . . . geek.”
    “Doug . . .”
    “You breathe out of that thing or sniff for truffles? I’m lucky I don’t suffocate, the way you
bogart
all the oxygen with that honker!”
    “Bogart?” I said, gritting my teeth. “What the hell are you talking about?”
    “At least I
can
talk!” he shrieked. “You know why that nightmare on your teeth is called braces? Because I have to
brace
myself every time you open your mouth!”
    “Doug, you’d better . . .”
    “I’d better what? Do whatever you tell me to do and like it? Or you’re going to stare me into submission with that
cra-aazy
cold fury?” He popped a fist against his palm and said, “Maybe it’s your turn to have your butt kicked. I took a beating for you from that ski-masked freak, Poor Kevin. That was
months
ago and did you even thank me?” I was quiet then, my whole being aflame, and I yanked at the handcuffs as the metal bit into my wrists. “Did you?” he screamed, throwing a punch, holding it inches from my nose. When I opened my eyes, he grinned again. “Made you blink, hard-ass.” Before I could grab his eyes, he turned away, saying, “Nuh-uh-uh. Dougie no lookie.”
    “Free me now,” I said. “Whatever this is, it’s over.”
    Doug shook his head, strolling the room with his arms behind his back. “It’s over when I say it’s over. By the way, it’s not really an experiment. It’s revenge.”
    “What are you talking about? Revenge for what?”
    “For not
appreciating
me!” he screamed, punching the air. “For making me your chubby little
sidekick,
always doing the grit work, the endless research, and for what? O-o-oh, lucky me, I get to be Sara Jane Rispoli’s
friend!
I guess I should just whistle Dixie out of my butt cheeks every time you throw me a
scrap
of appreciation, right?”
    “Doug!”
    “
I
want to be the tragic hero!
I
want to have scary eye-power! When is it
Doug Stuffins’s
turn to drive the boat?”
    “Listen . . .”
    “No,
you
listen! Maybe I can’t hurt you physically . . . maybe you’re too tough. But there are other ways,” he said confidently. He looked out the window at the tops of buildings extending like a checkerboard to Lake Michigan. “You’ve had an exciting couple of days, I know, but it’s not possible you’ve forgotten that school starts tomorrow? Our junior year, day one?” I’d forgotten, all right. Who wouldn’t, after being attacked by red-eyed zombies? I started to reply when he said, “Start of