Angelica Velvet nodded and murmured something to her black-turtlenecked assistant, who scurried away with two fingers pressed to her Bluetooth headset.

“Angelica is the one to impress,” Sven went on. “If she likes what Mona Pearl and Diana Yip do next, she might give them their own show. But if she doesn’t like it, well … they’ll have to take their little act elsewhere.”

Mona Pearl, still masked, grabbed the edge of one of the heavy white curtains; Diana Yip held the other. Through the collar, Mona Pearl proclaimed, “Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time, I can share with you the location of the missing statue of Diana, Roman goddess of the hunt. She is here with us, right now! When we are finished with her, she will be unrecognizable, an entirely new creation. Ladies and gentlemen, you are witness to the birth of a new muse.”

Angelica Velvet raised a finely painted eyebrow so high it disappeared under her turban. Sven watched intently, eyes wide, twisting his long, thin fingers.

Diana said, “I, Diana Yip, hold the paintbrush.”

Mona Pearl said, “I, Mona Pearl, hold the chisel.”

Together, they chanted, “We are the Goddess Collective.”

Mona Pearl and Diana Yip whisked open the curtains to reveal …

An empty pedestal.

CHAPTER THREE Diana Disappears

THERE WAS A MOMENT OF stunned silence before the dancers recovered their composure. “One moment, please,” Mona Pearl told the crowd. “We’re experiencing technical difficulties. Diana, stay here and keep talking. I’ll see if it rolled away somewhere.”

Diana stood nervously behind the microphone and blushed a darkening shade of pink. “H-how’s everyone doing today?” she said in a tiny voice.

“Couldn’t be better!” shouted Sven.

“Hush, Sven,” said Bess.

Diana’s blush deepened. Angelica Velvet frowned as another turtlenecked assistant shoved a phone screen in her face. Meanwhile, the masked dancer went rooting around behind the curtains and backstage. Finding nothing, she threw up her hands.

“Without a trace,” she said in her muffled voice.

“Did you maybe hide it somewhere, as a surprise?” Diana asked.

Mona Pearl shook her collar. No. She kept shaking her head in rhythm, raising and lowering her hands in the air until it became a funny sort of dance.

This did nothing to settle the members of the crowd, who murmured to one another in increasingly concerned tones: When would the second act of Diana and Mona Pearl’s performance begin? Had it already started? Was this all a part of the show? I wondered what was so special about that statue to be stolen twice in a single day.

“Wait a second … the pedestal’s not empty,” said Mona Pearl. “There’s a piece of paper taped to the top. …”

“Don’t joke,” said Diana. She wasn’t speaking into the microphone, but the gallery’s high ceilings and echoing walls made it easy to overhear their conversation.

“No, really. Look!” Mona Pearl held up a small square of paper covered in blocky red letters. She handed the sheet to Diana, who read it silently.