Janice laughed. “You getting married anytime soon?”

“I’m twelve, ma’am. I’ll be thirteen in September.”

“So that would be a no,” said Janice.

Jennings, Jennings, Theo thought, turning the name over in his head. “Jennings as in Thomas Jennings? The guy who invented dry cleaning?”

“Thomas L. Jennings, the tailor, businessman, and abolitionist who invented dry cleaning,” said Janice, her voice clipped.

“The first African American to receive a patent!” Theo said. “In 1821!”

The woman’s big brown eyes got bigger, then her expression softened. “Well!” she said, now considering Theo. “You know your history.”

Theo almost said, “Yes,” because he did know his history, or always thought he did. But then he remembered how many times he’d been surprised over the last few weeks. Instead he said, “I know some history. You still have dry-cleaning shops all around the city. My mom goes to one.”

“Then you know the TLJ headquarters is right next door, in the same building. Opened in 1837.”

Ticket #3152, TLJ, the 17th of June, Theo thought. Could it be?

Jaime said, “Anyway, I’m very sorry we burst in on you both.”

“No harm done, I suppose,” said Janice. The smaller woman in the white muumuu was sitting on the floor petting Nine. “Except for the cat hair you’re getting all over that dress, Bibi.”

“What?” said Bibi. “This is a good kitty.”

Janice rolled her eyes. “That,” she said, “is a sabertooth.”

“A good sabertooth, then,” said Bibi, shrugging. Nine licked her hand.

“She belongs in the Bronx Ecological Park with the rest of the chimera.”

“She’s not a chimera,” Tess said. “She’s a Cat.”

“Uh-huh,” said Janice, one thin eyebrow raised so high it almost disappeared into the cloud of blue hair. “She’d scare all the hamster-hogs and fer-rabbits and panda-quoks. Or eat them. They should make some a little bigger.”

“The big chimera are illegal,” said Theo.

“Like that’s stopped people before,” said Janice.

“The only thing Nine eats is her kibble,” Tess said. Then toed the expensive carpet. “You’re not really going to call our parents, are you?”

Janice put her hands on her hips again. “Are any of your parents professional historians who could date that tunnel? Or perhaps journalists who could write about it? Powerful lawyers or ex-presidents who will make sure this building isn’t ripped out right under us and sold to some rich man who doesn’t care about anyone’s history or future but his own?”

Tess was quiet for a moment. “No,” she said. “No one like that.”

“Then I’m not going to call them,” said Janice, flashing a hint of teeth—a smile or a grimace or both.

“If you do decide to call some lawyers and historians, maybe you could say you were the ones who found the tunnel?” said Jaime.

“What if you discovered something amazing?” said Bibi. “You don’t want credit?”