CHAPTER 13

We left the fancy-egg museum and headed to where we’d be spending our first night in Saint Petersburg: the State Hermitage Museum Official Hotel.

Yep. Our five-star accommodations were part of the art museum.

Dad and Mom went into their room and repacked Dad’s bag so he could take off in search of the Enlightened Ones’ treasure trove. I was guessing it was hidden inside an inactive volcano crater that could be reached only by submarine. Then again, I’d just watched a James Bond movie on the flight up from Florence.

Storm set to work in her room poring over the clue that we received. Tommy was in the bathroom, busily scrunching his hair, something he hadn’t done “in like six hours!”

That meant Beck and I were alone. In the living room.

Despite our truce from earlier, Twin Tirade 607 had been simmering for several hours. We were totally ready to blow.

Our tirades don’t actually fit the dictionary definition of the word tirade, which Mom made us look up during one of our English lessons: “A long angry speech. A rant, diatribe, or harangue.”

Our harangues never lasted very long. They were more like sparklers. We’d shoot off all sorts of hot and sizzling silver sparks from our red cores for maybe a minute. Then we’d fizzle out.

That day’s tirade topic? Dad’s plan to abandon ship.

Again.