THE BUILDINGS THAT surrounded Times Square were still covered with billboards and displays from the last century, but the lights had been out for a long time. With its boarded up windows and empty skyscrapers, the former Crossroads of the World looked more like the old slums of Detroit or Johannesburg.
Lamont, Maddy, and Margo emerged from the subway tunnel near the building where a ball made of Waterford crystal once dropped to announce the new year. Now angry crowds surged through the streets, wrecking whatever was left to wreck. Huge bins of burning trash spilled into the street, filling the air with acrid black smoke. Fleeing TinGrins ducked behind buildings and fired into the crowd, but it was like trying to stop an ocean wave. Lamont pulled Margo and Maddy behind a row of cement barriers as ragged citizens rushed past.
“Where the hell is he?” asked Margo.
“Khan!” shouted Lamont. His voice was lost in the crowded canyon.
“Trust me,” said Maddy, “he’s here.” She could feel it.
“Show yourself!” Lamont yelled, turning in a slow circle. “I’m not waiting another hundred and fifty years!”
The roar of a powerful engine echoed off the buildings. Suddenly a red double-decker tourist bus careened into the square, its engine whining. It jumped a divider and bulldozed a statue of some long-forgotten actor, sending chunks of bronze and granite flying into the air.
“Lamont!” Margo shouted.
Lamont spun around in time to see the bus heading straight for them, less than twenty yards away, accelerating fast. Lamont stared through the broad Plexiglas windshield. There was no driver. Margo wrapped her arms around Maddy and pulled her behind a wooden kiosk. Fifteen tons of steel hurtled through the intersection. Lamont stood his ground.
“Lamont!” Margo screamed. “For God’s sake, run!” She pulled Maddy close and braced herself against the back of the flimsy shelter.
Lamont didn’t move. He focused. The bus was just yards away, roaring like a locomotive. A split second later, a solid brick wall appeared across the width of the street. The bus rammed into the barrier with the force of an exploding bomb. The front end crumpled into a smoking heap. A second later, a blast of light illuminated the square.
The wrecked bus was gone. It had transformed—into Shiwan Khan. He floated in a swirl of vapor, black hair waving, eyes blazing. He was dressed in a blue tunic and jeweled breastplate. His gold robe fanned out behind him. His body radiated heat and light, generating its own field of energy.
“The Shadow lives!” said Khan. “With new talents!”
The wall of bricks evaporated, transformed back into Lamont Cranston.
“Invisibility is so last century,” said Lamont.
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Khan. “All this changing and disappearing and pretending to be things that we’re not—exhausting!”
“From here on,” said Lamont, “let’s just be ourselves!”
“Indeed,” Khan replied.
He unleashed a flurry of lightning bolts, shattering the pavement at Lamont’s feet. Warning shots meant to intimidate, not to kill. Not yet. Lamont knew that Khan was toying with him.
Lamont thrust out his hand and unleashed a fireball. It stuck Khan in the chest, knocking him back. But it didn’t leave a mark on him. Didn’t even singe his tunic. He stepped forward again, eyes wide.
Lamont and Khan circled in the center of the street, gathering their strength, biding their time. All around the crossroads, clusters of ragged citizens huddled in doorways, like spectators at the Colosseum.
“Do you remember our days with the monks, Cranston?” said Khan. “Our boyhood competitions? Do you remember why I was always the stronger one? It’s because I came from pain. Because I knew what it was like to lose.” He looked around at the crowd. “At the hands of rabble like this, I lost everything!”
Khan swept his arms out to his sides. On walls and rooftops all around Times Square, huge signs blinked to life for the first time in over a century, filling the space with a riot of iridescent colors.
Khan flicked his fingers. All at once, the massive displays blasted away from their supports and tumbled to the streets in a shower of sparks and twisted metal. Screams rose from the crowd as people ran for cover. Lamont looked up just as a massive light tower came down on him, pinning his leg under a rusted metal strut. Maddy and Margo fell to the ground as a blinking display crushed the top of the kiosk. When Margo rolled to the side, she was directly in Khan’s line of sight. Khan’s mouth curled into a thin smile.
“Miss Lane!” he called out. “I knew we’d meet again!” He turned his wrist in her direction. “Shall we finish our dance?”
Margo rose off the ground, kicking and flailing, as if pulled by a rope.
She felt tight pressure around her throat, and jolts of pain shot through her body.
Her head rolled back. Lamont grimaced as he strained to pull his leg free.
“Margo!” he shouted.
“She’s strong, Cranston,” said Khan, as Margo dangled helplessly above the street. “Stronger than I thought! Maybe stronger than you!”
Behind the crumpled kiosk, Maddy took a deep breath. She rose to her feet and spun out into the open. She was trembling with a mixture of fear and fury. She was not invisible now. She wanted to be seen.
“Khan!” she screamed.
As Khan turned toward Maddy, Margo dropped to the ground, gasping for breath. Maddy thrust her arm forward toward Khan. She did it without thinking—a reflex, buried deep. A loud crack echoed through the square. A blast of light shot out from her palm.
A lightning bolt. Her first.
The powerful charge hit Khan in the shoulder, sending him into a backward spin. Margo stared at Maddy, not believing what she was seeing. With a final heave, Lamont wrenched himself free of the metal beam. He looked up, stunned. Maddy looked down at her hand, as if it were part of another person.
Khan recovered and rose above the debris, robe swirling, his fierce gaze turned on Maddy, the glow around his body intensifying. Lamont stepped between them.
“Leave her alone!” he shouted. “She’s just a kid. She’s nothing to you!”
“Nothing to me? Nothing to me?” roared Khan. “Cranston, I’m insulted. Did you think I wouldn’t recognize my own flesh and blood?”