The Dead Gentleman is a wild ride between parallel New York City timestreams—1901 and today. Eleven-year-old Tommy Learner is a street orphan and an unlikely protege to the Explorers, a secret group dedicated to exploring portals—the hidden doorways to other worlds. But while investigating an attercop (man-eating spider) in the basement of an old hotel, Tommy is betrayed—and trapped. And it's then that his world collides with that of modern-day Jezebel Lemon, who, until the day she decides to explore her building's basement, had no bigger worries than homework and boys. Now, Jezebel and Tommy must thwart the Dead Gentleman, a legendary villain whose last unconquered world is our own planet Earth, a realm where the dead stay dead. Until now. Can two kids put an end to this ancient evil and his legions of Gravewalkers? "Truly creepy monsters and nightmare figures, from the body-swapping Dead Gentleman to his vampire first lieutenant to a zombie dinosaur, bring a gripping sense of danger to the story, and real questions about the consequences of changing time add substance to the rapid action. Readers will be drawn into the story and challenged to follow its characters as they jump through time and fight to save us all." -- School Library Journal "Chucking in elements of steampunk, Jules Verne, and Edgar Rice Burroughs along with vampires, three-armed aliens, inscrutable monks, closet monsters, and even dinosaurs, Cody pays tribute to classic adventure authors and genres here as he dishes up an exciting time travel tale." -- Booklist MATTHEW CODY is the author of Will in Scarlet , Powerless , Super , and the upcoming Villainous . Originally from the midwest, he now lives in New York City with his wife and young son. Besides novels, Matt has written for both DC Comics and Marvel, and is a regular moderator at the Thalia Book Club camp at Symphony Space. CHAPTER ONE Jezebel New York City, Today At first glance, the Percy Luxury was a sleek apartment building full of marble floors and shining brass handles. A neatly dressed doorman always waited outside to wave down taxis and tip his hat at passersby, and the smiling elevator man with too-white teeth never had to be reminded which floor was yours. But the marble and the brass were not the originals, and neither were the doorman and the elevator man for that matter--they were all part of a new renovation aimed at transforming the place into a stylish home for the very rich and the very snotty. “New” Percy had been “gentrified”--a word that, in Jezebel’s vernacular, meant it was now a good place to own a poodle or some other small, yappy dog that you could stuff into your purse. Jezebel’s Percy was full of peepholes and cracked-open doors. No one said much of anything, she noticed, and each neighbor made a point of seeming totally uninterested as they passed her in the halls--head down, busy examining the mail, no time for a “hello” or “good morning” or even “hiya” when you’re staring at your watch. But as soon as they made it inside their apartments, you could hear the click-clack of peephole shutters sliding and the creak of doors inching open. Walking down the hallway meant you were being watched, and if you were being watched, then it only made sense that you were being talked about. Snobs. According to Jez’s dad it had been a hotel long ago. Its status as an Upper West Side landmark was the only thing that saved it from being torn down when the coffee shops and pay-by-the-hour playrooms started moving into the neighborhood. But the renovations had also exposed part of the real Percy--sections of the old building that remained untouched by double-glazed windows and new crown molding. Underneath the new clothing was a set of very old bones. On this particular Saturday it was not yet noon, though you wouldn’t have known it to look at the sky outside. A thick pallet of black clouds lay over the city like a winter blanket. Sidewalk trees--skinny little saplings planted as part of the gentrification--swayed then snapped in the gusting winds. Jezebel watched out her bedroom window as the storm pummeled the city and churned the waters of the Hudson River beyond. She imagined the tall trees in Riverside Park whipping their branches against the blowing rain, cutting through the sheets of water. The park trees were old and strong, and they would do better in this gale than those poor saplings below. Jezebel’s bedroom window rattled as a thunderclap chased a lightning flash through the sky. That one had seemed too close. She backed away from the window and plopped down heavily onto her bed. Even an epic thunderstorm like this could hold her attention for only so long. She rolled around, sat up and grabbed one of her dad’s books that she had started at least ten times. She read for a few minutes before giving up at the same spot she always gave up at, and then laid back down and stared at the unfinished mural her father had started on her bedroom wal