Jagger Jones and the Mummy's Ankh

by Malayna Evans

  “Nine stones,” Jagger mused. The number nine was powerful in ancient Egypt. The gods were usually organized in groups of three—a father, mother, and child. An Ennead was made up of nine gods. Potent stuff. He hadn’t realized the family had nine members too, excluding Smenkare, of course. “Tatia said there’d be nine.”

  Jagger shook his head. It didn’t make sense. Tatia had been certain every member of the royal family would die if this spell was cast. Did Smenkare know that? Could the princess have been wrong? If so, maybe their family would survive after all. They could be distant descendants of the corrupt prince. Jagger didn’t love that idea—it did nothing to help Mek or the royal family—but it was better than the alternative.

  Herihor scrawled on each wax figure with a reed pen, his deep voice chanting melodically as the red lights danced with the lights of the torches, animated by the wind. Jagger couldn’t see what was written, but somehow he knew the old man was writing the names of the family members on the wax figurines. The prince and General watched in silence. Smenkare shifted his weight back and forth, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

  “The nine are assembled, the Ennead is created,” Herihor intoned. “The Ka will be shared, the Ka will be destroyed, the enemies of Aten will cease to be.” He walked to the sarcophagus and placed the nine wax figures on top, holding his hand out to the prince.

  Smenkare glared at the High Priest. Jagger thought the prince would refuse to cooperate.

  “Now!” the General’s nasally voice rang out.

  The prince flinched, then handed Herihor a fine, linen bag. The old priest poured the stones onto the sarcophagus. Lifting the largest, green and rough, he examined it with a frightful smile. The wind whipped faster as if it recognized the stones, like a maelstrom was forming just outside the barred door.

  “The Ka.” The old man stuck the large, green stone into the largest wax figure and set it in the middle of the sarcophagus. Red lights erupted from the stone, sparks flying. “I name you Meketaten, daughter of the king’s body, beloved of the queen …” The titles continued.

  SSSssssssssss.

  Jagger jumped as something close to them hissed.

  HISSSSSY FIT

  SSSSSSSsssssssssssss.

  The snake from the peak was just outside their cell, larger, shinier, and more majestic than any snake had a right to be.

  “Meretseger.” Babi dropped his head to the ground.

  Aria grabbed Jagger’s arm. She stared at the snake, biting her lip, as it slithered back and forth on the other side of the misty bars.

  The old priest kept chanting. The snake’s hissing, loud as it was, was drowned out by the roar of the wind.

  “What does she want?” Aria whispered to Babi.

  “I have no idea.” The captain shook his head. “I’ve heard tales of the gods appearing to Pharaoh, or members of the royal family. I didn’t believe them. Magicians claim to get their powers from the old gods, but few people have ever seen magic, outside of the healing magic practiced by the priests. I’ve only seen it a few times, which is more than most. Of course, most don’t know Mut.”

  SSSSssssss. The snake slithered left, then right.

  Babi stared down at Meretseger intently, eyes gleaming. “Even a lowly ship’s captain like me recognizes a goddess when she appears.” He rubbed his knuckles. “She looked angry earlier. I don’t think she’s a fan of Herihor. Maybe she can help us.”

  “How?” Jagger asked.

  The captain shrugged. “No idea. Gods aren’t really my area of expertise.”

  The snake paused, looking through the bars at them. Her eyes glittered like starlight.

  “She can’t be a fan of the Aten, right?” Jagger’s head was churning. “She must want the Aten banished so the power of the old gods will return. So why would she help the family that’s trying to replace her and the other old gods?” Jagger didn’t know much about gods, or their creatures, or whatever this was, but he figured some b-level goddess who was losing followers because of the upstart Aten would be happy to see him, and the family that promoted him, disappear from the scene.

  “I’m not a fan of the Aten either, and I want to help us,” Babi pointed out. “Neither are the two of you. Or Meretaten. Or Mut. Rejecting their god doesn’t mean you reject the family, and it certainly doesn’t mean you want to see innocent people murdered. Meretseger is a minor goddess, but she guards the royal tombs. She protects the royal family. Maybe she’s just doing her job.”

  The priest kept calling out names and titles. After Mek, Herihor named family members in order, oldest to youngest. Jagger swallowed hard when Tatia’s name was called out, and the priest shoved a stone into her wax figure’s belly. Tut and the smaller princesses were named last.

  “We have to do something,” Aria whispered. “He’s gonna kill them!”

  Jagger gulped stale air. His sister was right, but it was impossible to think with the priest’s baritone voice building like a sinister symphony, competing with the rush of the wind and the trill of the snake.

  SSSsssssss!

  “Can you get us out?” Aria dropped to her knees and addressed the snake.

  Meretseger whipped her tail back and forth, like an agitated dog. She kept her distance from the bars of sand and smoke, unwilling, perhaps unable, to enter the cell.

  “I name you enemy of Aten,” the priest’s voice rang out. Jagger looked up in time to see Herihor spit on a small, wax figure. He wrapped the figure’s head in a strip of linen as he chanted. Enclosing the entire thing in clay, he molded it into a ball and scrawled on the outside with his reed pen.

  SSSSSS! SSSSSSSS!!!! Meretseger’s agitation grew.

  Herihor dropped the ball, and Jagger’s heart plunged down with it.

  The High Priest lifted his foot. The wind paused.

  “No,” Aria whimpered.

  Herihor stomped down, crushing the ball beneath his sandal.

  The wind blew harder, and the red lights went crazy, dancing faster and brighter and higher, bouncing off the star speckled ceiling like waves crashing against Lake Michigan’s shore.

  “What just happened?” Aria squeezed Jagger’s arm.

  “Something bad.” He felt nauseous. He glanced at Babi, and his blood turned cold. “He’s killing them, isn’t he?”

  The captain nodded. “That was the youngest princess.” Babi clutched his stomach.

  An image of the little princess Jagger had seen at the palace played before his eyes. He’d smiled at her, reminded of a younger Aria. The idea that she’d just dropped dead hundreds of miles away because this evil priest broke a clay ball was horrifying.

  “ENOUGH!” Babi’s scream filled the small room, drawing the attention of the three men.

  “Ignore him,” Herihor ordered as he picked up another small, wax figure. “I name you enemy of Aten.”

  The snake slithered back and forth, hissing angrily.

  “Help us,” Aria begged, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Jagger felt like his skin was on fire. He had to do something. But what? He stared at the goddess. “Our stuff!” he yelled. He pointed at Aria’s purse, his phone, and Babi’s sword. He had no idea how their stuff would help, but it couldn’t hurt, and it was the only idea he had.

  The snake placed her large, sleek body behind the stack of goods and slithered until Aria could reach their things.

  “Distract them. Do anything,” Jagger yelled.

  The High Priest wrapped the wax figure he held in linen. Jagger grabbed his phone and started clicking his camera like a madman, remembering how awed Herihor had been by the flash. Blinding, white light erupted in the dim tomb, much brighter than the red lights dancing to the spell.

  Aria lobbed what looked like colorful Easter eggs at the priest. It was her treasured lip-gloss collection.

  The snake slithered off and disappeared as Babi banged his sword against the stone, yelling Egyptian profanities. The noise gave J
agger an idea, and he clicked to his music, selecting the first song that popped up and blaring it on high volume before returning to the camera.

  Jagger’s favorite hip hop song exploded in the tomb, bouncing off the walls and burying the other sounds in its base.

  “Stop them!” The General pointed one finger at them and another at Smenkare.

  “No! Don’t move,” Herihor yelled in response. He dropped the second clay ball, and smashed it under his feet.

  Another death, like a sword to the gut.

  Jagger aimed his camera at Herihor and clicked again.

  “Keep going!” The old man’s lips curdled in anger as he shielded his eyes with one arm.

  The prince hesitated for an instant, glance shifting between the General and the High Priest, then he rushed toward the kids, murder in his eyes.

  The moment the prince left the triangle’s boundary, the wind died, and the red lights twinkled out. Jagger was so surprised he stopped clicking the camera, leaving the tomb lit by ordinary torchlight. Babi stopped banging the walls, and Aria was all out of lip-gloss to hurl. She clutched a handful of coins, clearly intending to throw them next. Jagger knew they’d been mined from her emoji-drenched change purse, which was always loaded to bursting with coins from countries across the globe.

  Herihor’s face turned purple with rage. He looked like he was seconds away from turning Smenkare into a frog.

  Yeah, c’mon. Express yourself … The song’s rhythm built, filling the tomb.

  “You idiot!” Herihor’s face contorted, turning the handsome, old man into a creature of spite and anger.

  The prince looked smug, like he was secretly pleased with himself. Had he meant to stop the spell?

  “Resume!” the General shouted.

  “Resume?” the High Priest spat back at the General. “Do you think a spell of this complexity can simply be resumed?”

  Stand up. Lift the beat. Don’t bring me down. Jagger clicked the song off, just as the priest stormed their way. The mist bars disappeared with a zap, and Herihor stomped in.

  Babi shoved the kids backward and attacked Herihor with his sword. A sudden blast of steam materialized in front of the priest. It shielded him like a wall of impenetrable steel.

  “You can’t hurt me, sailor boy!” Spittle flew from the priest’s mouth as Babi backed up, guarding the kids with his body. The General and Smenkare entered the small chamber and stood behind the priest. The room barely accommodated all six of them. Jagger stepped in front of Aria, adding a second layer of protection, although he knew it wasn’t worth much.

  “We should have killed you first,” the General muttered softly, his nose flaring like an angry bull. His voice deep, like an old jazz singer’s.

  “I’ll kill them now.” Smenkare took a step toward them, apparently dying to be useful.

  “You idiot!” Herihor turned on Smenkare. “We need nine, an Ennead. Nine family members are required for the spell to work. But because you,” he said, and poked the prince. “Are too stupid to just stand still and let me do the real work, two of the nine are now dead.”

  Jagger felt like someone had shoved a hand into his chest and was squeezing his heart. Aria moaned. The youngest princesses really were dead.

  The General growled, deep in his throat. He seemed to grow larger as he processed what the priest was saying. “Are you telling me you cannot cast the spell? Did you fail me?” It was said as a whisper, strangled and dangerous. As tough and magical as the priest was, Jagger saw a flash of concern cross his face and wondered what power the General had over him.

  The High Priest’s glance danced over Jagger and Aria. “No. I did not fail you, my General. Your idiot prince did. Again. But as always, I will fix it. I will deliver the throne to you, as I’ve promised. But we need these two alive. They are distant relatives of the family. The Heqa-oo Moot will be harder to cast with these two, rather than the princesses, but they will do. Fortunate that you have such a powerful magician at your side.” He tossed a condescending look at the prince as he said this. “We need to start the spell over.”

  Jagger twined his fingers behind his neck, struggling to process what he was hearing. He and Aria were now the eighth and ninth family members, but that only meant they’d die sooner—it didn’t change anything. Why wasn’t Smenkare one of the nine? And how could the General get the throne if Smenkare was still alive? Certainly the king’s son was in line before his General.

  Jagger glanced at the prince. Smenkare looked pale. Was he was surprised by this plan? He’d acted like he didn’t know Herihor was part of the plot. Maybe that’s why he’d stolen their letter of introduction. Why would he have done that if he’d known Herihor was on his side? Pieces began falling into place in Jagger’s head.

  “You can kill him though.” Herihor nodded at Babi. “And bind these two. I do not want any more interruptions.”

  “I’ve got this.” Smenkare pulled out a short sword as the General and Herihor stormed back to the tomb chamber.

  Babi faced the prince, shoulders drawn back. If it weren’t for Smenkare’s magic, Jagger would have put his money on Babi in hand-to-hand combat between the two. The captain’s body was longer and he seemed a million times tougher than the prince.

  Holding his sword in one hand, the prince lifted the other, eyes darting back and forth as he faced the captain. “Stop.”

  Babi froze.

  “Drop,” the prince commanded.

  The captain sank to the floor, his sword clanging to the ground. Babi lay, sprawled awkwardly as if he had no control over his limbs. The prince positioned his sword above Babi’s neck. “Not so tough now.”

  A BALL AND PAIN

  “Don’t do it,” Jagger pleaded, his head humming with adrenaline. He felt alive with energy, like lava was flowing through his veins.

  It was the kind of buzz that hit him sometimes when the answer to a calculus problem was just out of reach. Jagger had no magic, no real powers but those granted to him by a necklace. He didn’t even have Aria’s purse. The one thing Jagger had was a mind that processed information quickly and accurately.

  “They’re going to kill you too.” He stared up at the prince, connecting dots in his mind. “The General will take the throne. You thought it was yours. You didn’t know Herihor would be part of this, did you? You thought you were casting the Death Spell. Did you really believe the General would work for you, a skinny, teenage pharaoh?”

  Smenkare paused, lips pursed.

  “Every member of the family has to die. Tatia saw it when she cast the Meseneh Rek spell to bring us back in time.”

  Smenkare’s stare bore into Jagger. He tilted his head to the side, listening.

  “Dude, you and I are like super distant cousins. Your half-sister said we’d cease to exist if the Heqa-oo Moot was cast. No member of the family will be left alive. If we can’t exist, you can’t exist.”

  The prince chewed his cheek, then glanced over at the General.

  Jagger’s chest tightened as Smenkare shoved a hand into the bag slung over his shoulder.

  “Don’t …”

  The prince pulled out a vial and splattered something wet and red over the captain. The drops multiplied, leaving Babi drenched in a blood-like liquid.

  Still alive! Jagger swallowed, eyes glued to the prince.

  “Now, for you two—”

  “Don’t hurt her. Please,” Jagger begged. The request was ridiculous, and he knew it—this kid just murdered his own sisters.

  Smenkare considered Jagger through narrowed eyes, then shifted his gaze to Aria. Jagger shifted closer to her, which was absurd—the prince just defeated Babi with a word. There was nothing Jagger could do to protect his vulnerable, little sis.

  Smenkare grunted, then pulled a black, linen ribbon from his bag. “Bind.”

  The linen shot at Jagger, winding around him in an instant. He tossed his body, and the bindings tightened. He fell to the floor. Ar
ia toppled down next to him, wrapped tight like a mummy. How had that tiny bit of linen covered them both so fully and quickly?

  “Stop squirming,” Jagger advised. “It makes it worse.”

  Aria blew a curl out of her eyes, glaring at the prince. Her entire body was covered in black, linen strips. Only her head was left free, like Jagger’s.

  “They’ll kill you the second they get the chance. Herihor thinks you’re a punk—”

  “Enough!” Smenkare crossed his arms, staring at them a moment longer before pivoting and returning to the burial chamber.

  Jagger wiggled, gently, in his mummy wrappings, trying to see what the prince was up to.

  The High Priest hadn’t bothered to block the door again, but Jagger’s view was sideways. Herihor fished the two Ka stones from the shattered, clay balls, then plucked the others from the seven remaining wax figurines.

  “Clean that up,” the priest ordered the prince.

  Smenkare bent over to pick up the shards. He glanced back at Jagger, jaw tight.

  “He let Babi live,” Aria sighed. “That’s something.”

  Jagger shook his head. It wasn’t enough.

  Babi’s eyes, the only thing on his body he could move, shifted from Aria to Jagger.

  Jagger sucked in a lung full of air, then released it. What was the prince up to? “I don’t know if he believes me,” he whispered. “But he would be in line before the General. For the General to become pharaoh, Smenkare has to die. And he ruled for a few years. I read about it.” Jagger swallowed. “Maybe I’m overestimating him. I was hoping he wouldn’t feel like murdering his entire family for some other guy to get the throne. But who knows? Maybe he just wanted to be the one who killed his family.”

  Babi’s eyes bore into him.

  “Blink once if you agree, twice if I’m nuts.”