Jagger Jones and the Mummy's Ankh

by Malayna Evans

  The captain closed his eyes. Once.

  Aria let out a long, slow breath. “Is he going to help us?”

  “I doubt it. He just wrapped us up like mummies. But at least Babi’s still alive. He might even survive the next hour.”

  “And the princess?” Aria’s sob caught in her throat. “Is she alive still? Did he kill her?”

  Jagger looked at the captain. One blink.

  “I think he killed the two little ones we saw outside the palace. Not Tatia. And Herihor didn’t stomp the big, green malachite stone yet. That one is Mek’s. But none of us will be alive for long if we don’t do something—”

  “Come, Aten. Come to me.” Herihor’s chanting began again. Wind whipped through the tomb.

  This time, they were bound tight: no more flashing lights, or flying lip-gloss, or sick beats. They’d overcome magical crocodiles, a giant scorpion, and even temporarily stopped a nasty, old High Priest and an evil General from murdering a boatload of their family members. But they were out of tricks.

  Aria eyed her purse, a few feet away. Coins were scattered next to it. Babi’s sword lay serenely on the ground.

  “Your phone?” she asked.

  Jagger sucked in a breath. It was in his right hand, bound to his side. His left arm was stuck to his chest, unmovable. Could he use his phone? He struggled to free his thumb and twist it so he could reach the screen.

  “I’ve got it, but what am I supposed to do with it?”

  “Anything!” she whispered loudly.

  Jagger tapped the screen, trying to get anything at all to happen. Nothing. Stupid passcode!

  “You depict the enemies of Aten.” The priest was turning wax into bodies, one of which was Jagger’s. Worse, another was Aria’s.

  Jagger knew, deep in his bones, that she’d be the next to die. Herihor had been murdering the youngest princesses first, maybe to work his way up to the most powerful. Jagger’s fingers tapped frantically at his screen as he choked back tears. He couldn’t watch his sister die, not even knowing he was seconds behind her.

  The wind picked up, and the red lights winked off and on, bathing the cell in unnatural light.

  “I’m sorry!” Jagger moaned. “I don’t … I can’t …”

  “Poor Mom.” Tears streamed down Aria’s cheeks. “She’ll never know what happened to us.”

  The noise that came from deep within Jagger was something between a wail and a moan. He didn’t know he could make such a mournful sound.

  Maybe he should tell his little sis he loved her or something. This would be his last chance. Looking at Aria, Jagger’s brain reached for words. He should say something big, something important, before they dropped dead. But what could he possibly say?

  He’d die seconds after her. That made it better for him, but it wouldn’t help Mom, or Grams and Gramps, or Dad, or Tatia, or Mek and her family.

  “I love you, Brainy.” Aria blew out a puff of air. “It’s not your fault.”

  Jagger couldn’t see his sister—his eyes were too full of tears.

  “The nine are assembled, the Ennead is created,” Herihor screeched.

  Blood coursed through Jagger’s veins like lighter fluid.

  “I name you enemy of Aten,” Herihor wailed from the next room.

  Jagger struggled against his bindings, desperate to stop the priest before another clay ball was smashed and his sister dropped dead next to him. The linen grew tighter around him.

  The priest dropped the ball.

  Time sped up.

  One second, Jagger was trying to think of something, anything, to stop the old priest from killing Aria. The next, it was too late.

  Jagger heard the crunch of the mud ball shattering, and Aria sagged, lifeless.

  “Nooooo,” Jagger wailed.

  He closed his eyes and squeezed them tight. “No, no, no,” he mumbled.

  He opened his eyes.

  She was still there, lying next to him. She was staring right at him, but her hazel eyes were empty, devoid of all the life and energy that animated his little sister.

  Aria was gone.

  “I’m sorry,” he moaned. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  He squirmed closer to her—close enough to lean the top of his head against her shoulder. He was moments away from death himself. He welcomed it. This piercing pain would end. He didn’t want to live with this failure.

  He’d failed himself.

  He’d failed Mom.

  Worst of all, he’d failed his baby sister.

  He took a deep breath, waiting. At least his pain would end now. He couldn’t think about Aria, or Mom, for another second. It was too painful.

  The High Priest’s voice came for him. “I name you enemy of—”

  CRASH!

  Small bits of something dry and hard struck him, and he opened his eyes.

  DA FEET

  Jagger’s vision was blurry. He blinked tears away, and a clod of dirt hit his forehead.

  A black, metallic foot pierced the outside tomb wall. Above it, a gold hand shot through, sending more dirt flying.

  Babi groaned.

  Jagger watched in confusion, heart thumping, as the hand was followed by an arm, a leg, a torso, and, finally, a familiar looking, golden dog head with pointy ears. It was one of the large statues that had guarded Mek’s mummy back in the tomb—the statue that had given him the creeps. It looked like an Egyptian themed robot from some crazy sci-fi film.

  The dog-headed guard shook dust from its gleaming limbs, swiveling its head back and forth. Mut, covered in dirt, stumbled in behind it, through the hole they’d tunneled. She wore leather leggings and a simple shift that had probably been white before she burrowed into the tomb. Short braids hugged the scalp of her wigless head. Her bag of magical items hung at her side.

  She took in the scene and gasped. “No.”

  She dropped to Aria’s side, running her hands over Aria’s face and bound body. Mut flicked her fingers, and the mummy bindings fell off Aria and Jagger.

  He rolled over, pulling his sister to him. Aria didn’t move. He put his hand on her heart, hoping. But there was no life there.

  “Why are you stopping?” The General’s voice boomed from the next chamber.

  Jagger couldn’t make out Herihor’s response. He watched, heart aching, as Mut wiggled her fingers over Babi.

  “Ahhh!” The captain shot up and charged out of the small chamber, holding his sword high. The metallic dog was right behind him.

  Mut gripped Jagger, squeezing his shoulders tight. “I’m so sorry, Jagger.” Tears swam in her eyes. “If the Heqa-oo Moot killed Aria, that means at least one princess is dead too. More will die if we don’t stop this now. You need to gather the gemstones.”

  “I can’t … I can’t …” Jagger sobbed. He couldn’t string three words together. How could he help fight an evil General? He’d already lost the one thing he needed to protect. He’d failed in his most sacred responsibility.

  “You can.” Mut stood and yanked Jagger up. “If they win here today, Aria’s death is in vain. You owe it to her to stop them now. If we don’t, more people will die. Other wonderful, beautiful, little girls like your sister will die—”

  “Ahhh!” Babi screamed.

  Mut glanced at the door, then turned back to Jagger. “You don’t know all the others who’ll die, but that doesn’t make their lives less precious.”

  “No,” Jagger sobbed. “I can’t.”

  “You can. For her, you can. Get the gemstones.” Mut pulled Jagger toward the main chamber. “Now.” She rushed in, wiggling her fingers and chanting, but Jagger stopped at the door.

  It was as if a massive, pyrotechnics display had erupted inside the tomb. Lights were flying. Red lights battled purple lights. Green lights glittered around them as the wind thrashed.

  Babi faced the General, sword clanging against sword, as they moved away from the sarcophagus toward the main doo
r to the chamber. The General stepped backward, out of the magically drawn triangle, and some red twinkling lights faded. The din of clashing steel sounded even louder as the wind dimmed.

  Smenkare scowled at the golden guard that faced him. The prince uttered clipped words, and green lights bounced off the guard’s metallic surface. Smenkare tossed something on the ground, and a dozen snakes materialized, winding themselves around the guard’s legs, binding them together. For a moment, Jagger thought the crazy, dog creature would tumble and crash, but it brushed the snakes away like it was swatting flies. They rustled in anger. One of the snakes transformed into Meretseger. She hissed, her long, lithe body dwarfing the smaller snakes, which slithered away from her like scared children running from an angry mother.

  Smenkare stared down at the snake, his mouth hanging open. Taking advantage of the moment, the guard closed his fingers around the prince’s throat and pinned him to the far wall. Meretseger slithered back and forth as if she approved of the guard’s triumph over the prince.

  Herihor laughed, and Jagger’s gaze shifted to Mut. She faced the High Priest. They glared at each other like angry school kids in a competitive staring contest. Steam rose from Herihor’s feet. It swirled around him like a cloak. Mut’s fingers danced over the wax she held. The sounds of her chanting echoed off the walls, jarring with the thuds of clashing swords. Purple lights twinkled, and the smell of lotus blossoms filled the air.

  Jagger sucked in a deep breath as a scarab beetle bloomed at Herihor’s back. It was green and gold, about five feet tall. It flapped its wings and clacked its pincers, reaching for the priest.

  Herihor whispered under his breath, arms waving, and red lights flashed on and off. Smoke streamed around his feet, quickly transforming into a ball. It grew, enclosing the priest inside of a misty, protective sphere.

  Jagger looked back at Aria, the bitter taste of sorrow on his tongue. His throat was tight.

  “You’re no match for me, girl,” Herihor sneered at Mut.

  The sphere of smoke that enclosed the High Priest pulsed, kicking a clay ball toward Jagger. The ball rolled to a stop a foot away from him. On it were symbols of a snake, bird, jar stand, and mouth. Jagger knew the phonetic value of those signs. It read, Jagr.

  “My gemstone,” he whispered, glancing down at the ball.

  “Ahh!” Mut screamed and writhed like she was on fire. Steam rolled off her body, mingling with the ball of mist surrounding Herihor. The scarab beetle shoved on the misty ball, rolling the priest until he was upside down in the orb. Herihor chanted louder. His head hovered above the ground, held aloft in the floating ball of steam with his feet in the air. The beetle shoved the mist orb, but the sphere couldn’t get traction, and it rose farther off the ground.

  Jagger stared back down at the clay ball. A wax figure of him, a gemstone stuck in the wax Jagger-doll’s belly, was inside it. Would he drop dead if he crushed the ball? His sandal shifted closer. Maybe he didn’t have to go back to Chicago without his sister.

  He glanced back at Aria, wiping away tears and snot. She was too still, too lifeless, too dead. He felt cold all over. The ball of clay rolled closer, tapping his sandal. Maybe it wanted him to crush it. Maybe it was tempting him. And he was tempted. If it weren’t for …

  He heard his sister in his head, taunting him. Think of Mek, Brainy! No time for analysis paralysis. Stop the evil slime ball!

  Jagger glowered at the High Priest, chanting away, upside down in his magical sphere.

  “Okay, lil’ sis,” Jagger mumbled. He couldn’t save Aria. And maybe he couldn’t live with that. But before he figured that out, he might be able to hurt the man who’d hurt her.

  Jagger scooped the clay ball up as Mut fell to her knees, moaning.

  Go!

  The gemstones were on the sarcophagus. He limped over, glancing at the others. Mut looked up at the General, floating above her in his sphere of smoke. She was chanting and crafting something from wax. Smenkare struggled against his captor but the guard had him easily in hand. The captain and General continued their sword battle, equally matched.

  Jagger leaned on the sarcophagus. Seven wax dolls were lined up on top of it, tummies dotted with the gemstones that held Mek’s Ka. He looked down. A large chunk of lapis lazuli sat on the ground, surrounded by a shattered, clay ball. Aria! The world spun as he reached over to pick up the gemstone that represented his sister. He cradled it in his hand, feeling hollow.

  Blinking away tears, Jagger set Aria’s gemstone on the sarcophagus next to the wax figures. He put his clay ball next to it. He needed to gather the nine gemstones, but what if he hurt the family by plucking them out of the wax figures? His mind whirled. No, that didn’t fit the evidence. The seven figures hadn’t been spit on and wrapped in linen and rolled into a ball with their names scrawled on it. Only his had. And Aria’s. That meant …

  If Jagger could get his stone out without dropping dead, he could definitely get the others out.

  “Screw it,” he grumbled as he picked up his clay ball, took a deep breath, and smashed it against the sarcophagus.

  He held his breath, waiting to drop dead.

  No luck. He sighed, unwinding the little, wax Jagger and pulling a chunk of jasper from its belly. He set the jasper next to the lapis lazuli, then looked around for something to put them in. Where was the sack Smenkare had earlier? It was hard to see with the chaos of clanging swords and swirling smoke and the flashing lights from the magician’s battle.

  Jagger twirled in place. He spotted four large, limestone jars grouped together in a golden chest. The jar lids varied: one was in the shape of a baboon, another was a falcon, one was a woman, and the fourth, a jackal. Canopic jars, meant to store the organs of the deceased for the afterlife. Jagger grabbed the jackal headed jar and dumped out the contents. He didn’t give a second thought to the remains of the old king’s stomach, now cast carelessly on the ground.

  “No analysis paralysis,” he mumbled, grabbing gemstones from the wax dolls and shoving them into the canopic jar. When he got to the large chunk of malachite shoved into the biggest wax doll, he paused. “Sorry, Mek,” he breathed as he pried it loose.

  “AHHHH!!!” Mut screamed and doubled over in pain.

  Jagger looked up, watching in horror as Babi, distracted by Mut’s scream, turned toward her, giving the General the opening he needed. The General’s sword pierced the captain’s side. Babi fell just as Mut’s body hit the ground, as if they’d synchronized their failure. Jagger had no idea how much of the blood covering the captain was from Smenkare’s vial and how much was from the wound. But the captain was motionless. Dead?

  Mut wailed louder. Whether it was because of the pain or because of Babi, Jagger couldn’t tell. But she must have lost control: the beetle melted into the ground. The mist ball that held the priest vanished with a pop, and Herihor hit the floor, an evil smile blooming across his face as he righted himself and stood. The guard turned his dog head. He and Smenkare watched like spectators as the General and Herihor welcomed victory over Babi and Mut. The wind and lights vanished.

  Jagger shoved Mek’s gemstone into the jar with the others and clutched it to his chest like a football player cradling a ball near the end zone.

  “You.” Herihor turned his attention to Jagger. “Give me those gemstones.”

  The General stomped toward him. Babi’s blood dripped from the General’s sword, glittering in the torchlight.

  Jagger’s gut clenched. He eyeballed the door to the small cell where his sister lay. Could he make it to Aria? Maybe escape through the tunnel Mut and the guard had created?

  “Now!” Herihor’s voice was like a whip.

  “Never,” Jagger hissed. “You can’t have my sister’s gemstone!”

  The General reached Jagger. He lifted his sword to Jagger’s throat, a smile spreading slowly across his face. “Who’s going to stop us?” His voice was cool.

  Jagger squeezed the canopic jar. His
hand grazed the Isis Knot amulet.

  What?

  His heart throbbed, and his eyes flew to the chamber door just as she walked in.

  “Jagger Jones is going to stop you, General.”

  NOT TOO SHABTI

  Tatia stood at the chamber’s main door, behind Babi’s body, with the second dog-headed guard from Mek’s tomb at her side. The princess was dressed like a servant girl. Even in rags, power emanated from her like heat from a fire.

  How did she get here? Jagger clutched the canopic jar tighter as the General’s sword tip pressed against his throat.

  “My children,” the General hissed.

  The dog-guard held a kid in each hand: a girl and a boy, wound in mummy wrappings and held by the guard like balloons on a string.

  “Your children would like you to drop the sword.” Tatia’s calm demeanor was marred only by the worried glance she tossed at Mut, who moaned softly.

  “Children,” Jagger mumbled. That solved another small mystery. These must be the kids that had entered the temple complex earlier, delivering Tatia’s letter of introduction to Herihor. Smenkare must have given the General the letter because he didn’t know Herihor was on evil’s side, and the General sent his own kids to warn Herihor. These must be the same kids Babi’s sailors had followed to Amenhotep’s tomb, presumably when they returned to report back to their father.

  Jagger swallowed hard. This creep was a dad. And still he’d murdered Aria without a thought. He leaned into to the General. The sword point dug deeper into his neck, stinging him. Hot, wet blood dripped down his throat and chest.

  The General didn’t notice. He glared at the princess, nose flaring.

  Tatia smirked. “The difference is, General, he is not my child. If either of them dies, your only two children die also.”

  Jagger moaned. She didn’t know Aria was dead. As if she’d just realized his sister wasn’t here, Tatia’s eyes roamed over the chamber, landing on Jagger. Tears stung his eyes, flowing down his face to mix with the blood. He pushed against the sword, letting it dig deeper, bite into his skin harder, and Tatia blanched.