I needed to find a way to use Isis’s own regenerative powers (cats do have nine lives, you know) to throw off the curse and grow back her original personality. I had to purify her and offer her protection against the powers of evil that coursed through her small furry body. Plus, I had to try to remind her of what her true nature was. A tall order.
I searched through my carpetbag (which I had forgotten to put away the day before. Very careless of me!) and was able to find all the ingredients I needed. I have recorded them below, for posterity, as Father always says.
THEODOSIA THROCKMORTON’S RECIPE
FOR UNDEMONIZING YOUR CAT
I small square of white linen
I stick of willow Wood, burned at the tip
I small baby tooth from when cat in question Was a kitten (Luckily, I had one of those!)
I small fishbone (to stimulate her senses and remind her of her true nature)
I thimbleful of dried Nepeta cararia, commonly known as catnip (to stimulate her senses even more)
I drop of blood (the spellmaker’s, not the cats)
I vessel of pure water
I hippopotamus tusk carved with magic symbols and used in magic ceremonies during the Middle Egyptian Dynasty period (borrowed from the Museum of Legends and antiquities Egyptian ZMagic collection #736)
26 threads—12 white (for purity), 8 green (for the power of growth), 6 red(for rebirth—Isis neededto be rebirthedin a hurry!)
The first thing I did was strip off my gloves. They would be much too clumsy for the fine work required in making the amulet. Next I drew a wedjat eye in the middle of the linen square with the burned end of the willow stick. This would give poor Isis the healing power of Horus and the protection of the fearsome goddess Eye of Ra.
Then I placed the tooth, fishbone, and catnip in the middle of the linen square. I poked my finger with a small needle, then let one drop of blood fall on the small pile. Next, I carefully folded the linen over and over again until it was nothing but a lumpy square. I plaited the twenty-six threads together so that they formed a small collar. After that, I had to poke holes in both ends of the linen pouch with my needle, then thread the collar through the pouch so I could attach it to Isis’s neck. The wand and water would be used later, during the ceremony.
But before I could begin the ceremony, I had to find the poor bedeviled cat.
How does one catch a demonic cat, anyway? Let alone hang on to it long enough to remove a curse? Cats are so contrary, even when they aren’t possessed by black magic. No sooner do you decide you need to find one than they go into hiding. Of course, if I wanted the cat out of the way, she’d be under my feet, winding herself between my ankles and tripping me.
I spent ages wandering around the cold, cavernous museum looking for Isis. I checked all her favorite places; behind the furnace, in the loading dock where the mice and rats live, in the family room under the wardrobe, and under the display cases in the bird gallery (she likes to pretend she is stalking them). But she was nowhere to be found.
When the museum’s various clocks sounded, I counted the chimes; twelve. It was lunchtime! Which meant Isis might be lurking about hoping for dropped bits of sandwich or whatnot. Dolge and Sweeney weren’t the neatest of eaters. Neither was Flimp.
I spent the better part of the next hour skulking around like a cat myself. While there was no sign of Isis, I did manage to collect a nice pile of crumbs. In the foyer, under the balcony that Isis seemed to enjoy launching herself off of, I arranged a blob of liverwurst, a tiny crumble of cheddar, and part of a boiled egg white.
Just as I was setting a very promising Isis trap, I felt a whoosh as a small furry shape whizzed past me, then vivid pain as razor sharp claws swiped my hands away from the scraps.
I was so startled that it wasn’t until Isis had nearly swallowed the last bit of egg that I remembered to grab her.
Howling like a banshee, she twisted violently, trying to wrench herself from my grasp. It was like trying to hang on to a small whirlwind! I clutched her close and prayed the reading room was still empty. It would be just my luck to have some crusty old scholar show up while I was trying to smuggle my cat in.
With relief, I found the room empty and hurried into my study. I held on to Isis with one hand while I groped for my supplies with the other.
Unfortunately, this left her arms and legs free to slash and swipe. I winced as her claws made contact with my torso, then nearly dropped her when her paw sliced through my left sleeve.
I wrestled her down to the floor and held her in my lap with one hand while I tried to wrap the collar around her neck with the other. Luckily my heavy layers of clothing protected me from any further damage. Finally, I got the collar wrapped around her scrawny little neck. Then I had to release my hold on her so I could tie the horrid thing, which left her free to try to run away or claw my arm off.
She gave both a rousing good try.
As I tied on the collar, I mumbled the charm as quickly as I could. “May the healing power of Horus fill you. May the strength of the Eye of Ra shine down upon you. May you revert back to your charming little self.” At those last words, Isis wrenched free of my grasp. As she streaked toward the door, I lurched to my feet and grabbed the vessel full of water. “May this water purify your soul!” I cried out, tossing it at her as she disappeared through the door.
I heard a bellow of surprise, then who should stick their ugly head in the door but Clive Fagenbush! His eyebrows were drawn together, like one huge mustache across his forehead, and there was a big wet blotch right in the middle of his chest. You can just imagine how happy he was about that.
As he took a single, slow step into the room, a drop of water dangled from his long pointed nose. “What do you think you are doing, you miserable child?” he asked.
His fury was like a wall, pushing up against me. I took a step back. “I was giving Isis a bath,” I said.
He took another step closer. “A cat? A bath? In winter? Tell me, do you always invoke purification rites when you give your cat a bath?”
Bother. Heard that, had he? I stopped backing up, folded my arms across my chest, and gave him a haughty glare. “Of course. Don’t you? How do you expect to get really clean, then?”
His frown deepened.
Just then I heard Father’s voice from down the hall. “Theodosia! Get out here! We’re going to be late picking up Henry!”
Oh, dear. He sounded angry. “Sorry. Got to go.” I took a step forward to make my escape, then realized I would be leaving him here alone with my things.
He glowered at me. “I’m warning you…”
“Now!” Dad’s voice barked out, and Fagenbush and I both jumped. Father stood in the door behind us. When he saw the Second Assistant Curator standing in my study, he did a double take. “I say, what are you doing in here, Fagenbush?”
Yes, I thought. What are you doing in here? I tilted my head to the side, waiting for his answer.
“I, uh, thought Theodosia might have had, er, something that I was looking for.”
“Nonsense. Theodosia doesn’t have anything in here.” He frowned at me, suddenly wary. “Do you?”
I gave a little laugh. “Whatever would I have in here?”
Father nodded. “Quite. Now, move along, Fagenbush. Theodosia needs to come with me.”
Fagenbush nodded, then beat a hasty retreat. Just as I was feeling rather smug, Father turned back to me. “What on earth has happened to you? Look at you! You’re a mess.”
I rubbed my elbow, then pushed my hair back out of my eyes so I could look down and see how much damage had been done. The bottom of my right sleeve was in tatters, and my wrist had a number of scrapes on it. “Isis and I had a bit of a disagreement.”
“That confounded cat will be our undoing,” Father declared, then strode out of the room. “Now come along. You’re making us late.”
As I followed, I could only hope that the amulet would work its magic on Isis. Hopefully by the time we returned from the holida
ys, she would be cured.
Henry’s Homecoming
CHARING CROSS STATION was even more of a madhouse than the day before, if that were possible. Families dressed in traveling clothes and lugging valises were shepherding excited children into the station, while porters wheeling carts of towering luggage did their best to avoid them. Trains pulled up to the platforms and belched out groups of schoolchildren home for the holidays like puffs of gray smoke. As I searched the most recent batch for signs of Henry, I felt a slight tug on the back of my coat. I whirled around and found myself face to face with the urchin, Sticky Will.
“‘Ello there.”
He looked a little grimier than he had yesterday, and his collar had sprung loose. “Hullo!” I said. “I was hoping I’d find you—”
“Seems to me as I’m the one wot did the finding.”
I waved my hand. “Never mind. What did you find out?”
“Blimey, miss!” the urchin said, staring at my arm. “Was you in a fight?”
“No, I wasn’t in a fight,” I said. “My cat and I had a misunderstanding, that’s all.”
The pickpocket eyed me up and down. “Must be some cat. ‘As ‘e got lion blood in ‘im?”
“At the moment she seems to,” I muttered. “Now, what did you find out?”
“The bloke made ‘is way to some digs on Carleton Terrace Gardens.”
“Carleton Terrace! Isn’t that right next to the German Embassy?” Did that mean this skulky fellow was a German? And why would a German be following Mum? Or care so much about her trunks?
The urchin shrugged. “I just follows ‘em, miss. I don’t tell ‘em where to go.” His eyes darted over my shoulder, then back at me. “We’re even now, right miss?”
“Yes, I suppose—”
“Got to go,” he said, turning to dart back into the crowd.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “How can I find you?”
The urchin grinned, revealing a missing tooth. “I’m usually here most days.” He glanced over my shoulder one more time, then was gone, disappearing into the crowd. I was surprised at how alone I felt all of a sudden. A person could get used to having an ally.
Just then I heard an all too familiar voice behind me. “Does Father know about this?”
Slowly, I turned around. “Henry. You’re home.” I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice. Well, I tried a little. Why couldn’t he be helpful like Sticky Will?
“Are you so desperate for friends that you’re picking up strays?”
My face grew hot and I clenched my fists to keep from socking him. “I have plenty of friends,” I spluttered.
“Really? Who? A scrawny cat? Flimp? A boring curator you make cow eyes at?”
“I do not make cow eyes at him!”
“Street urchins?”
“Oh, shut up. I do too have friends.” I did. Really. Sticky Will was my ally, wasn’t he? Or was he just a pickpocket hoping for another pasty? Oh, who needs friends anyway? “Where are Mother and Father?”
“Getting my luggage. They told me to run on ahead and see if I could find you.”
Behind him, I saw my parents making their way through the crowd, along with a porter juggling Henry’s luggage. “How many days’ break do you get this winter?” I asked.
“Three weeks,” Henry said. “And if you’re snotty to me, I’ll make sure they put you on a train to school when they send me back.”
The cad.
***
After we picked Henry up from the train station we went directly home to our house on Chesterfield Street. It was wonderful to be home! Thick curtains and even thicker carpets kept all the drafts away and there was a fire burning in every room in the house. Cook, relieved to have something to do, made a fabulous dinner of steak and kidney pie, and even Henry wasn’t too much of a bore.
Then, after dinner who should show up but Uncle Andrew, Mum’s brother and my favorite uncle in all the world. Of course, the townhouse was much too cramped for all of us so Mum and Dad made a last-minute decision to go to the country. We all packed like madmen, bundled up, and piled into a carriage that carried us off to our home in Surrey. I have to say, I think it was the best Christmas ever! Except for the rain.
The only awkward bit was when Mother and Father opened their presents from me. They tried to be polite, but I saw the puzzled looks they exchanged when they thought I wasn’t looking. I’d made them each an amulet. Of protection. To be worn when we’re at the museum. Honestly. You’d think they’d have sorted this stuff out by now.
Uncle Andrew showed me how to throw knives that afternoon. We didn’t tell Mum. She got angry enough last year when he showed me how to shoot clay pigeons with a shotgun. I landed flat on my backside in the muddy slush with a bruise the size of a pudding on my right shoulder. But I blew that clay pigeon to smithereens. I don’t know why Mum got so upset. According to Uncle Andrew she’s a crack shot herself. But she says I’m too young. What I’d like to know is how old does a person have to be before they get to do all the fun stuff?
The Same but Different
USUALLY WHEN I RETURN TO THE MUSEUM after a long absence, it feels like I’m being welcomed by an old friend. All the creaks and groans seem cheerful. As if the wraiths and spirits are relieved to have me back, as if they liked having someone around who was aware of their existence.
But not today.
Today, the minute I stepped foot into the building, it felt different. Colder. More still. As if everything were holding its breath. I gazed around the vast main hall, peering up into the small balconies and archways that lined the stone walls, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.
It was unsettling, to say the least.
When I set my valise down on the tiled floor, the soft click echoed down the chamber and disappeared into utter silence. Father started to walk around me, but I put out my hand to stop him. “Do you notice anything?”
He scowled at me, then concentrated a moment. “No,” he said, rather crisply. “Nothing. The only thing I notice is that you’re about to go off on one of your tangents. I’m warning you, Theodosia.”
Father turned toward the stairs and tripped over my valise. “What in heaven’s name is that?”
“Just a few things I brought with me. Supplies, that sort of thing.” Clean clothes, to be exact. Just in case we got stuck at the museum for days on end again.
“Hmph,” he growled, then strode out of the foyer toward the stairs that led up to his workroom.
I heaved a sigh, then looked away from Father to find Henry grinning at me. “You made a good impression on him, there, Theo.”
I glared at him. “Yes, almost as good an impression as you made when you tried to light the gaslight at home with your finger and nearly burned your hand off.”
Henry kicked halfheartedly at my bag. “It was supposed to be an experiment. On static electricity.”
Henry looked so dejected I was almost sorry I’d brought it up. But really, I didn’t need Henry to remind me how iffy my position was. It wouldn’t take much for Father to decide I was suffering from nerves or some equal nonsense and pack me off to some cold gray school to cure me of them.
I left Henry in the foyer studying his bandaged finger and went up to the second floor to stash my case in my closet. Then I went up to the third floor and the Ancient Egypt Exhibit, curious to see if I could work out what was making the museum feel so wrong. Besides, if I pretended I wasn’t really looking for Isis, maybe I’d have a chance of finding her.
When I was halfway up the stairs, a voice behind me made me jump.
“So what is wrong?” It was Henry.
“As if I’d tell you, you little beast. You’d be off to Father in a minute flat, tattling and trying to get me locked up in another of those hideously boring schools.”
“They’re not so hideous. They’ve got sports, you know. Besides, maybe I won’t tattle. Not if you make it worth my while,” he said.
I stopped and whirled around to face him.
“And why would I want to do that?”
“If you tell me what’s wrong, I’ll even try to help you work out what’s going on.”
“I don’t need your help to work out anything.”
Henry’s face fell and I immediately felt awful. Then I had a brilliant idea. What if the reason Henry hated the museum was because he could sense all the black magic? He was my brother, after all. Shouldn’t we share the same traits, just like we share the same eye color (hazel, if you’re wondering)? “Actually, there is something you can help me with,” I told him. “But keep your voice down and your hands in your pockets.”
He muttered something about bossing not being part of the deal and shuffled along after me.
As we walked among the Egyptian statuary on our way to the exhibit room, I could detect nothing out of the ordinary. I paused at the door leading into the exhibit and closed my eyes. Again, I sensed nothing.
“What are we looking for?” Henry asked. “And how are you going to find it with your eyes closed?”
“Henry,” I asked, opening my eyes and watching him closely. “Do any of these exhibits ever give you the willies or make you uneasy?”
“Uneasy how?”
“Like make your skin crawl—”
“No. Never. How about you?”
“No. Never.”
“Then why do you ask?” He thought for a moment. “Is that what’s wrong with you? Are you frightened of these stuffy old exhibits?”
“No! But you hate being in the museum, so I thought perhaps it made you uneasy.”
“I’m no coward!”
Drat. I’d so hoped he felt some of the same sensations I did, but just didn’t know how to say so. Bringing Henry along was already proving to be a bad idea. “Look, I’m just trying to detect what is off with the museum. Something feels wrong somehow. As if someone were here while we were away, or one of the exhibits had been tampered with, something of that nature.”
Theodosia - The Serpents of Chaos Page 6
