He looked up just as a small blue light drifted out of Zia’s mouth and flew into the sky. Carter backed away in shock. “What—what did you do?”
“Nothing,” I said. “She’s a shabti. She said she wasn’t really here. She was just a placeholder.”
Carter looked bewildered. But then a small light started to burn in his eyes—a tiny bit of hope. “Then…the real Zia is alive?”
“Iskandar was protecting her,” I said. “When the spirit of Nephthys joined with the real Zia in London, Iskandar knew she was in danger. Iskandar hid her away and replaced her with a shabti. Remember what Thoth said: ‘shabti make excellent stunt doubles?’ That’s what she was. And Nephthys told me she was sheltered somewhere, inside a sleeping host.”
“But where—”
“I don’t know,” I said. And in Carter’s present state, I was too afraid to raise the real question: If Zia had been a shabti all this time, had we ever known her at all? The real Zia had never gotten close to us. She’d never discovered what an incredibly amazing person I was. God forbid, she might not even like Carter.
Carter touched her face and it crumbled to dust. He picked up her wand, which remained solid ivory, but he held it gingerly as if he were afraid it too would dissolve. “That blue light,” he began to ramble, “I saw Zia release one in the First Nome, too. Just like the shabti in Memphis—they sent their thoughts back to Thoth. So Zia must’ve been in contact with her shabti. That’s what the light was. They must’ve been, like, sharing memories, right? She must know what the shabti’s been through. If the real Zia is alive somewhere, she might be locked up or in some kind of magic sleep or— We have to find her!”
I wasn’t sure it would be so simple, but I didn’t want to argue. I could see the desperation on his face.
Then a familiar voice sent a cold shiver down my back: “What have you done?”
Desjardins was literally fuming. His tattered robes still smoked from battle. (Carter says I shouldn’t mention that his pink boxer shorts were showing, but they were!) His staff was aglow, and the whiskers in his beard smoldered. Behind him stood three equally battered magicians, who all looked as if they’d just regained consciousness.
“Oh, good,” I muttered. “You’re alive.”
“You bargained with Set?” Desjardins demanded. “You let him go?”
“We don’t answer to you,” Carter growled. He stepped forward, hand on his sword, but I put out my arm to hold him back.
“Desjardins,” I said as calmly as I could, “Apophis is rising, in case you missed that part. We need the gods. The House of Life has to relearn the old ways.”
“The old ways destroyed us!” he yelled.
A week ago, the look in his eyes would’ve made me tremble. He fairly glowed with rage, and hieroglyphs blazed in the air around him. He was the Chief Lector, and I’d just undone everything the House had worked for since the fall of Egypt. Desjardins was a heartbeat away from turning me into an insect, and the thought should’ve terrified me.
Instead, I looked him in the eye. Right now, I was more powerful than he was. Much more powerful. And I let him know it.
“Pride destroyed you,” I said. “Greed and selfishness and all of that. It’s hard to follow the path of the gods. But it is part of magic. You can’t just shut it down.”
“You are drunk with power,” he snarled. “The gods have possessed you, as they always do. Soon you will forget you are even human. We will fight you and destroy you.” Then he glared at Carter. “And you—I know what Horus would demand. You will never reclaim the throne. With my last breath—”
“Save it,” I said. Then I faced my brother. “You know what we have to do?”
Understanding passed between us. I was surprised how easily I could read him. I thought it might be the influence of the gods, but then I realized it was because we were both Kanes, brother and sister. And Carter, god help me, was also my friend.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “We’re leaving ourselves open.” He glared at Desjardins. “Just one more good smack with the sword?”
“I’m sure, Carter.”
I closed my eyes and focused.
Consider carefully, Isis said. What we’ve done so far is only the beginning of the power we could wield together.
That’s the problem, I said. I’m not ready for that. I’ve got to get there on my own, the hard way.
You are wise for a mortal, Isis said. Very well.
Imagine giving up a fortune in cash. Imagine throwing away the most beautiful diamond necklace in the world. Separating myself from Isis was harder than that, much harder.
But it wasn’t impossible. I know my limits, my mother had said, and now I understood how wise she’d been.
I felt the spirit of the goddess leave me. Part of her flowed into my necklace, but most of her streamed into the Washington Monument, back into the Duat, where Isis would go…somewhere else. Another host? I wasn’t sure.
When I opened my eyes, Carter stood next to me looking grief-stricken, holding his Eye of Horus amulet.
Desjardins was so stunned, he momentarily forgot how to speak English. “Ce n’est pas possible. On ne pourrait pas—”
“Yes, we could,” I said. “We’ve given up the gods of our own free will. And you’ve got a lot to learn about what’s possible.”
Carter threw down his sword. “Desjardins, I’m not after the throne. Not unless I earn it by myself, and that’s going to take time. We’re going to learn the path of the gods. We’re going to teach others. You can waste time trying to destroy us, or you can help.”
The sirens were much closer now. I could see the lights of emergency vehicles coming from several directions, slowly cordoning off the National Mall. We had only minutes before we were surrounded.
Desjardins looked at the magicians behind him, probably gauging how much support he could rally. His brethren looked in awe. One even started to bow to me, then caught himself.
Alone, Desjardins might’ve been able to destroy us. We were just magicians now—very tired magicians, with hardly any formal training.
Desjardins’ nostrils flared. Then he surprised me by lowering his staff. “There has been too much destruction today. But the path of the gods shall remain closed. If you cross the House of Life again…”
He let the threat hang in the air. He slammed his staff down, and with a final burst of energy, the four magicians dissolved into wind and gusted away.
Suddenly I felt exhausted. The terror of what I’d been through began to sink in. We’d survived, but that was little consolation. I missed my parents. I missed them terribly. I wasn’t a goddess anymore. I was just a regular girl, alone with only my brother.
Then Amos groaned and started sitting up. Police cars and sinister-looking black vans blocked the curbs all around us. Sirens blared. A helicopter sliced through the air over the Potomac, closing fast. God only knew what the mortals thought had happened at the Washington Monument, but I didn’t want my face on the nightly news.
“Carter, we have to get out of here,” I said. “Can you summon enough magic to change Amos into something small—a mouse maybe? We can fly him out.”
He nodded, still in a daze. “But Dad…we didn’t…”
He looked around helplessly. I knew how he felt. The pyramid, the throne, the golden coffin—all of it was gone. We’d come so far to rescue our father, only to lose him. And Carter’s first girlfriend lay at his feet in a pile of pottery shards. That probably didn’t help either. (Carter protests that she wasn’t really his girlfriend. Oh, please!)
I couldn’t dwell on it, though. I had to be strong for both of us or we’d end up in prison.
“First things first,” I said. “We have to get Amos to safety.”
“Where?” Carter asked.
There was only one place I could think of.
C A R T E R
41. We Stop the Recording, for Now
I CAN’T BELIEVE SADIE’S GOING TO let me have the last word. Our
experience together must’ve really taught her something. Ow, she just hit me. Never mind.
Anyway, I’m glad she told that last part. I think she understood it better than I did. And the whole thing about Zia not being Zia and Dad not getting rescued…that was pretty hard to deal with.
If anybody felt worse than I did, it was Amos. I had just enough magic to turn myself into a falcon and him into a hamster (hey, I was rushed!), but a few miles from the National Mall, he started struggling to change back. Sadie and I were forced to land outside a train station, where Amos turned back into a human and curled into a shivering ball. We tried to talk to him, but he could barely complete a sentence.
Finally we got him into the station. We let him sleep on a bench while Sadie and I warmed up and watched the news.
According to Channel 5, the whole city of Washington was under lockdown. There’d been reports of explosions and weird lights at the Washington Monument, but all the cameras could show us was a big square of melted snow on the mall, which kind of made for boring video. Experts came on and talked about terrorism, but eventually it became clear that there’d been no permanent damage—just a bunch of scary lights. After a while, the media started speculating about freak storm activity or a rare southern appearance of the Northern Lights. Within an hour, the authorities opened up the city.
I wished we had Bast with us, because Amos was in no shape to be our chaperone; but we managed to buy tickets for our “sick” uncle and ourselves as far as New York.
I slept on the way, the amulet of Horus clutched in my hand.
We got back to Brooklyn at sunset.
We found the mansion burned out, which we’d expected, but we had nowhere else to go. I knew we’d made the right choice when we guided Amos through the doorway and heard a familiar, “Agh! Agh!”
“Khufu!” Sadie cried.
The baboon tackled her in a hug and climbed onto her shoulders. He picked at her hair, seeing if she’d brought him any good bugs to eat. Then he jumped off and grabbed a half-melted basketball. He grunted at me insistently, pointing to a makeshift basket he’d made out of some burned beams and a laundry basket. It was a gesture of forgiveness, I realized. He had forgiven me for sucking at his favorite game, and he was offering lessons. Looking around, I realized that he’d tried to clean up in his own baboon way, too. He’d dusted off the one surviving sofa, stacked Cheerios boxes in the fireplace, and even put a dish of water and fresh food out for Muffin, who was curled up asleep on a little pillow. In the clearest part of the living room, under an intact section of roof, Khufu had made three separate mounds of pillows and sheets—sleeping places for us.
I got a lump in my throat. Seeing the care that he’d taken getting ready for us, I couldn’t imagine a better welcome home present.
“Khufu,” I said, “you are one freaking awesome baboon.”
“Agh!” he said, pointing to the basketball.
“You want to school me?” I said. “Yeah, I deserve it. Just give us a second to…”
My smile melted when I saw Amos.
He’d drifted over to the ruined statue of Thoth. The god’s cracked ibis head lay at his feet. His hands had broken off, and his tablet and stylus lay shattered on the ground. Amos stared at the headless god—the patron of magicians—and I could guess what he was thinking. A bad omen for a homecoming.
“It’s okay,” I told him. “We’re going to make it right.”
If Amos heard me, he gave no sign. He drifted over to the couch and plopped down, putting his head in his hands.
Sadie glanced at me uneasily. Then she looked around at the blackened walls, the crumbling ceilings, the charred remains of the furniture.
“Well,” she said, trying to sound upbeat. “How about I play basketball with Khufu, and you can clean the house?”
Even with magic, it took us several weeks to put the house back in order. That was just to make it livable. It was hard without Isis and Horus helping, but we could still do magic. It just took a lot more concentration and a lot more time. Every day, I went to sleep feeling as if I’d done twelve hours of hard labor; but eventually we got the walls and ceilings repaired, and cleaned up the debris until the house no longer smelled of smoke. We even managed to fix the terrace and the pool. We brought Amos out to watch as we released the wax crocodile figurine into the water, and Philip of Macedonia sprang to life.
Amos almost smiled when he saw that. Then he sank into a chair on the terrace and stared desolately at the Manhattan skyline.
I began to wonder if he would ever be the same. He’d lost too much weight. His face looked haggard. Most days he wore his bathrobe and didn’t even bother to comb his hair.
“He was taken over by Set,” Sadie told me one morning, when I mentioned how worried I was. “Do you have any idea how violating that is? His will was broken. He doubts himself and… Well, it may be a long time….”
We tried to lose ourselves in work. We repaired the statue of Thoth, and fixed the broken shabti in the library. I was better at grunt work—moving blocks of stone or heaving ceiling beams into place. Sadie was better at fine details, like repairing the hieroglyphic seals on the doors. Once, she really impressed me by imagining her bedroom just as it had been and speaking the joining spell, hi-nehm. Pieces of furniture flew together out of the debris, and boom!: instant repair job. Of course, Sadie passed out for twelve hours afterward, but still…pretty cool. Slowly but surely, the mansion began to feel like home.
At night I would sleep with my head on a charmed headrest, which mostly kept my ba from drifting off; but sometimes I still had strange visions—the red pyramid, the serpent in the sky, or the face of my father as he was trapped in Set’s coffin. Once I thought I heard Zia’s voice trying to tell me something from far away, but I couldn’t make out the words.
Sadie and I kept our amulets locked in a box in the library. Every morning I would sneak down to make sure they were still there. I would find them glowing, warm to the touch, and I would be tempted—very tempted—to put on the Eye of Horus. But I knew I couldn’t. The power was too addictive, too dangerous. I’d achieved a balance with Horus once, under extreme circumstances, but I knew it would be too easy to get overwhelmed if I tried it again. I had to train first, become a more powerful magician, before I would be ready to tap that much power.
One night at dinner, we had a visitor.
Amos had gone to bed early, as he usually did. Khufu was inside watching ESPN with Muffin on his lap. Sadie and I sat exhausted on the deck overlooking the river. Philip of Macedonia floated silently in his pool. Except for the hum of the city, the night was quiet.
I’m not sure how it happened, but one minute we were alone, and the next there was a guy standing at the railing. He was lean and tall, with messed-up hair and pale skin, and his clothes were all black, as if he’d mugged a priest or something. He was probably around sixteen, and even though I’d never seen his face before, I had the weirdest feeling that I knew him.
Sadie stood up so quickly she knocked over her split-pea soup—which is gross enough in the bowl, but running all over the table? Yuck.
“Anubis!” she blurted.
Anubis? I thought she was kidding, because this guy did not look anything like the slavering jackal-headed god I’d seen in the Land of the Dead. He stepped forward, and my hand crept for my wand.
“Sadie,” he said. “Carter. Would you come with me, please?”
“Sure,” Sadie said, her voice a little strangled.
“Hold on,” I said. “Where are we going?”
Anubis gestured behind him, and a door opened in the air—a pure black rectangle. “Someone wants to see you.”
Sadie took his hand and stepped through into the darkness, which left me no choice but to follow.
The Hall of Judgment had gotten a makeover. The golden scales still dominated the room, but they had been fixed. The black pillars still marched off into the gloom on all four sides. But now I could see the overlay—the strange hol
ographic image of the real world—and it was no longer a graveyard, as Sadie had described. It was a white living room with tall ceilings and huge picture windows. Double doors led to a terrace that looked out over the ocean.
I was struck speechless. I looked at Sadie, and judging from the shock on her face, I guessed she recognized the place too: our house in Los Angeles, in the hills overlooking the Pacific—the last place we’d lived as a family.
“The Hall of Judgment is intuitive,” a familiar voice said. “It responds to strong memories.”
Only then did I notice the throne wasn’t empty anymore. Sitting there, with Ammit the Devourer curled at his feet, was our father.
I almost ran to him, but something held me back. He looked the same in many ways—the long brown coat, the rumpled suit and dusty boots, his head freshly shaven and his beard trimmed. His eyes gleamed the way they did whenever I made him proud.
But his form shimmered with a strange light. Like the room itself, I realized, he existed in two worlds. I concentrated hard, and my eyes opened to a deeper level of the Duat.
Dad was still there, but taller and stronger, dressed in the robes and jewels of an Egyptian pharaoh. His skin was a dark shade of blue like the deep ocean.
Anubis walked over and stood at his side, but Sadie and I were a little more cautious.
“Well, come on,” Dad said. “I won’t bite.”
Ammit the Devourer growled as we came close, but Dad stroked his crocodile head and shushed him. “These are my children, Ammit. Behave.”
“D-Dad?” I stammered.
Now I want to be clear: even though weeks had passed since the battle with Set, and even though I’d been busy rebuilding the mansion the whole time, I hadn’t stopped thinking about my dad for a minute. Every time I saw a picture in the library, I thought of the stories he used to tell me. I kept my clothes in a suitcase in my bedroom closet, because I couldn’t bear the idea that our life traveling together was over. I missed him so much I would sometimes turn to tell him something before I forgot that he was gone. In spite of all that, and all the emotion boiling around inside me, all I could think of to say was: “You’re blue.”
The Complete Kane Chronicles Page 39
