by Corey Edward
“The Black Pharaoh? That sounds more like the boss of a Nintendo game than an actual person,” said Frankie.
I reached into the envelope again and pulled out another handful of pictures. They were mostly of miscellaneous tombs, treasures, and sarcophagi, but one picture of a black sarcophagus caught my eye.
“That’s the same one we saw in the atrium downstairs,” I said, showing it to my friends. “The black sarcophagus. The caption says ‘NARLOTHOTEP’S TOMB’.”
“Did Carter write anything about it?” asked Molly.
I reached into the envelope once again. Within it, I found a note written in the same handwriting as the previous one. I nodded and started to read.
“I have been having dreams of Narlothotep, the Black Pharaoh,” I read. “His spirit survives even two thousand years after his death. He ruled openly as a wizard and was respected by his people. He wants to do so again. He asks me to open his sarcophagus and free him…”
“Bad curator,” said Frankie, wagging his finger. “Bad, bad, bad.”
“So I did, venturing out alone in the dead of night. I found him lying inside with a Grimoire clutched in his hands, his own Grimoire. It was then that I began to hear his spirit talking to me. Even now, I hear him in my mind, as closely as if he were whispering in my ear. He wants to help me achieve my dream of a world where Spellcrafters do not have to hide who they truly are. He wants to accompany me home. There, I will put together my dream exhibit, Real Witchcraft, with the hopes of revealing our kind to the world…”
As a voracious reader, I’ve experienced my fair share of gullible protagonists who wouldn’t know a bear if it was gnawing on their arm. But what I’d just read in Alexander Carter’s account surprised even me. How could anyone have been so naive? So trusting? Did none of this strike Carter as bizarre at all? Or was he so blinded by his goal of a society where Spellcrafters lived openly that he was willing to put aside suspicion for a chance of achieving said goal?
Frankie was leaning against the doorway, frowning and rubbing his chin. Molly and Enisa were folding their arms, deep in thought. Rusty had hopped onto a chair and was tilting his head, as if he, too, were trying to wrap his mind around all he’d just heard.
“So this so-called ‘Black Pharaoh’ took advantage of Carter’s desire for equality between Spellcrafters and humans and used it to hitch a ride to America,” I said. “What an asshole.”
“He’s the spirit of an ancient despot,” said Enisa. “Of course, he’s an asshole.”
“If there’s one lesson to take from this,” said Frankie, “it’s that nothing good can ever come from opening a black sarcophagus.”
“Or snatching an evil Grimoire from the hands of a dead man.” I rapped my knuckles on the desk and saw something there that caught my eye. It was a document with an Ouroborus at the top of it. This was written not in Carter’s handwriting, but in letters made from blood.
Human blood?
THE RITE OF ANUBIS, it said at the top. I held it up so my friends could see.
“What’s that?” asked Enisa.
“I think it’s a spell,” I explained. “TO RETURN THE DEAD INTO THE WORLD OF THE LIVING.”
“What a bundle of fun this guy was,” said Frankie. “What are those names below?”
“It’s a list of everyone who’s died so far.
FIVE SACRIFICES:
MARCUS ROBINSON X
GABRIEL O’MACKEY X
JAMES CANDLE X
I NEED ONLY TWO MORE SACRIFICES. SOON, I SHALL RETURN. SOON, THE KINGDOM OF BOS-TON SHALL BE MINE.”
That’s when it hit me.
There it was.
I had it all in my hands.
A plan.
A culprit.
A motive.
Five sacrifices were needed to complete the Rite and resurrect Narlothotep. Thus far, there’d been three: Marcus Robinson, James Candle, and Gabriel O’Mackey.
“What’s the ‘Rite of Anubis’?” asked Enisa.
“It looks like he’s trying to come back to life,” I explained. “Only two more wizards to go. Once he has their Mana, Narlothotep will return.”
And who knew how much chaos he would create? I didn’t think Narlothotep was trying to raise the dead to recreate the Thriller music video. What would a Boston under his rule be like?
“We have to do something,” Molly said. “We have to find that Grimoire, find Carter, and stop him.”
“Right,” said Enisa. “But how do we?”
“We might be able to find something at my dad’s office. But first, let’s see if there’s anything else in that file that can be useful.”
I glanced down at the journal and flipped through the remaining pages in the folder. The next one contained nothing but Ouroborus drawn over and over and over again. So, too, did the other five.
And the other ten.
And the other twenty.
“Henry,” Frankie shouted, “look out!”
I saw the Darkon as it ran for me, tooth-filled mouth open wide enough to bite me in half. I noticed it too late to retaliate with a spell, so I had no choice but to literally dive out of the way and let it rush past me. The razor-sharp teeth that formed the upper half of its body missed me and instead became embedded in the wall. I grabbed Rusty and made for the door just as it managed to free itself and run for me again.
“Irreductus,” Molly shouted, holding out her hand. A flash of bright light illuminated the office and the Biter slowed as if running underwater, though it didn’t totally stop.
Frankie reached it as its speed returned to normal, thrusting his body in between us and tackling it to the floor like a linemen to a quarterback.
What ensued next was complete chaos as he and the Darkon rolled around the room, struggling to keep the other down like wrestlers on a mat. Frankie was doing well, holding it off as it snapped at his face, but I knew it was too strong to fend it off forever.
“Get rid of it!” Frankie grunted. “Now!”
“Foul Biter, being of destruction,” I shouted. “Return to the Nether Realm on my instruc-”
Frankie kicked upward and flung the Biter into the air before I could finish saying “instruction.” I’m not sure if he intended to send it Enisa’s way, but that’s what happened — and it landed right on top of her. She tumbled to the ground and the Hand of Glory went with her, its green flames extinguished.
“Help!” she cried, scrambling to untangle herself from the biting, thrashing Darkon. “Someone! Get it off of me!”
“Hold on!” Frankie shouted, drawing the Shades. He ran for the beast as it gnashed at Enisa, who was gripping onto the desk in an effort to get to her feet. Then, he buried his weapon into the back of the Biter’s head, sending a flurry of black blood splattering onto the ground.
It turned its attention toward him, opened its mouth, and charged.
“Finish it!” Frankie roared.
I pointed at the Darkon and finished the poem-
“Foul Biter, being of destruction. Return to the Nether Realm on my instruction!”
A ray of golden light slammed into the beast and enveloped it like a hug. Two seconds later, the light vanished and it was gone, back home in the Nether Realm where it belonged.
Frankie looked at the broken Hand, looked at Rusty, and looked at me.
“Sorry,” Enisa said. “I didn’t mean to drop it, I-”
“No,” Frankie said. “I’m sorry for throwing that thing into you. We have to go. Now.”
“Guys,” Molly said, pointing. “What’s up with the statue?”
I turned my head. The bust of Anubis resting on Carter’s desk opened its eyes and shrieked, its otherworldly wailing so shrill that I felt it in my bones.
For maybe the first time since Grams caught him stealing that slice of blueberry pie this summer, Rusty ran out of that office like his butt was on fire. I wasn’t too far behind him- and for that matter, neither were my friends.
As we spilled into the corridor, I
noticed that the painting of the Biter was now empty. What sort of black magic was this that could entrap Darkon in portraits? I’d never heard of such a spell.
I almost made it to the stairs when something wrapped around both of my arms, yanking me backward. Looking down, I saw that it was a thick, blue line — but something about it felt rudimentary, or even two-dimensional. It wasn’t until I heard Rusty yelp and saw the triangles and squares swirling in the air around him like birds that I realized what was happening.
We were being attacked by abstract art.
“The paintings,” Enisa screamed. “They’re coming alive!”
I turned my head to see Frankie slashing away, stabbing his Shades at the shapes like a hunter to blue jays. But all he was doing was shooting fish in a barrel: one fell and others came flying out of the paintings that lined the walls.
What spell could I cast to stop this? I had used so much magic in such a short period, and my Mana would need time to replenish. I was, rough estimate, working on a quarter-tank. I’d have to be wise and conserve my energy because I didn’t know what else we’d encounter on a night that was going as badly as this one.
I couldn’t banish all of these shapes in one shot. They weren’t Darkon; they were just animated art pieces.
But if something set them in motion, maybe I could reverse that and set them out of it.
“GLACIO!” I shouted. A flurry of cold air swept into the corridor and slowly froze everything into place. The triangles, the squares, and everything else stopped moving. I ripped the thick blue line away from my hips and continued to run, not pausing for even a second.
We darted down the steps like men on fire, Molly in the lead and Rusty taking up the rear. But what I saw when I reached the bottom made me freeze in place, blood running cold.
It wasn’t just the statue of Anubis that was looking at us.
All of the heads of the Egyptian gods and goddesses were staring our way.
And then they opened their mouths all at once and screamed.
The noise was deafening, and my hands flew up to my ears by instinct. And poor Rusty, with dog hearing, could only howl — though that howl was soon drowned out.
I grabbed Rusty, charged down the steps, and made for the corridor through which we’d entered earlier. Soon the statues’ screeching grew faint — so faint I could barely hear them anymore- and we were almost at the exit. Molly rounded the corner, which would reveal the doorway and then he stopped dead in her tracks.
I could tell the gray-haired man lying in a pool of blood was a security guard by the blue uniform that hung open on his lifeless corpse. And there was one more thing I could tell about him, from the bloody Ouroboros carved onto his chest.
He was a Spellcrafter.
And he was something else, too.
“The fourth sacrifice,” I said.
“Shit,” said Frankie.
That was putting it mildly.
We threw open the door and ran out into the night.
Thirteen
Office Cleaning
It felt like we had failed.
It felt like I had failed.
Narlothotep-slash-Carter had been in the exact same building as us — probably merely one floor away — and we didn’t even know it.
But he probably knew exactly where we were, which was why he commanded that Biter to come after us.
Everyone had been silent since we got back into the car. None one of us knew what to say, I think. Nothing seemed as important as what we had just witnessed and what it meant. It was Enisa who broke the quiet first, her voice a slight tremble.
“Do you think we’ll be on the cameras?” she asked. “Since the Hand of Glory-”
“Narlothotep would probably have them wiped,” I said. “Can’t risk anyone seeing him murder that security guard.”
And it was the fourth. Great Merlin… if we didn’t stop him before Halloween, we’d have a full-blown undead wizard on our hands. What would we do then? What could anyone do?
I pulled up to Candle Paranormal Investigations and sat there quietly for a second. Seeing people murdered on TV or in the movies was one thing. But real life? It was quite another.
“I never knew someone could bleed so much,” muttered Frankie.
“Shouldn’t we call the police?” asked Enisa. “I-I mean, I know it’s a supernatural murder, but-”
“And say what?” asked Frankie. “That we were snooping around in the museum after dark and happened upon a dead body? I’ve always wanted to be front-page material, but not like that.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just.” She buried her hands in the folds of her hijab and sighed. “I feel so dirty.”
“Why? You didn’t kill him,” Molly said. “Carter or Narlothotep or whoever he is did. Just like he killed all those other wizards.”
“Right. And he knew we were there,” I said. “He had to have known. And that makes it all the more urgent for us to stop him before he stops us.”
“Then why are we in here instead of out there kicking his ass?” Frankie asked.
“Because we need to know how to kick his ass first. The Shades can’t cut through everything. He’ll have you fried to a crisp before you could even get near him.”
“I’d like to see him try.”
“Based on his track record, I don’t think you’d actually like that. Anyway, I really don’t want to be out here for much longer. Why don’t we go inside, where it’s safe?”
My friends chorused in agreement as we stepped out of the car and entered Candle Paranormal Investigations. Though I once thought my father paranoid for scrawling protection Sigils all over the building, I was glad they were there now. Slowly but surely, I was understanding the reasons for his madness. If only I could understand the reasons for my own.
I walked to the bookcase and scanned through the titles while my friends spread out through the office. ADVANCED FIRE MAGIC, read one spine, but I didn’t need to blow anything up- yet. THE DICTIONARY INFERNAL wouldn’t be of any help here, since a Lich wasn’t actually a Darkon, but an undead Darkcrafter. The next tome, DARKEST NIGHT, contained hundreds of pages on the vampire clans. Hopefully, I’d never have to use that one. Vampires were tricky, painful creatures.
I spotted the blue book called ON NECROMANCY and slid it off the shelf. A bookmark was sticking out of one of the pages near the back. I opened it up to the indicated page to find a chapter entitled LICHES: WHAT THEY ARE AND HOW TO DEFEAT THEM.
“Look, everyone,” I said. “My dad had this page bookmarked. It’s about Liches.”
“So he did know what Carter was up to,” said Enisa. “What’s a ‘Lich’?”
I scanned the page, skimming it to look for the most important parts. I read out loud as soon as I found it. “A Lich is created when a Spellcrafter binds their soul to an artifact prior to death. This artifact, called a “Phylactery’,” gives the Spellcrafter a method with which they can survive- and eventually, make a bodily return- after the grave.
“In order to return bodily from the grave, the deceased must absorb the Mana of five Spellcrafter victims in an evil ritual called the Rite of Anubis. Once gathered, the Lich may be reborn on the night of Samhain, that ancient festival where the veil between the living and the dead is at its thinnest...
“There are only two ways to defeat a risen Lich: through either the burial or the destruction of the Phylactery. Burying is often preferable to burning — for, in burial, the Lich will be trapped indefinitely, even if the Rite is completed. If the Phylactery is burned by fire, the soul will burn with it. However, burning a Phylactery is a time-consuming process and the unfettered soul will defend its Phylactery, likely killing the burner. Therefore, burning is riskier than burial.”
“So we need a funeral, not a cremation,” said Enisa. “Got it.”
“Sounds like Halloween night is when it’s all going down,” said Frankie.
“Not if we can stop him before then,” said Molly. “We have to find
his Phylactery and destroy it. But what is it?”
“The Grimoire,” said Enisa. “That’s his Phylactery. It has to be.”
“Yep. And that’s why my dad was in the woods that day,” I said. “He was trying to bury the Grimoire in the ground to seal away Narlothotep’s ghost. Except Carter came along and killed him before he could finish the job.”
And that’s what started me on this journey of taking over Candle Paranormal Investigations. I could thank Carter — and my dad — for that.
“So, where’s the big bad book now?” asked Frankie. “And better yet: when can we set that mofo on fire?”
“I don’t know where it is and I don’t have any idea how to find it.”
“If only we knew someone who was good at tracking down mysterious books,” Frankie mused.
“Uh, we do,” said Enisa. “Miss Delaney.”
“What about her?” I asked.
“Remember that time when she used her psychic powers to find out where Frankie’s overdue copy of The Great Gatsby was? And she found it even though it was, like, on Mars?”
“Oh, c’mon,” exclaimed Frankie. “It wasn’t on Mars. It was in my locker.”
“At the bottom, buried underneath Burger King wrappers and a wrinkled hoodie. But she still found it. So why can’t she do the same for the Grimoire?”
It was a great idea. So great that I was surprised we hadn’t thought of it before. Miss Delaney would be happy to help her favorite students.
“That makes sense,” I said. “We can go see her tomorrow. We have to hurry. Halloween is next week. And who knows when-”
The phone rang, cutting me off.
“A customer?” said Frankie, clicking the Shades at the thought. “Maybe someone requires the services of Frankie the Darkon Slayer.”
“Maybe. I don’t know,” I said as I walked over to answer it. No number showed up on the screen, but a location did. “Egypt? What the hell? Why would I be getting a call from Egypt?”
It popped off the receiver, causing Enisa to squeak and Rusty to bark.
A grating noise like metal scratching against metal left the phone, loud enough to fill the air. I screamed – I think we all did – as the sound literally caused me pain.
