Bast fixed her eyes on me. Just for a second they were the eyes of a predator—ancient, powerful, dangerous. “Not everyone can host a god, Carter. That’s true. But
you
two are
both
blood of the pharaohs. You combine
two
ancient bloodlines. That’s very rare, very powerful. And besides, if you think you can survive
without
the power of the gods, think again. Don’t repeat your mother’s—” She stopped herself.
“What?” Sadie demanded. “What about our mother?”
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Tell us, cat!” Sadie said.
I was afraid Bast might unsheathe her knives. Instead she leaned against the wall and stared out at the rain. “When your parents released me from Cleopatra’s Needle…there was much more energy than they expected. Your father spoke the actual summoning spell, and the blast would’ve killed him instantly, but your mother threw up a shield. In that split second, I offered her my help. I offered to merge our spirits and help protect them. But she would not accept my help. She chose to tap her own reservoir….”
“Her own magic,” Sadie murmured.
Bast nodded sadly. “When a magician commits herself to a spell, there is no turning back. If she overreaches her power…well, your mother used her last bit of energy protecting your father. To save him, she sacrificed herself. She literally—”
“Burned up,” I said. “That’s what Zia warned us about.”
The rain kept pouring down. I realized I was shivering.
Sadie wiped a tear from her cheek. She picked up her amulet and glared at it resentfully. “We’ve got to save Dad. If he’s really got the spirit of Osiris…”
She didn’t finish, but I knew what she was thinking. I thought about Mom when I was little, her arm around my shoulders as we stood on the back deck of our house in L.A. She’d pointed out the stars to me: Polaris, Orion’s Belt, Sirius. Then she’d smile at me, and I’d feel like I was more important than any constellation in the sky. My mom had sacrificed herself to save Dad’s life. She’d used so much magic, she literally burned up. How could I ever be that brave? Yet I had to try to save Dad. Otherwise I’d feel like Mom’s sacrifice had been for nothing. And maybe if we could rescue Dad, he could set things right, even bring back our mom.
Is that possible?
I asked Horus, but his voice was silent.
“All right,” I decided. “So how do we stop Set?”
Bast thought for a moment, then smiled. I got the feeling that whatever she was about to suggest, I wasn’t going to like it. “There
might
be a way without completely giving yourself over to the gods. There’s a book by Thoth—one of the rare spell books written by the god of wisdom himself. The one I’m thinking of details a way to overcome Set. It is the prized possession of a certain magician. All we need to do is sneak into his fortress, steal it, and leave before sunset, while we can still create a portal to the United States.”
“Perfect,” Sadie said.
“Hold up,” I said. “Which magician? And where’s the fortress?”
Bast stared at me as if I were a bit slow. “Why, I think we already discussed him. Desjardins. His house is right here in Paris.”
Once I saw Desjardins’ house, I hated him even more. It was a huge mansion on the other side of the Tuileries, on the rue des Pyramides.
“Pyramids Road?” Sadie said. “Obvious, much?”
“Maybe he couldn’t find a place on Stupid Evil Magician Street,” I suggested.
The house was spectacular. The spikes atop its wrought iron fence were gilded. Even in the winter rain, the front garden was bursting with flowers. Five stories of white marble walls and black-shuttered windows loomed before us, the whole thing topped off by a roof garden. I’d seen royal palaces smaller than this place.
I pointed to the front door, which was painted bright red. “Isn’t red a bad color in Egypt? The color of Set?”
Bast scratched her chin. “Now that you mention it, yes. It’s the color of chaos and destruction.”
“I thought black was the evil color,” Sadie said.
“No, dear. As usual, modern folk have it backward. Black is the color of good soil, like the soil of the Nile. You can grow food in black soil. Food is good. Therefore black is good. Red is the color of desert sand. Nothing grows in the desert. Therefore red is evil.” She frowned. “It
is
strange that Desjardins has a red door.”
“Well, I’m excited,” Sadie grumbled. “Let’s go knock.”
“There will be guards,” Bast said. “And traps. And alarms. You can bet the house is heavily charmed to keep out gods.”
“Magicians can do that?” I asked. I imagined a big can of pesticide labeled
God-Away.
“Alas, yes,” Bast said. “I will not be able to cross the threshold uninvited. You, however—”
“I thought we’re gods too,” Sadie said.
“That’s the beauty of it,” Bast said. “As hosts, you are still quite human. I have taken full possession of Muffin, so I am pretty much
me
—a goddess. But you are still—well, yourselves. Clear?”
“No,” I said.
“I suggest you turn into birds,” Bast said. “You can fly to the roof garden and make your way in. Plus, I like birds.”
“First problem,” I said, “we don’t know how to turn into birds.”
“Easily fixed! And a good test at channeling godly power. Both Isis and Horus have bird forms. Simply imagine yourselves as birds, and birds you shall become.”
“Just like that,” Sadie said. “You won’t pounce on us?”
Bast looked offended. “Perish the thought!”
I wished she hadn’t used the word
perish.
“Okay,” I said. “Here goes.”
I thought:
You in there, Horus?
What?
he said testily.
Bird form, please.
Oh, I see.
You don’t trust me. But now you need my help.
Man, come on. Just do the falcon thing.
Would you settle for an emu?
I decided talking wasn’t going to help, so I closed my eyes and imagined I was a falcon. Right away, my skin began to burn. I had trouble breathing. I opened my eyes and gasped.
I was really, really short—eye-level with Bast’s shins. I was covered in feathers, and my feet had turned into wicked claws, kind of like my
ba
form, but this was real flesh and blood. My clothes and bag were gone, as if they’d melted into my feathers. My eyesight had completely changed, too. I could see a hundred and eighty degrees around, and the detail was incredible. Every leaf on every tree popped out. I spotted a cockroach a hundred yards away, scurrying into a sewer drain. I could see every pore on Bast’s face, now looming above me and grinning.
“Better late than never,” she said. “Took you almost ten minutes.”
Huh? The change had seemed instantaneous. Then I looked next to me and saw a beautiful gray bird of prey, a little bit smaller than me, with black-tipped wings and golden eyes. I’m not sure how, but I knew it was a kite—like the
bird
kite, not the kind with a string.
The kite let out a chirping sound—
“Ha, ha, ha.”
Sadie was laughing at me.
I opened my own beak, but no sound came out.
“Oh, you two look delicious,” Bast said, licking her lips. “No, no—
er,
I mean wonderful. Now, off you go!”
I spread my majestic wings. I had really done it! I was a noble falcon, lord of the sky. I launched myself off the sidewalk and flew straight into the fence.
“Ha—ha—ha,”
Sadie chirped behind me.
Bast crouched down and began making weird chittering noises.
Uh-oh.
She was imitating birds. I’d seen enough cats do this when they were stalking. Suddenly my own obituary flashed in my head:
Carter Kane, 14, died tragically in Paris when he was eaten by his sister’s cat, Muffin.
I spread my wings, kicked off with my feet, and with three strong flaps, I was soaring through the rain. Sadie was right behind me. Together we spiraled up into the air.
I have to admit: it felt amazing. Ever since I was a little kid, I’d had dreams in which I was flying, and I always hated waking up. Now it wasn’t a dream or even a
ba
trip. It was one hundred percent real. I sailed on the cold air currents above the rooftops of Paris. I could see the river, the Louvre Museum, the gardens and palaces. And a mouse—yum.
Hang on, Carter,
I thought.
Not hunting mice.
I zeroed in on Desjardins’ mansion, tucked in my wings, and shot downward.
I saw the rooftop garden, the double glass doors leading inside, and the voice inside me said:
Don’t stop. It’s an illusion. You’ve got to punch through their magic barriers.
It was a crazy thought. I was plummeting so fast I would smack against the glass and become a feathery pancake, but I didn’t slow down.
I rammed straight into the doors—and sailed through them as if they didn’t exist. I spread my wings and landed on a table. Sadie sailed in right behind me.
We were alone in the middle of a library. So far, so good.
I closed my eyes and thought about returning to my normal form. When I opened my eyes again, I was regular old Carter, sitting on a table in my regular clothes, my workbag back on my shoulder.
Sadie was still a kite.
“You can turn back now,” I told her.
She tilted her head and regarded me quizzically. She let out a frustrated croak.
I cracked a smile. “You can’t, can you? You’re stuck?”
She pecked my hand with her extremely sharp beak.
“Ow!”
I complained. “It’s not my fault. Keep trying.”
She closed her eyes and ruffled her feathers until she looked like she was going to explode, but she stayed a kite.
“Don’t worry,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. “Bast will help once we get out of here.”
“Ha—ha—ha.”
“Just keep watch. I’m going to look around.”
The room was huge—more like a traditional library than a magician’s lair. The furniture was dark mahogany. Every wall was covered with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Books overflowed onto the floor. Some were stacked on tables or stuffed into smaller shelves. A big easy chair by the window looked like the kind of place Sherlock Holmes would sit smoking a pipe.
Every step I took, the floorboards creaked, which made me wince. I couldn’t hear anyone else in the house, but I didn’t want to take any chances.
Aside from the glass doors to the rooftop, the only other exit was a solid wooden door that locked from the inside. I turned the deadbolt. Then I wedged a chair up under the handle. I doubted that would keep magicians out for very long, but it might buy me a few seconds if things went bad.
I searched the bookshelves for what seemed like ages. All different types of books were jammed together—nothing alphabetized, nothing numbered. Most of the titles weren’t in English. None were in hieroglyphics. I was hoping for something with big gold lettering that said
The Book of Thoth,
but no such luck.
“What would a
Book of Thoth
even look like?” I wondered.
Sadie turned her head and glared at me. I was pretty sure she was telling me to hurry up.
I wished there were
shabti
to fetch things, like the ones in Amos’s library, but I didn’t see any. Or maybe…
I slung Dad’s bag off my shoulder. I set his magic box on the table and slid open the top. The little wax figure was still there, right where I’d left him. I picked him up and said, “Doughboy, help me find
The Book of Thoth
in this library.”
His waxy eyes opened immediately. “And why should I help you?”
“Because you have no choice.”
“I hate that argument! Fine—hold me up. I can’t see the shelves.”
I walked him around the room, showing him the books. I felt pretty stupid giving the wax doll a tour, but probably not as stupid as Sadie felt. She was still in bird form, scuttling back and forth on the table and snapping her beak in frustration as she tried to change back.
“Hold it!” Doughboy announced. “This one is ancient—right here.”
I pulled down a thin volume bound in linen. It was so tiny, I would’ve missed it, but sure enough, the front cover was inscribed in hieroglyphics. I brought it over to the table and carefully opened it. It was more like a map than a book, unfolding into four parts until I was looking at a wide, long papyrus scroll with writing so old I could barely make out the characters.
I glanced at Sadie. “I bet you could read this to me if you weren’t a bird.”
She tried to peck me again, but I moved my hand.
“Doughboy,” I said. “What is this scroll?”
“A spell lost in time!” he pronounced. “Ancient words of tremendous power!”
“Well?” I demanded. “Does it tell how to defeat Set?”
“Better! The title reads:
The Book of Summoning Fruit Bats
!”
I stared at him. “Are you serious?”
“Would I joke about such a thing?”
“Who would want to summon fruit bats?”
“Ha—ha—ha,”
Sadie croaked.
I pushed the scroll away and we went back to searching.
After about ten minutes, Doughboy squealed with delight. “Oh, look! I remember this painting.”
It was a small oil portrait in a gilded frame, hanging on the end of a bookshelf. It must’ve been important, because it was bordered by little silk curtains. A light shone upon the portrait dude’s face so he seemed about to tell a ghost story.
“Isn’t that the guy who plays Wolverine?” I asked, because he had some serious jowl hair going on.
“You disgust me!” Doughboy said. “That is Jean-François Champollion.”
It took me a second, but I remembered the name. “The guy who deciphered hieroglyphics from the Rosetta Stone.”
“Of course. Desjardins’ great uncle.”
I looked at Champollion’s picture again, and I could see the resemblance. They had the same fierce black eyes. “Great uncle? But wouldn’t that make Desjardins—”
“About two hundred years old,” Doughboy confirmed. “Still a youngster. You know that when Champollion first deciphered hieroglyphics, he fell into a coma for five days? He became the first man outside the House of Life to ever unleash their magic, and it almost killed him. Naturally, that got the attention of the First Nome. Champollion died before he could join the House of Life, but the Chief Lector accepted his descendants for training. Desjardins is very proud of his family…but a little sensitive too, because he’s such a newcomer.”