The Pyramid of Souls (9 page)

   "Our history has been one of persecution, of immense danger, yet we have never strayed from what we know is right. Magic can be a force for good. Or it can be a force for evil. Our choice, my dear friends, is to stand by and allow the Shadowkeepers to grow in strength and power, or to boldly fight them where they strike."

   Across the large hall, Magickeepers clapped. Nick felt an excited surge run up his spine. Yes, his older cousin could be arrogant and difficult, but he was also inspiring.

   "Our choice was always and remains…to be united. To lift each other up. To live in solidarity. I tell you, my fellow Magickeepers, we shall live our lives by the words of that great and illustrious Magickeeper, Sir Isaac Newton." Damian raised his glass in a toast. "If I have seen further than others, i
t
is by standing on the shoulders of giants.
To magic!"

   "To magic!" repeated the crowd.

   "And now, tonight, we host you Russian-style." Damian clapped his hands, and silver trays floated into the dining room with bowls full of the red beet soup Nick loathed.

   A bowl placed itself in front of Nick. He stared down into its deep red ickiness. "I was hoping for pizza," he said to Isabella.

   She laughed. "Perhaps we can play Magic Eights with Siti and Atsu later and order some from Sergei."

   "Done and done." He lifted his spoon as strolling bandur
a
players plucked their instruments, playing folk songs of courage and Mother Russia. Nick often wished he'd been blessed with the gift of song; the voices of the
bandura player
s were haunting, and he felt his throat tighten. Yet he couldn't help but wonder why they were not allowed to sing modern songs. He knew he'd never see
Kalinka
on MTV.

   "This is it," Nick heard himself say. "There is no escaping my destiny."

   Isabella scowled at him, but Nick grinned at her. "It's okay, Isabella. I'm used to it by now."

   As the evening wore on, other clans brought out their folk instruments. The Tibetans performed
nang ma
with a
dramnyen
, which looked like a lute; a
pe wang,
which was very much like a fiddle; and
gling,
which were bells that sounded light and happy. Nick could almost imagine them being played high in the Himalayas.

   The Greek clan performed next. (They'd only stopped for Damian's toast.) Nick noticed how the Caledonian costumes— white blouses underneath black vests, with red embroidered skirts on the women and black pants on the men—were a
lot like the Russian folk costumes. Maybe Damian was right
. Maybe all the world was actually more alike than different. The Greeks played
tabachaniotika
songs on their
bouzoukis
. Soon, everyone was dancing. Some Magickeepers climbed on tables; some danced on the parquet floor with its intricate diamond pattern; some simply flew up from their chairs, levitating and twirling in the air.

   "
Hopa!
" someone shouted.

   A plate was dropped from one of the Greeks dancing near

the ceiling. It smashed on the dance floor.

"
Hopa!
" others called out.

   Plates smashed. Then one of the Greeks cast a reversal spell—the plates pieced themselves together again and flew back up, only to be smashed once more.

   Nick grinned at Siti and Atsu. "Come on!" They grabbed their plates, climbed on top of the table, and smashed the plates to the floor in the style of Greek celebration.

   Nick surveyed the room. Everyone was smiling or singing or dancing—or flying. He couldn't remember ever having so much fun or feeling so happy in his entire life. For the first time since he knew Shadowkeepers existed and wanted to harm him, he was free among Magickeepers. He felt safe and warm and filled with something he had never quite felt before. He belonged.

   Then suddenly there was a shout from the far corner of the room.

   "
Stop! Stop!
Please! Help!"

   "It is my father!" Siti exclaimed, grabbing Nick's arm, her black eyes widening in alarm.

   The Greek band stopped playing mid-note. Magickeepers descended from the ceiling like deflating balloons. Others climbed down from tables and returned to their seats. A frightened hush fell over the ballroom.

   "What is it, Jahi?" Damian asked.

"A most terrible thing has happened!"
"Tell us," Theo said.
"The Pyramid of Souls has been stolen."

What is the Pyramid of Souls?" Nick asked Atsu.

   The entire room was now whispering; the sound was like buzzing bees in the cavernous ballroom. The adults huddled in corners, their voices echoing and ricocheting off the walls. Nick saw Theo and Damian fly—literally—from the ballroom.

   "The Pyramid of Souls is a soul house," said his new friend.

   "What's that?"

   "They are from way back in history—centuries and centuries ago. The great pharaohs' tombs were marked with clay soul houses. People believed souls could be collected in them. It was a bit of superstition. They were just clay. But some of the Egyptian Magickeepers had a real soul house."

   "What do you mean…
real?"

   "It could collect souls—essences—and store them for safekeeping. The soul house was forged of gold and encrusted with jewels, and then a spell was cast over it by one of the first Magickeepers of Egypt. The intention, of course, was to fight Shadowkeepers. To collect evil souls and lock them away where they could do no harm. But in the wrong hands? It is too powerful a relic. Somehow, though, it was stolen by grave robbers centuries ago. Our family spent those centuries trying to reclaim the Pyramid of Souls. It changed hands many times—a very complicated history. But finally, we regained it. We have been the guardians of the Pyramid of Souls for three generations now."

   Nick thought of Damian's vault. In the deepest basement of the Winter Palace Hotel and Casino was a vault of money: the one the family showed to the gaming commission, which oversaw all the casinos. But hidden there was another vault—one that housed all of the family's relics and artifacts, the magic that they guarded and kept safe. The Eternal Hourglass that he, Theo, and Damian had recaptured rested there, inside a glass case.

   "You brought the Pyramid of Souls here? To the convention?"

   Atsu nodded. "We always travel with it. The pyramid is too important to leave behind. This news is very dangerous. In the hands of Shadowkeepers, the pyramid could collect the souls of those in Sanctuary."

   "What's that?" Nick asked.

   "It is a place where Magickeepers go when they disappear—a resting place. It is also a place where Magickeepers are vulnerable—a place where the soul house easily could be used to capture their essences."

   Nick looked at Isabella and lowered his voice. "What if the raven lady took it?"

   Isabella nodded. "We should never have let her out of our sight. Do you see her in the ballroom?"

   Nick scanned the crowd. He spotted her—looking over her shoulder and scurrying from the room. While everyone else was fretting over the theft, she was
leaving.

   "There, Isabella!" he hissed. "She's up to something."

   "What are you two whispering about?" Siti asked. "Do you know who has our clan's soul house? You have no idea what the Pyramid of Souls can do." Siti's eyes were wide with terror. "We are its guardians. If we have lost it, no one is safe."

   Nick exchanged a look with Isabella. "Come on. Let's go. You two can come. We'll explain as we go."

   With all the adults in an uproar, the four of them slipped out of the ballroom with Sascha on their heels. Out in the lobby, Nick looked for the raven woman, but she was nowhere to be seen.
What did I expect? he thought. A Shadowkeeper coul
d disappear with the snap of a finger and the blink of an eye.

   "We need to find out what's going on," said Nick. "Let's

The four of them—and Sascha—snuck into the empty classroom. Nick heard the skittering sounds of bugs and spiders in their glass jars, the chirping of crickets, and some
gloops
and
pops
and
hisses—he wasn't sure he wanted to know wher
e those sounds came from. Nick squinted and looked at the rows of crystal balls—some glowed in the darkness—but he was too afraid to turn on a light and attract attention.

   "If you were going to try to find out something about an ancient Egyptian artifact, which ball would you choose?" he asked Atsu.

   The tall, dark-haired boy walked to the crystal balls and surveyed them, one by one, until he came to a ball that stood atop a gold pedestal. Each of the feet on the pedestal was shaped like a sphinx, and hieroglyphics were etched in the base.

   "This one!" He pointed. "Don't you agree, Siti?"

   His sister nodded solemnly. "Yes, Atsu. That is a wise choice."

   Nick stared at the ball. He was in big trouble if Theo caught him. His cousin didn't like anyone Gazing in his collection without permission, just as Damian didn't allow anyone in his library. But trouble or not, this was an emergency, and everyone was panicked and frenzied with worry downstairs. Who would look for them there? He touched the ball and waited for a vision in his mind.

   The first time he had ever Gazed, Madame B. and Grandpa had told him never to make assumptions. But now, staring into a ball on a sphinx pedestal, he expected to see Egypt. Instead, he had a vision of a disheveled, nineteenth-century American writer…

   Edgar Allan Poe was passed out on a wooden bench outside a noisy saloon when a passerby poked him. "You there, drunkard! Move along!"

   Poe sat up, his face clearly panicked and terrified. He stared down at his clothes. "These clothes! These are not mine!"

   His attire was tattered and cheap. Seams were ripped, threads dangled loosely about, the elbows and knees were worn, and the suit itself did not fit him properly. It was far too big for his shoulders and hung on him like the suit for a farmer's scarecrow. He wore a brimless hat, crushed and unkempt, with unsightly moth holes. He himself was dirty and unwashed. He patted himself as if searching for a pocket. "The key!" he shouted incoherently, his eyes wide but unseeing.

   "What say you, man? What say you?"

   "The key!"

   "I shall fetch a constable." The passerby went to search for a policeman.

   Poe shook his head as if to shake off his slumber. His eyes registered fear. He tugged at his face, at his tumble of black hair, a haunted expression on his face.

   "I promise you, I do not have it," he said to no one, to the Baltimore air. A stiff wind blew his hat away, and it tumbled down the sidewalk.

   Then, across the dark gray sky, ravens flew, gathering on rooftops like black sentinels, peering down at Poe solemnly.

   "They are here!" one cawed. "They are here!"

   A chorus of cawing birds shrieked.

   Down the street in the dirty gutter, littered with newspaper, a black ooze slithered, oily and rich, dark and evil.

   "No!" cried Poe. "No! No!
Help!"
he shrieked wildly, cowering. "
Help!"

   The passerby reappeared around the corner, accompanied by a constable.

   "See!" said the man. "Incoherent. A drunkard, no doubt!"

   The constable—blue uniform pressed, brass buttons

shining—approached the bench, his hand on his nightstick. Poe shrunk back in fear.

   "I tell you, I do not have it!" said Poe. "I do not have it!"

   Then the famed writer shuddered, eyes rolling back in his head. He collapsed on the bench, unconscious, as the ravens took to the sky and flew toward the crescent moon.

So what does that mean?" Siti asked Nick.

   The four of them peered into the ball as the last vision of Edgar Allan Poe faded away and the crystal grew cold.

   "I don't know." Nick furrowed his brow. "I don't get it. What does that show us about the relic? Maybe I got my Gazing wires crossed or something."

   Suddenly, Sergei's face filled the crystal ball. "
Nick!
My friend, my pal, my sixth cousin twice removed…"

   "Sergei!" Nick snapped. "Not now. This is urgent. We're looking for something."

   "Then have I got just the thing for you: a bloodhound."

   "A bloodhound?"

   "Yes, this very dog was owned by Queen Victoria! He can sniff out anything." Behind Sergei, Nick could see a brown dog with floppy jowls and sad, rheumy eyes resting its head on its large paws.

   "If Queen Victoria owned that dog, then it's ancient. In dog years, it must be like a thousand years old. Forget it, Sergei."

   "All right, all right. Then I have something else for you. Something extraordinary!"

   "What?" Nick looked in the ball sternly.

   "An African rat. It's a sniffer rat."

   "You're making that up," said Isabella. "There's no such thing."