Strange and Ever After (Something Strange and Deadly #3)(50)

“Ridiculous? You promised my father you would double his money.”

“Yes, well.” Milton tugged at his waistcoat. “Some investments do not pay off as well as others. I would imagine a man such as Clay could find other sources of income—if you take my meaning.”

“I most certainly do not take your meaning.” She advanced on him, her face scarlet and eyes bulging. But before she could part her lips, Milton called out, “Guards! Get this nuisance of a child out of my party.”

And with that simple command, everyone reared away from us. A moment of panic seized my lungs. . . .

Then came cool action. Getting thrown from the museum would leave us with no airship and no carriage ride, so we must not be thrown out. Snatching Allison’s wrist, I yanked her—hard—after me.

“We’re leaving!” I shouted, in case anyone cared enough to listen. Then I dragged her back through the dancers. Fortunately, people cleared out of our way.

“You’re a criminal!” Allison shrieked over her shoulder. “I hope a mummy eats you, you coward!” I wrenched her into the entrance hall just as two guards reached Milton’s side.

“Hush,” I snarled, “and run.”

She must have spotted the guards as well, for she instantly shut pan and bolted behind me. Our heels hammered much too loudly for stealth, but we raced into the dim side room . . . and back, back, back until we finally ducked behind our chosen sarcophagus.

Then, my heart pounding against my lungs, I held my breath and listened. The orchestra had stopped playing, the party guests had grown quiet, and there was no missing Milton’s bellows to find us.

“Eleanor,” Allison whispered.

“Shhhh.” I poked my head around the sarcophagus and squinted to see into the entrance hall. Yet it was hard to tell which distant figures were statues and which were people.

“There’s something glowing in your dress.”

“What?” I jerked my gaze to her . . . then down. Sure enough, a faint blue glow pulsed inside my bodice.

I fidgeted with the fabric over my chest and finally withdrew the ivory fist. My jaw went slack, for it flared with a throbbing, blue light.

I gasped, and my fingers jumped to my throat. To the heartbeat that pulsed at the exact same speed.

Allison gawked at me. “What is that?”

“It’s only a . . . an artifact.” I lifted one shoulder. “I found it in Paris—but it has never glowed like this!”

“Put it away.” Allison shrank back, covering her eyes. “It’s too bright, and someone will see.”

But someone seeing us was the least of our worries, for at that moment, a shriek—rattling and desperate—ripped through the museum.

I met Allison’s wide eyes through the glowing blue light.

Another scream broke out, followed by another.

With no concern for caution, I scrambled around the sarcophagus—for something was happening, and it was bad. Through the distant curtains, I could see figures racing for the door.

“Eleanor.” Allison’s fingers latched on to my bicep and squeezed.

“What?” I snapped. But then I saw what had caught her eye. The ivory fist was pulsing twice as fast now.

I shoved the fist deep into my bodice. The light dulled, but even the layers of silk could not hide it completely. “I think it’s time to go—we can get out while everyone is fleeing.”

“But what about my money?” Allison cried. “And we don’t even know why they’re fleeing.”

“We’ll find out soon enough.” I had to shout now to be heard over shrieking party guests. Yet as I crept back toward the entrance, I saw that the main hall was blocked—too many people were trying to get out. I watched in horror as one man tripped and fell, hitting the tiles hard . . . and no one stopped to help. They simply climbed over him.

I tried to swallow. Tried to breathe. My feet stumbled two steps forward, and my hand waved dumbly for Allison to follow. Two more steps . . . then one more. . . .

Then I stopped trying to move at all, for now I could see what had sparked the panic. His rotted, cloth-draped body had reached the octagonal case in the entrance, hopping along on one leg.

Thutmose II had woken up.

People kicked and heaved to get away as he clawed with skeletal fingers for anyone in his path. Then a guttural groan poured from a lipless mouth . . . and his head snapped toward Allison and me. In a twist of ancient sinew and bone, he lurched toward us.

A scream tore from Allison’s throat—then her hands shoved against my back. “Go! Go!”

But I stayed glued to my spot, unable to look away from the approaching mummy. There was something in his hand—something in each hand . . .

And the items were glowing blue—identical to the ivory fist.

“Do something,” Allison screeched. “Stop it—lay it to rest.”

“Not yet.” My hand moved toward my bodice.

“Yes yet!” Allison yelled at me. “Do something!”

But I did not do something. At least not what Allison likely wanted. And it was certainly not what Oliver or Jie would recommend. But they were not here to stop me.

I tried to swallow. Tried to nod, but the old hunger for magic was beating to life—and it was as loud and insistent as the mummy’s moans. Somehow Thutmose II was walking again—and somehow he was linked to the ivory fist.