Strange and Ever After (Something Strange and Deadly #3)(75)

But that was not all.

There were footprints. Lots of them. And they were fresh too, since the wind had not blown them away.

Oliver and I exchanged a glance, but our pace did not slow. The prints led to the temple and descended into a dark hole like the entrance to the catacombs of Anubis. Oliver knelt and inspected the opening.

“Did something go in?” I asked.

“I’d say the reverse—something left.” He pulled back, shoving Milton’s booklet into his pocket. “The sand here has been pushed outward. Come on.” He wriggled through the hole . . . and then vanished into the darkness.

“El,” he shouted back, “there are stai—” His voice broke off, replaced by a yelp.

“Oliver!” I thrust into the hole. It was as black as pitch within. “Are you all right?”

“I’m . . . fine.” His words were muffled and distant.

I scrabbled in, trusting my hands to guide me in the darkness.

“Be careful,” he went on, sounding slightly closer. I scuttled faster, feeling a stone step. Yet just as he began to yell something else, the floor vanished.

And I toppled into nothingness.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I did not hit the ground.

Instead, I hit Oliver, and he crumpled beneath me with a miserable “Oomph.”

“Why didn’t you warn me?” I snapped.

“Your hand is on my nose,” he mumbled nasally. “And I did warn you. I said ‘Watch out for the drop.’ I’m sorry if you were already falling as I said it.” He shoved me, and I toppled to the side of him.

As in the other catacomb—and the Great Pyramid—the air was hot and dusty, the darkness oppressive. But most concerning of all, our entrance hole was at least fifteen feet overhead. A circle of white light.

Oliver fumbled the glowworms from his pocket. Their feeble green shimmer only illuminated a few feet around us, and as he rose to his feet, it sprayed and flickered unevenly—revealing a high, vaulted ceiling and a wide tunnel cut directly from the bedrock. It was much larger than Anubis’s temple.

“How do we get out?” I asked as Oliver towed me upright. My voice echoed off the stone.

“Not sure . . .” Oliver swung the jar around, his eyes glowing bright—and then widening. “Thank you, Professor Milton.” He strode away from me and revealed a ladder set against the wall. He snatched it up and toted it toward the hole of moonlight.

“How do you know it was Milton’s?” I asked.

“It’s either his or some treasure hunter’s. Does it really matter?” He returned to my side, and together we set off into the catacombs.

“We seem to wind up this way often,” I whispered over our padding feet.

“And what way is that?”

“You guiding me through the dark.”

Oliver grunted a humorless laugh. A laugh that said Are you just now noticing?

My teeth gritted together. I should do it now—I should do what needed doing right now . . . and lose Oliver forever.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t, and after twenty paces we came to a three-way split in the tunnel. Yet no paintings adorned the walls here.

“I see figures ahead,” Oliver said softly. “I think they might be statues.”

His grip tightened around my fingers, and he towed me onward. Soon enough I could see the statues too. . . .

But they were not statues at all.

Oliver pulled up short and shoved me behind him.

For several long moments we simply stared, our breaths trapped. But then I eased mine out.

“They aren’t imperial guards,” I whispered. “They’re holding swords—not spears. And they have shields too.”

“You’re right.” Oliver crept forward—two cautious steps. “And I think they’re smaller. Your size. And look.” He pointed to vacant pedestals—one between each of the current statues. “That’s where the imperial guards were.”

Releasing his hand, I tiptoed closer and crouched beside one of the vacant blocks. There was an undeniable outline in the dust. “They left. They must have gone when Marcus summoned. And they’re what left those footprints outside.”

“Then who are these remaining mummies?” Oliver asked.

I stared at the nearest form—and then it hit me. I barked a soft laugh and scrabbled toward it. “It’s a queens’ guard. She’s a queens’ guard.” I glanced back and found Oliver’s eyes glowing behind me. “Professor Milton mentioned them at the party—how the queen’s guards are even more deadly than the pharaoh’s.”

“Then let’s be glad Marcus cannot control them. I wonder though. . . .” He paused, chewing his lip thoughtfully. “Well, it doesn’t matter at this point. What matters is finding these bull mummies—or any others, for that matter.”

He turned to go, the jar spewing beams over the long row of armored mummies. There were at least fifty in this tunnel alone . . . and perhaps twenty-five empty pedestals.

I gulped, my throat pinching tight. Marcus’s army was going to be vast indeed.

“And a vast army has never stopped you before,” I muttered to myself, folding my fingers into fists. We were going to face Marcus here, and we were going to defeat him. That was all there was to it.