The Red Pyramid (Kane Chronicles #1)(107)

Then suddenly: click. My brain had one of those amazing moments when it actually works correctly.

“No, Carter’s right,” I said. “We have to go there.”

It was my brother’s turn to look surprised. “I am? We do?”

“Yes.” I took the plunge and told them about my talk with Geb.

Amos brushed some sand off his jacket. “That’s interesting, Sadie. But I don’t see how Las Cruces comes into play.”

“Because it’s Spanish, isn’t it?” I said. “Las Cruces. The crosses. Just as Geb told me.”

Amos hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Get in the boat.”

“A bit short on water for a boat ride, aren’t we?” I asked.

But I followed him on board. Amos took off his coat and uttered a magic word. Instantly, the coat came to life, drifted to the stern and grasped the tiller.

Amos smiled at me, and some of that old twinkle came back into his eyes. “Who needs water?”

The boat shuddered and lifted into the sky.

If Amos ever got tired of being a magician, he could’ve gotten a job as a sky boat tour operator. The vista coming over the mountains was quite stunning.

At first, the desert had seemed barren and ugly to me compared to the lush greens of England, but I was starting to appreciate that the desert had its own stark beauty, especially at night. The mountains rose like dark islands in a sea of lights. I’d never seen so many stars above us, and the dry wind smelled of sage and pine. Las Cruces spread out in the valley below—a glowing patchwork of streets and neighborhoods.

As we got closer, I saw that most of the town was nothing very remarkable. It might’ve been Manchester or Swindon or any place, really, but Amos aimed our ship toward the south of the city, to an area that was obviously much older—with adobe buildings and tree-lined streets.

As we descended, I began to get nervous.

“Won’t they notice us in a flying boat?” I asked. “I mean, I know magic is hard to see, but—”

“This is New Mexico,” Amos said. “They see UFOs here all the time.”

And with that, we landed on the roof of a small church.

It was like dropping back in time, or onto a Wild West film set. The town square was lined with stucco buildings like an Indian pueblo. The streets were brightly lit and crowded—it looked like a festival—with stall vendors selling strings of red peppers, Indian blankets, and other curios. An old stagecoach was parked next to a clump of cacti. In the plaza’s bandstand, men with large guitars and loud voices played mariachi music.

“This is the historic area,” Amos said. “I believe they call it Mesilla.”

“Have a lot of Egyptian stuff here, do they?” I asked dubiously.

“Oh, the ancient cultures of Mexico have a lot in common with Egypt,” Amos said, retrieving his coat from the tiller. “But that’s a talk for another day.”

“Thank god,” I muttered. Then I sniffed the air and smelled something strange but wonderful—like baking bread and melting butter, only spicer, yummier. “I—am—starving.”

It didn’t take long, walking the plaza, to discover handmade tortillas. God, they were good. I suppose London has Mexican restaurants. We’ve got everything else. But I’d never been to one, and I doubt the tortillas would’ve tasted this heavenly. A large woman in a white dress rolled out balls of dough in her flour-caked hands, flattened and baked the tortillas on a hot skillet, and handed them to us on paper napkins. They didn’t need butter or jam or anything. They were so delicate, they just melted in my mouth. I made Amos pay for about a dozen, just for me.

Carter was enjoying himself too until he tried the red-chili tamales at another booth. I thought his face would explode. “Hot!” he announced. “Drink!”

“Eat more tortilla,” Amos advised, trying not to laugh. “Bread cuts the heat better than water.”

I tried the tamales myself and found they were excellent, not nearly as hot as a good curry, so Carter was just being a wimp, as usual.

Soon we’d eaten our fill and began wandering the streets, looking for...well, I wasn’t sure, exactly. Time was a-wasting. The sun was going down, and I knew this would be the last night for all of us unless we stopped Set, but I had no idea why Geb had sent me here. You will also find what you need most. What did that mean?

I scanned the crowds and caught a glimpse of a tall young guy with dark hair. A thrill went up my spine—Anubis? What if he was following me, making sure I was safe? What if he was what I needed most?

Wonderful thought, except it wasn’t Anubis. I scolded myself for thinking I could have luck that good. Besides, Carter had seen Anubis as a jackal-headed monster. Perhaps Anubis’s appearance with me was just a trick to befuddle my brain—a trick that worked quite well.

I was daydreaming about that, and about whether or not they had tortillas in the Land of the Dead, when I locked eyes with a girl across the plaza.

“Carter.” I grabbed his arm and nodded in the direction of Zia Rashid. “Someone’s here to see you.”

Zia was ready for battle in her loose black linen clothes, staff and wand in hand. Her dark choppy hair was blown to one side like she’d flown here on a strong wind. Her amber eyes looked about as friendly as a jaguar’s.