The Red Pyramid (Kane Chronicles #1)(123)

“His name. You need his name.”

“But you’re not Nephthys! Set said so.”

She shook her head. “A message...I speak with her voice. The name—Evil Day. Set was born, and it was an Evil Day.”

True enough, I thought, but could that really be Set’s secret name? What Zia was talking about, not being Nephthys but speaking with her voice—it made no sense. Then I remembered the voice at the river. Nephthys had said she would send a message. And Anubis had made me promise I would listen to Nephthys.

I shifted uncomfortably. “Look, Zia—”

Then the truth hit me in face. Some things Iskandar had said, some things Thoth had said—they all clicked together. Iskandar had wanted to protect Zia. He’d told me if he’d realized Carter and I were godlings sooner, he could’ve protected us as well as...someone. As well as Zia. Now I understood how he’d tried to protect her.

“Oh, god.” I stared at her. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

She seemed to understand, and she nodded. Her face contorted with pain, but her eyes remained as fierce and insistent as ever. “Use the name. Bend Set to your will. Make him help.”

“Help? He just tried to kill you, Zia. He’s not the helping type.”

“Go.” She tried to push me away. Flames sputtered weakly from her fingers. “Carter needs you.”

That was the one thing she might’ve said to spur me on. Carter was in trouble.

“I’ll be back, then,” I promised. “Don’t...um, go anywhere.”

I stood and stared at the hole in the ceiling, dreading the idea of turning into a kite again. Then my eyes fixed on Dad’s coffin, buried in the red throne. The sarcophagus was glowing like something radioactive, heading for meltdown. If I could only break the throne...

Set must be dealt with first, Isis warned.

But if I can free Dad...I stepped towards the throne.

No, Isis warned. What you might see is too dangerous.

What are you talking about? I thought irritably. I put my hand on the golden coffin. Instantly I was ripped from the throne room and into a vision.

I was back in the Land of the Dead, in the Hall of Judgment. The crumbling monuments of a New Orleans graveyard shimmered around me. Spirits of the dead stirred restlessly in the mist. At the base of the broken scales, a tiny monster slept—Ammit the Devourer. He opened one glowing yellow eye to study me, then went back to sleep.

Anubis stepped out of the shadows. He was dressed in a black silk suit with his tie unknotted, like he’d just come back from a funeral or possibly a convention for really gorgeous undertakers. “Sadie, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Tell me about it,” I said, but I was so glad to see him, I wanted to sob with relief.

He took my hand and led me towards the empty black throne. “We have lost all balance. The throne cannot be empty. The restoration of Ma’at must begin here, in this hall.”

He sounded sad, as if he were asking me to accept something terrible. I didn’t understand, but a profound sense of loss crept over me.

“It’s not fair,” I said.

“No, it’s not.” He squeezed my hand. “I’ll be here, waiting. I’m sorry, Sadie. I truly am...”

He started to fade.

“Wait!” I tried to hold on to his hand, but he melted into mist along with the graveyard.

I found myself back in the throne room of the gods, except it looked like it had been abandoned for centuries. The roof had fallen in, along with half of the columns. The braziers were cold and rusty. The beautiful marble floor was as cracked as a dry lakebed.

Bast stood alone next to the empty throne of Osiris. She gave me a mischievous smile, but seeing her again was almost too painful to bear.

“Oh, don’t be sad,” she chided. “Cats don’t do regret.”

“But aren’t you—aren’t you dead?”

“That all depends.” She gestured around her. “The Duat is in turmoil. The gods have gone too long without a king. If Set doesn’t take over, someone else must. The enemy is coming. Don’t let me die in vain.”

“But will you come back?” I asked, my voice breaking. “Please, I never even got to say good-bye to you. I can’t—”

“Good luck, Sadie. Keep your claws sharp.” Bast vanished, and the scenery changed again.

I stood in the Hall of Ages, in the First Nome—another empty throne—and Iskandar sat at its feet, waiting for a pharaoh who hadn’t existed for two thousand years.

“A leader, my dear,” he said. “Ma’at demands a leader.”

“It’s too much,” I said. “Too many thrones. You can’t expect Carter—”

“Not alone,” Iskandar agreed. “But this is your family’s burden. You started the process. The Kanes alone will heal us or destroy us.”

“I don’t know what you mean!”

Iskandar opened his hand, and in a flash of light, the scene changed one more time.

I was back at the Thames. It must’ve been the dead of the night, three o’clock in the morning, because the Embankment was empty. Mist obscured the lights of the city, and the air was wintry.

Two people, a man and a woman, stood bundled against the cold, holding hands in front of Cleopatra’s Needle. At first I thought they were a random couple on a date. Then, with a shock, I realized I was looking at my parents.