The Red Pyramid (Kane Chronicles #1)(31)

I looked around for more monsters, but the yard seemed abandoned. Old construction equipment lay in rusting heaps—a bulldozer, a crane with a wrecking ball, a couple of cement mixers. Piles of sheet metal and stacks of crates made a maze of obstacles between the house and the street a few hundred yards away.

We were about halfway across the yard when an old gray tomcat stepped in our path. One of his ears was torn. His left eye was swollen shut. Judging from his scars, he’d spent most of his life fighting.

Bast crouched and stared at the cat. He looked up at her calmly.

“Thank you,” Bast said.

The old tomcat trotted off toward the river.

“What was that about?” Sadie asked.

“One of my subjects, offering help. He’ll spread the news about our predicament. Soon every cat in New York will be on alert.”

“He was so battered,” Sadie said. “If he’s your subject, couldn’t you heal him?”

“And take away his marks of honor? A cat’s battle scars are part of his identity. I couldn’t—” Suddenly Bast tensed. She dragged us behind a stack of crates.

“What is it?” I whispered.

She flexed her wrists and her knives slid into her hands. She peeped over the top of the crates, every muscle in her body trembling. I tried to see what she was looking at, but there was nothing except the old wrecking-ball crane.

Bast’s mouth twitched with excitement. Her eyes were fixed on the huge metal ball. I’d seen kittens look like that when they stalked catnip toy mice, or pieces of string, or rubber balls....Balls? No. Bast was an ancient goddess. Surely she wouldn’t—

“This could be it.” She shifted her weight. “Stay very very still.”

“There’s no one there,” Sadie hissed.

I started to say, “Um...”

Bast lunged over the crates. She flew thirty feet through the air, knives flashing, and landed on the wrecking ball with such force that she broke the chain. The cat goddess and the huge metal sphere smashed into the dirt and went rolling across the yard.

“Rowww!” Bast wailed. The wrecking ball rolled straight over her, but she didn’t appear hurt. She leaped off and pounced again. Her knives sliced through the metal like wet clay. Within seconds, the wrecking ball was reduced to a mound of scraps.

Bast sheathed her blades. “Safe now!”

Sadie and I looked at each other.

“You saved us from a metal ball,” Sadie said.

“You never know,” Bast said. “It could’ve been hostile.”

Just then a deep boom! shook the ground. I looked back at the mansion. Tendrils of blue fire curled from the top windows.

“Come on,” Bast said. “Our time is up!”

I thought maybe she’d whisk us off by magic, or at least hail a taxi. Instead, Bast borrowed a silver Lexus convertible.

“Oh, yes,” she purred. “I like this one! Come along, children.”

“But this isn’t yours,” I pointed out.

“My dear, I’m a cat. Everything I see is mine.” She touched the ignition and the keyhole sparked. The engine began to purr. [No, Sadie. Not like a cat, like an engine.]

“Bast,” I said, “you can’t just—”

Sadie elbowed me. “We’ll work out how to return it later, Carter. Right now we’ve got an emergency.”

She pointed back toward the mansion. Blue flames and smoke now billowed from every window. But that wasn’t the scary part—coming down the stairs were four men carrying a large box, like an oversize coffin with long handles sticking out at both ends. The box was covered with a black shroud and looked big enough for at least two bodies. The four men wore only kilts and sandals. Their coppery skin glinted in the sun as if made of metal.

“Oh, that’s bad,” Bast said. “In the car, please.”

I decided not to ask questions. Sadie beat me to the shotgun seat so I climbed in back. The four metallic guys with the box were racing across the yard, coming straight for us at an unbelievable speed. Before I even had my seat belt on, Bast hit the gas.

We tore through the streets of Brooklyn, weaving insanely through traffic, riding over sidewalks, narrowly missing pedestrians.

Bast drove with reflexes that were...well, catlike. Any human trying to drive so fast would’ve had a dozen wrecks, but she got us safely onto the Williamsburg Bridge.

I thought for sure we must’ve lost our pursuers, but when I looked back, the four copper men with the black box were weaving in and out of traffic. They appeared to be jogging at a normal pace, but they passed cars that were doing fifty. Their bodies blurred like choppy images in an old movie, as if they were out of sync with the regular stream of time.

“What are they?” I asked. “Shabti?”

“No, carriers.” Bast glanced in the rearview mirror. “Summoned straight from the Duat. They’ll stop at nothing to find their victims, throw them in the sedan—”

“The what?” Sadie interrupted.

“The large box,” Bast said. “It’s a kind of carriage. The carriers capture you, beat you senseless, throw you in, and carry you back to their master. They never lose their prey, and they never give up.”

“But what do they want us for?”

“Trust me,” Bast growled, “you don’t want to know.”