The Red Pyramid (Kane Chronicles #1)(59)

“Perfect,” Sadie said.

“Hold up,” I said. “Which magician? And where’s the fortress?”

Bast stared at me as if I were a bit slow. “Why, I think we already discussed him. Desjardins. His house is right here in Paris.”

Once I saw Desjardins’ house, I hated him even more. It was a huge mansion on the other side of the Tuileries, on the rue des Pyramides.

“Pyramids Road?” Sadie said. “Obvious, much?”

“Maybe he couldn’t find a place on Stupid Evil Magician Street,” I suggested.

The house was spectacular. The spikes atop its wrought iron fence were gilded. Even in the winter rain, the front garden was bursting with flowers. Five stories of white marble walls and black-shuttered windows loomed before us, the whole thing topped off by a roof garden. I’d seen royal palaces smaller than this place.

I pointed to the front door, which was painted bright red. “Isn’t red a bad color in Egypt? The color of Set?”

Bast scratched her chin. “Now that you mention it, yes. It’s the color of chaos and destruction.”

“I thought black was the evil color,” Sadie said.

“No, dear. As usual, modern folk have it backward. Black is the color of good soil, like the soil of the Nile. You can grow food in black soil. Food is good. Therefore black is good. Red is the color of desert sand. Nothing grows in the desert. Therefore red is evil.” She frowned. “It is strange that Desjardins has a red door.”

“Well, I’m excited,” Sadie grumbled. “Let’s go knock.”

“There will be guards,” Bast said. “And traps. And alarms. You can bet the house is heavily charmed to keep out gods.”

“Magicians can do that?” I asked. I imagined a big can of pesticide labeled God-Away.

“Alas, yes,” Bast said. “I will not be able to cross the threshold uninvited. You, however—”

“I thought we’re gods too,” Sadie said.

“That’s the beauty of it,” Bast said. “As hosts, you are still quite human. I have taken full possession of Muffin, so I am pretty much me—a goddess. But you are still—well, yourselves. Clear?”

“No,” I said.

“I suggest you turn into birds,” Bast said. “You can fly to the roof garden and make your way in. Plus, I like birds.”

“First problem,” I said, “we don’t know how to turn into birds.”

“Easily fixed! And a good test at channeling godly power. Both Isis and Horus have bird forms. Simply imagine yourselves as birds, and birds you shall become.”

“Just like that,” Sadie said. “You won’t pounce on us?”

Bast looked offended. “Perish the thought!”

I wished she hadn’t used the word perish.

“Okay,” I said. “Here goes.”

I thought: You in there, Horus?

What? he said testily.

Bird form, please.

Oh, I see. You don’t trust me. But now you need my help.

Man, come on. Just do the falcon thing.

Would you settle for an emu?

I decided talking wasn’t going to help, so I closed my eyes and imagined I was a falcon. Right away, my skin began to burn. I had trouble breathing. I opened my eyes and gasped.

I was really, really short—eye-level with Bast’s shins. I was covered in feathers, and my feet had turned into wicked claws, kind of like my ba form, but this was real flesh and blood. My clothes and bag were gone, as if they’d melted into my feathers. My eyesight had completely changed, too. I could see a hundred and eighty degrees around, and the detail was incredible. Every leaf on every tree popped out. I spotted a cockroach a hundred yards away, scurrying into a sewer drain. I could see every pore on Bast’s face, now looming above me and grinning.

“Better late than never,” she said. “Took you almost ten minutes.”

Huh? The change had seemed instantaneous. Then I looked next to me and saw a beautiful gray bird of prey, a little bit smaller than me, with black-tipped wings and golden eyes. I’m not sure how, but I knew it was a kite—like the bird kite, not the kind with a string.

The kite let out a chirping sound—“Ha, ha, ha.” Sadie was laughing at me.

I opened my own beak, but no sound came out.

“Oh, you two look delicious,” Bast said, licking her lips. “No, no—er, I mean wonderful. Now, off you go!”

I spread my majestic wings. I had really done it! I was a noble falcon, lord of the sky. I launched myself off the sidewalk and flew straight into the fence.

“Ha—ha—ha,” Sadie chirped behind me.

Bast crouched down and began making weird chittering noises. Uh-oh. She was imitating birds. I’d seen enough cats do this when they were stalking. Suddenly my own obituary flashed in my head: Carter Kane, 14, died tragically in Paris when he was eaten by his sister’s cat, Muffin.

I spread my wings, kicked off with my feet, and with three strong flaps, I was soaring through the rain. Sadie was right behind me. Together we spiraled up into the air.

I have to admit: it felt amazing. Ever since I was a little kid, I’d had dreams in which I was flying, and I always hated waking up. Now it wasn’t a dream or even a ba trip. It was one hundred percent real. I sailed on the cold air currents above the rooftops of Paris. I could see the river, the Louvre Museum, the gardens and palaces. And a mouse—yum.