The Red Pyramid (Kane Chronicles #1)(79)

“Item of power,” I said. “Where?”

“I don’t know,” Carter snapped. “They didn’t have ‘items of power’ listed on the tour!”

I glanced out the window. Our enemies were getting close. The bloke in front wore jeans, a black sleeveless shirt, boots, and a battered cowboy hat. He looked more like an outlaw than a magician. His friend was similarly dressed but much heftier, with tattooed arms, a bald head, and a scraggly beard. When they were ten meters away, the man with the cowboy hat lowered his staff, which morphed into a shotgun.

“Oh, please!” I yelled, and pushed Carter into the living room.

The blast shattered Elvis’s front door and set my ears ringing. We scrambled to our feet and ran deeper into the house. We passed through an old-fashioned kitchen, then into the strangest den I’d ever seen. The back wall was made of vine-covered bricks, with a waterfall trickling down the side. The carpet was green shag (floor and ceiling, mind you) and the furniture was carved with creepy animal shapes. Just in case all that wasn’t dreadful enough, plaster monkeys and stuffed lions had been strategically placed around the room. Despite the danger we were in, the place was so horrid, I just had to stop and marvel.

“God,” I said. “Did Elvis have no taste?”

“The Jungle Room,” Carter said. “He decorated it like this to annoy his dad.”

“I can respect that.”

Another shotgun blast roared through the house.

“Split up,” Carter said.

“Bad idea!” I could hear the magicians tromping through the rooms, smashing things as they came closer.

“I’ll distract them,” Carter said. “You search. The trophy room is through there.”

“Carter!”

But the fool ran off to protect me. I hate it when he does that. I should have followed him, or run the other way, but I stood frozen in shock as he turned the corner with his sword raised, his body beginning to glow with a golden light...and everything went wrong.

Blam! An emerald flash brought Carter to his knees. For a heartbeat, I thought he’d been hit with the shotgun, and I had to stifle a scream. But immediately, Carter collapsed and began to shrink, clothes, sword and all—melting into a tiny sliver of green.

The lizard that used to be my brother raced toward me, climbed up my leg and into my palm, where it looked at me desperately.

From around the corner, a gruff voice said, “Split up and find the sister. She’ll be somewhere close.”

“Oh, Carter,” I whispered fondly to the lizard. “I will so kill you for this.”

I stuffed him in my pocket and ran.

The two magicians continued to smash and crash their way through Graceland, knocking over furniture and blasting things to bits. Apparently they were not Elvis fans.

I ducked under some ropes, crept through a hallway, and found the trophy room. Amazingly, it was full of trophies. Gold records crowded the walls. Rhinestone Elvis jumpsuits glittered in four glass cases. The room was dimly lit, probably to keep the jumpsuits from blinding visitors, and music played softly from overhead speakers: Elvis warning everyone not to step on his blue suede shoes.

I scanned the room but found nothing that looked magical. The suits? I hoped Thoth did not expect me to wear one. The gold records? Lovely Frisbees, but no.

“Jerrod!” a voice called to my right. A magician was coming down the hallway. I darted toward the other exit, but a voice just outside it called back, “Yeah, I’m over here.”

I was surrounded.

“Carter,” I whispered. “Curse your lizard brain.”

He fluttered nervously in my pocket but was no help.

I fumbled through my magician’s bag and grasped my wand. Should I try drawing a magic circle? No time, and I didn’t want to duel toe-to-toe with two older magicians. I had to stay mobile. I took out my rod and willed it into a full-length staff. I could set it on fire, or turn it into a lion, but what good would that do? My hands started to tremble. I wanted to crawl into a ball and hide beneath Elvis’s gold record collection.

Let me take over, Isis said. I can turn our enemies to dust.

No, I told her.

You will get us both killed.

I could feel her pressing against my will, trying to bust out. I could taste her anger with these magicians. How dare they challenge us? With a word, we could destroy them.

No, I thought again. Then I remembered something Zia had said: Use whatever you have available. The room was dimly lit...perhaps if I could make it darker.

“Darkness,” I whispered. I felt a tugging sensation in my stomach, and the lights flickered off. The music stopped. The light continued to dim—even the sunlight faded from the windows until the entire room went black.

Somewhere to my left, the first magician sighed in exasperation. “Jerrod!”

“Wasn’t me, Wayne!” Jerrod insisted. “You always blame me!”

Wayne muttered something in Egyptian, still moving towards me. I needed a distraction.

I closed my eyes and imagined my surroundings. Although it was pitch-black, I could still sense Jerrod in the hallway to my left, stumbling through the darkness. I sensed Wayne on the other side of the wall to the right, only a few steps from the doorway. And I could visualize the four glass display cases with Elvis’s suits.

They’re tossing your house, I thought. Defend it!