The Serpent's Shadow (Kane Chronicles #3)(37)

Oh, you’re not a quitter? he seemed to be asking. How about now? What if we give you a few more impossible tasks? Are you a quitter now?

Anger made a small hard knot in my gut. I kicked the side of the boat and nearly broke my foot.

Walt blinked. “Carter, it’s—”

“Don’t say it’s all right!” I snapped. “It’s not all right.”

I wasn’t mad at him. I was mad at the unfairness of his stupid curse, and the fact that I kept failing people who depended on me. My parents had died to give Sadie and me a chance to save the world, which we were close to botching. In Dallas, dozens of good magicians had died because they’d tried to help me. Now we were about to lose Walt.

Sure, he was important to Sadie. But I relied on him just as much. Walt was my unofficial lieutenant at Brooklyn House. The other kids listened to him. He was a calming presence in every crisis, the deciding vote in every debate. I could trust him with any secret—and even with making the execration statue of Apophis, which I couldn’t tell my uncle about. If Walt died…

“I won’t let it happen,” I said. “I refuse.”

Wild thoughts ran through my mind: Maybe Anubis was lying to Walt about his imminent death, trying to push Walt away from Sadie. (Okay, unlikely. Sadie wasn’t that much of a prize.)

[Yeah, Sadie, I really said that. Just checking to see if you were still paying attention.]

Maybe Walt could beat the odds. People survived cancer miraculously. Why not ancient curses? Maybe we could put him in suspended animation like Iskandar had done for Zia, until we found an antidote. Sure, his family had been searching for a cure unsuccessfully for centuries. Jaz, our best healer, had tried everything with no luck. But maybe we’d overlooked something.

“Carter,” Walt said. “Will you let me finish? We’ve got to make plans.”

“How can you be so calm?” I demanded.

Walt fingered his shen necklace, the twin of the one he’d given Sadie. “I’ve known about my curse for years. I won’t let it stop me from doing what I need to. One way or another, I’m going to help you beat Apophis.”

“How?” I said. “You just told me—”

“Anubis has an idea,” Walt said. “He’s been helping me make sense of my powers.”

“You mean…” I glanced at Walt’s hands. Several times I’d seen him turn objects to ashes simply by touching them, the way he’d done to that criosphinx in Dallas. The power didn’t come from any of his magic items. None of us understood it, and as Walt’s disease progressed, he seemed less and less able to control it, which made me think twice about giving the guy a high five.

Walt flexed his fingers. “Anubis thinks he understands why I have that ability. And there’s more. He thinks there might be a way to extend my life.”

That was such good news that I let out a shaky laugh. “Why didn’t you say so? He can cure you?”

“No,” Walt said. “Not a cure. And it’s risky. It’s never been done before.”

“That’s what you were talking to Thoth about.”

Walt nodded. “Even if Anubis’s plan works, there could be…side effects. You might not like it.” He lowered his voice. “Sadie might not like it.”

Unfortunately, I had a vivid imagination. I envisioned Walt turning into some sort of undead creature—a withered mummy, a ghostly ba, or a disfigured demon. In Egyptian magic, side effects could be pretty extreme.

I tried not to let my emotions show. “We want you to live. Don’t worry about Sadie.”

I could tell from Walt’s eyes that he worried about Sadie a lot. Seriously, what did he see in my sister?

[Stop hitting me, Sadie. I’m just being honest.]

Walt flexed his fingers. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I detected wisps of gray steam curling from his hands, as if just talking about his strange power had made it turn active.

“I won’t make the decision yet,” Walt said. “Not until I’m on my last breath. I want to talk to Sadie first, explain to her…”

He rested his hand on the side of the boat. That was a mistake. The woven reeds turned gray under his touch.

“Walt, stop!” I yelped.

He jerked his hand away, but it was too late. The boat crumbled to ashes.

We lunged for the ropes. Thankfully they did not crumble—maybe because Walt was paying more attention now. Freak squawked as the boat disappeared, and suddenly Walt and I were dangling under the griffin’s belly, holding on to the ropes for dear life and bonking into each other as we flew above the skyscrapers of Manhattan.

“Walt!” I yelled over the wind. “You really need to get a handle on that power!”

“Sorry!” he shouted back.

My arms were aching, but somehow we made it to Brooklyn House without plummeting to our deaths. Freak set us down on the roof, where Bast was waiting, her mouth agape.

“Why are you swinging from ropes?” she demanded.

“Because it’s so fun,” I growled. “What’s the news?”

Behind the chimneys, a frail voice warbled: “Ha-lllooooo!”

The ancient sun god Ra popped out. He gave us a toothless grin and hobbled around the roof, muttering, “Weasels, weasels. Cookie, cookie, cookie!” He reached into the folds of his loincloth and tossed cookie crumbs in the air like confetti—and yes, it was just as disgusting as it sounds.