The Serpent's Shadow (Kane Chronicles #3)(47)

The four of us sat around the table. We ate while we compared stories. All in all, it was quite possibly the most awkward double date in history. We had no shortage of dire emergencies to talk about, but the tension in the room was as thick as Cairo smog.

Carter hadn’t seen Zia in person for months. I could tell he was trying not to stare. Zia was clearly uncomfortable sitting so close to him. She kept leaning away, which no doubt hurt his feelings. Perhaps she was just worried about having another fireball-throwing episode. As for me, I was elated to be next to Walt, but at the same time, I was desperately worried about him. I couldn’t forget how he’d looked wrapped in glowing mummy linen, and I wondered what Anubis had wanted to tell me about Walt’s situation. Walt tried to hide it, but he was obviously in great pain. His hands trembled as he picked up his peanut butter sandwich.

Carter told me about the pending evacuation of Brooklyn House, which Bast was overseeing. My heart nearly broke when I thought of little Shelby, wonderful silly Felix, shy Cleo, and all the rest going off to defend the First Nome against an impossible attack, but I knew Carter was right. There was no other choice.

Carter kept hesitating, as if waiting for Walt to contribute information. Walt stayed silent. Clearly he was holding something back. Somehow or other, I’d have to get Walt alone and grill him for details.

In return, I told Carter about our visit to the House of Rest. I shared my suspicions that Amos might be calling on Set for extra power. Zia didn’t contradict me, and the news didn’t sit well with my brother. After several minutes of swearing and pacing the room, he finally calmed down enough to say, “We can’t let that happen. He’ll be destroyed.”

“I know,” I said. “But we can best help him by moving forward.”

I didn’t mention Zia’s blackout in the nursing home. In Carter’s present state of mind, I thought that might be too much for him. But I did tell him what Tawaret had said about the possible location of Bes’s shadow.

“The ruins of Saïs…” He frowned. “I think Dad mentioned that place. He said there wasn’t much left. But even if we could find the shadow, we don’t have time. We’ve got to stop Apophis.”

“I made a promise,” I insisted. “Besides, we need Bes. Think of it as a trial run. Saving his shadow will give us a chance to practice this sort of magic before we try it on Apophis—um, in reverse, of course. It might even give us a way to revive Ra.”

“But—”

“She’s got a point,” Walt interrupted.

I’m not sure who was more surprised—Carter, or me.

“Even if we get Setne’s help,” Walt said, “trapping a shadow in a statue is going to be difficult. I’d feel better if we could try it on a friendly target first. I could show you how it’s done while—while I still have time.”

“Walt,” I said, “please, don’t talk like that.”

“When you face Apophis,” he continued, “you’ll have only one chance to get the spell right. It would be better to have some practice.”

When you face Apophis. He said it so calmly, but his meaning was clear: he wouldn’t be around when that happened.

Carter nudged his half-eaten pizza. “I just…I don’t see how we can do it all in time. I know this is a personal mission for you, Sadie, but—”

“She has to,” Zia said gently. “Carter, you once went off on a personal mission in the middle of a crisis, didn’t you? That worked out.” She put her hand on Carter’s. “Sometimes you have to follow your heart.”

Carter looked like he was trying to swallow a golf ball. Before he could say anything, the ship’s bell sounded.

In the corner of the dining room, a loudspeaker crackled with Bloodstained Blade’s voice: “My lords and ladies, we have reached the Hall of Judgment.”

The black temple looked just as I remembered. We made our way up the steps from the dock and passed between rows of obsidian columns that marched into the gloom. Sinister-looking scenes of Underworld life glittered on the floor and in friezes circling the pillars—black designs on black stone. Despite the reed torches that burned every few meters, the air was so hazy with volcanic ash, I couldn’t see far in front of us.

As we moved deeper into the temple, voices whispered around us. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw groups of spirits drifting across the pavilion—ghostly shapes camouflaged in the smoky air. Some moved aimlessly—crying softly or tearing at their clothes in despair. Others carried armfuls of papyrus scrolls. These ghosts looked more solid and purposeful, as if they were waiting for something.

“Petitioners,” Walt said. “They’ve brought their case files, hoping for an audience with Osiris. He was gone so long…there must be a real backlog of cases.”

Walt’s step seemed lighter. His eyes looked more alert, his body less weighed down by pain. He was so close to death, I’d feared this trip to the Underworld might be hard for him, but if anything he seemed more at ease than the rest of us.

“How do you know?” I asked.

Walt hesitated. “I’m not sure. It just seems…correct.”

“And the ghosts without scrolls?”

“Refugees,” he said. “They’re hoping this place will protect them.”