The Son of Sobek (Kane Chronicles)(2)

“Sobek,” I murmured, “if that’s you, messing with me again, I swear to Ra…”

The croc god had promised to leave us alone now that we were tight with his boss, the sun god. Still…crocodiles get hungry. Then they tend to forget their promises.

No answer from the water. The ripples subsided.

When it came to sensing monsters, my magic instincts weren’t very sharp; but the water in front of me seemed much darker. That meant either it was deep, or something large was lurking under the surface.

I almost hoped it was Sobek. At least then I stood a chance of talking to him before he killed me. Sobek loved to boast.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t him.

The next microsecond, as the water erupted around me, I realized too late that I should’ve brought the entire Twenty-first Nome to help me. I registered glowing yellow eyes as big as my head, the glint of gold jewelry around a massive neck. Then monstrous jaws opened—ridges of crooked teeth, and an expanse of pink maw wide enough to gulp down a garbage truck.

And the creature swallowed me whole.

Imagine being shrink-wrapped upside down inside a gigantic slimy garbage bag with no air. Being in the monster’s belly was like that, only hotter and smellier.

For a moment I was too stunned to do anything. I couldn’t believe I was still alive. If the crocodile’s mouth had been smaller, he might have snapped me in half. As it was, he had gulped me down in a single Carter-size serving, so I could look forward to being slowly digested.

Lucky, right?

The monster started thrashing around, which made it hard to think. I held my breath, knowing that it might be my last. I still had my sword and wand, but I couldn’t use them with my arms pinned to my side. I couldn’t reach any of the stuff in my bag.

Which left only one answer: a word of power. If I could think of the right hieroglyphic symbol and speak it aloud, I could summon some industrial strength, wrath-of-the-gods-type magic to bust my way out of this reptile.

In theory: a great solution.

In practice: I’m not so good at words of power even in the best of situations. Suffocating inside a dark, smelly reptile gullet wasn’t helping me focus.

You can do this, I told myself.

After all the dangerous adventures I’d had, I couldn’t die like this. Sadie would be devastated. Then, once she got over her grief, she’d track down my soul in the Egyptian afterlife and tease me mercilessly for how stupid I’d been.

My lungs burned. I was blacking out. I picked a word of power, summoned all my concentration, and prepared to speak.

Suddenly the monster lurched upward. He roared, which sounded really weird from the inside, and its throat contracted around me like I was being squeezed from a toothpaste tube. I shot out of the creature’s mouth and tumbled into the marsh grass.

Somehow I got to my feet. I staggered around, half blind, gasping, and covered with crocodile goo, which smelled like a scummy fish tank.

The surface of the river churned with bubbles. The crocodile was gone, but standing in the marsh about twenty feet away was a teenage guy in jeans and a faded orange T-shirt that said CAMP something. I couldn’t read the rest. He looked a little older than me—maybe seventeen—with tousled black hair and sea-green eyes. What really caught my attention was his sword—a straight double-edged blade glowing with faint bronze light.

I’m not sure which of us was more surprised.

For a second, Camper Boy just stared at me. He noted my khopesh and wand, and I got the feeling he actually saw these things as they were. Normal mortals have trouble seeing magic. Their brains can’t interpret it, so they might look at my sword, for instance, and see a baseball bat or a walking stick.

But this kid…he was different. I figured he must be a magician. The only problem was, I’d met most of the magicians in the North American nomes, and I’d never seen this guy before. I’d also never seen a sword like that. Everything about him seemed…un-Egyptian.

“The crocodile,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and even. “Where did it go?”

Camper Boy frowned. “You’re welcome.”

“What?”

“I stuck that croc in the rump.” He mimicked the action with his sword. “That’s why it vomited you up. So, you’re welcome. What were you doing in there?”

I’ll admit I wasn’t in the best mood. I smelled. I hurt. And, yeah, I was a little embarrassed: the mighty Carter Kane, head of Brooklyn House, had been disgorged from a croc’s mouth like a giant hairball.

“I was resting,” I snapped. “What do you think I was doing? Now, who are you, and why are you fighting my monster?”

“Your monster?” The guy trudged toward me through the water. He didn’t seem to have any trouble with the mud. “Look, man, I don’t know who you are, but that crocodile has been terrorizing Long Island for weeks. I take that kind of personal, as this is my home turf. A few days ago, it ate one of our pegasi.”

A jolt went up my spine like I’d backed into an electric fence. “Did you say pegasi?”

He waved the question aside. “Is it your monster or not?”

“I don’t own it!” I growled. “I’m trying to stop it! Now, where—”

“The croc headed that way.” He pointed his sword toward the south. “I would already be chasing it, but you surprised me.”