The Throne of Fire (Kane Chronicles #2)(12)

My ba feathers ruffled. I realized he was talking about Uncle Amos.

“No,” Desjardins said. “He was under our protection. All who seek healing must be given sanctuary—even Kane.”

Vladimir took a deep breath, which sounded like a clogged vacuum cleaner. “But surely now that he has left, we must act. You heard the news from Brooklyn, my lord. The children have found the first scroll. If they find the other two—”

“I know, Vladimir.”

“They humiliated the House of Life in Arizona. They made peace with Set rather than destroy him. And now they seek the Book of Ra. If you would allow me to deal with them—”

The top of Desjardins’ staff erupted in purple fire. “Who is Chief Lector?” he demanded.

Vladimir’s pleasant expression faltered. “You are, my lord.”

“And I will deal with the Kanes in due time, but Apophis is our greatest threat. We must divert all our power to keeping down the Serpent. If there is any chance the Kanes can help us restore order—”

“But, Chief Lector,” Vladimir interrupted. His tone had a new intensity—an almost magical force to it. “The Kanes are part of the problem. They have upset the balance of Ma’at by awakening the gods. They are teaching forbidden magic. Now they would restore Ra, who has not ruled since the beginning of Egypt! They will throw the world into disarray. This will only help Chaos.”

Desjardins blinked, as if confused. “Perhaps you’re right.

I…I must think on this.”

Vladimir bowed. “As you wish, my lord. I will gather our forces and await your orders to destroy Brooklyn House.”

“Destroy…” Desjardins frowned. “Yes, you will await my orders. I will choose the time to attack, Vladimir.”

“Very good, my lord. And if the Kane children seek the other two scrolls to awaken Ra? One is beyond their reach, of course, but the other—”

“I will leave that to you. Guard it as you think best.”

Vladimir’s eyes were even more horrible when he got excited—slimy and glistening behind those ruined eyelids. They reminded me of Gramps’s favorite breakfast: soft-boiled eggs with Tabasco sauce.

[Well, I’m sorry if it’s disgusting, Carter. You shouldn’t try to eat while I’m narrating, anyway!]

“My lord is wise,” Vladimir said. “The children will seek the scrolls, my lord. They have no choice. If they leave their stronghold and come into my territory—”

“Didn’t I just say we will dispose of them?” Desjardins said flatly. “Now, leave me. I must think.”

Vladimir retreated into the shadows. For someone dressed in white, he managed to disappear quite well.

Desjardins returned his attention to the shimmering curtain of light. “A new age…” he mused. “An age of darkness…”

My ba swirled into the currents of the Duat, racing back to my sleeping form.

“Sadie?” a voice said.

I sat up in bed, my heart pounding. Gray morning light filled the windows. Sitting at the foot of my bed was…

“Uncle Amos?” I stammered.

He smiled. “Happy birthday, my dear. I’m sorry if I scared you. You didn’t answer your door. I was concerned.”

He looked back to full health and as fashionably dressed as ever. He wore wire-rimmed glasses, a porkpie hat, and a black wool Italian suit that made him seem a bit less short and stout. His long hair was braided in cornrows decorated with pieces of glittering black stone—obsidian, perhaps. He might’ve passed for a jazz musician (which he was) or an African American Al Capone (which he wasn’t).

I started to ask, “How—?” Then my vision from the Hall of Ages—the implications of what I’d seen—sank in.

“It’s all right,” Amos said. “I’ve just returned from Egypt.”

I tried to swallow, my breath almost as labored as that ghastly man Vladimir’s. “So have I, Amos. And it’s not all right. They’re coming to destroy us.”

4. A Birthday Invitation to Armageddon

AFTER EXPLAINING MY HORRIBLE VISION, only one thing would do: a proper breakfast.

Amos looked shaken, but he insisted we wait to discuss matters until we’d assembled the entire Twenty-first Nome (as our branch of the House of Life was called). He promised to meet me on the veranda in twenty minutes.

After he’d gone, I showered and considered what to wear. Normally, I would teach Sympathetic Magic on Mondays, which would require proper magician’s linen. However, my birthday was supposed to be a day off.

Given the circumstances, I doubted Amos, Carter, and Bast would let me go to London, but I decided to think positive. I put on some ripped jeans, my combat boots, a tank top, and my leather jacket—not good for magic, but I was feeling rebellious.

I stuffed my wand and the mini-Carter figure into my magic supply bag. I was about to sling it over my shoulder when I thought—No, I’ll not be lugging this about on my birthday.

I took a deep breath and concentrated on opening a space in the Duat. I hate to admit it, but I’m rubbish at this trick. It’s simply not fair that Carter can pull things out of thin air at a moment’s notice, but I normally need five or ten minutes of absolute focus, and even then the effort makes me nauseous. Most of the time, it’s simpler just to keep my bag over my shoulder. If I went out with my mates, however, I didn’t want to be burdened with it, and I didn’t want to leave it behind completely.