The Throne of Fire (Kane Chronicles #2)(49)

[Oh, yes, now you try to explain yourself, Carter. I thought you didn’t remember this bit! Just be quiet and let me tell the story.]

As I was saying, the tjesu heru struck at Carter, and everything seemed to slow down. I remember screaming, lowering my staff at the monster. The soldier-magician yelled something in Russian. The creature sank its fangs into Carter’s left shoulder, and he dropped to the ground.

I forgot about my makeshift circle. I ran toward him, and my staff glowed. I don’t know how I managed the power. As Isis said, I didn’t think. I simply channeled all my rage and shock into my staff.

Seeing Carter hurt was the final insult. My grandparents had been possessed. My friends had been attacked, and my birthday ruined. But my brother was off-limits. No one was allowed to hurt my brother.

I unleashed a beam of golden light that hit the monster with the force of a sandblaster. The tjesu heru crumbled to bits, until there was nothing left but a streak of sand steaming in the snow and a few splinters of Menshikov’s shattered staff.

I ran to Carter’s side. He was shivering, his eyes rolled back in his head. Two puncture wounds in his coat were smoking.

“Kane,” the young Russian said with a tone of awe.

I snatched up a splinter of wood and held it for him to see. “Your boss Menshikov did this. He’s working for Apophis. Menshikov: Apophis. Now, GET OUT!”

The magician may not have understood my words, but he got the message. He turned and ran.

I cradled Carter’s head. I couldn’t carry him by myself, but I had to get him out of here. We were in enemy territory. I needed to find Bes.

I struggled to get him to his feet. Then someone took Carter’s other arm and helped us up. I found Set grinning at me, still in his ridiculous red disco suit, dusted with malachite rubble. Menshikov’s broken white sunglasses were propped on his head.

“You,” I said, too filled with loathing to issue a proper death threat.

“Me,” Set agreed cheerily. “Let’s get your brother out of here, shall we? Vladimir is not in a good mood.”

The Nevsky Prospekt would’ve been a lovely place to shop if it hadn’t been the wee hours of the morning during a snowstorm, and if I hadn’t been carrying my poisoned, comatose brother. The street had wide pavements, perfect for strolling, lined with a dazzling assortment of high-end boutiques, cafés, churches, and mansions. With all the signs in Russian, I didn’t see how I was going to find the chocolate shop. I couldn’t spot Bes’s black Mercedes anywhere.

Set volunteered to carry Carter, but I wasn’t about to let the god of chaos take full charge of my brother, so we dragged him between us. Set chatted amiably about tjesu heru poison: “Completely incurable! Fatal in about twelve hours. It’s amazing stuff!” And his tussle with Menshikov: “Six vases broken over his head, and he still survives! I envy his thick skull.” And my prospects of living long enough to find Bes: “Oh, you’re toast, my dear! A dozen senior magicians were rallying to Menshikov when I made my, er, strategic retreat. They’ll be after you shortly. I could’ve destroyed them all, of course, but I couldn’t risk Vladimir using my secret name again. Maybe he’ll get amnesia and forget it. Then if you die—that would be both problems solved. Oh, I’m sorry, I suppose that sounded insensitive. Come along!”

Carter’s head lolled. His breathing sounded almost as bad as Vlad the Inhaler’s.

Now, please don’t think I was dense. Of course I remembered the wax mini-Carter figurine Jaz had given me. I recognized that this was just the sort of emergency where it might come in handy. How Jaz had predicted Carter would need healing, I had no idea. But it was possible the figurine could draw the poison out of him, despite what Set said about it being incurable. What does a god of evil know about healing, anyway?

There were problems, however. First, I knew very little about healing magic. I needed time to figure out the proper casting, and since I had only one wax statue, I couldn’t afford to get it wrong. Second, I couldn’t very well do that while being chased by Menshikov and his squad of magical Russian goons, nor did I want to let my guard down with Set anywhere near me. I didn’t know why he’d decided to be helpful all of a sudden, but the sooner I could lose him, the better. I needed to find Bes and retreat to somewhere safe—if there was such a place.

Set kept chatting about all the exciting ways the magicians might kill me once they caught up. Finally I spotted a bridge up ahead over a frozen canal. Parked in the middle was the black Mercedes. Bes leaned against the hood, eating pieces off a chocolate chessboard. Next to him sat a large plastic bag—hopefully with more chocolate for me.

I yelled to him, but he was so engrossed in eating chocolate (which I suppose I could understand) that he didn’t notice us until we were a few meters away. Then he looked up and saw Set.

I started to say, “Bes, don’t—”

Too late. Like a skunk, the dwarf god activated his default defense. His eyes bulged out. His mouth opened impossibly wide. He yelled “BOO!” so loudly, my hair parted, and icicles rained down from the bridge’s streetlamps.

Set didn’t look the least bit fazed.

“Hello, Bes,” he said. “Really, you’re not so scary with chocolate smeared on your face.”

Bes glared at me. “What’s he doing here?”

“Not my idea!” I promised. I gave him the abbreviated story of our encounter with Menshikov.