Tombquest: Book of the Dead

The Lost Spells

Dr. Bauer returned to the hospital a few hours later. She entered the room dressed for business, wearing a power suit and carrying a black leather briefcase. She walked across the polished floor as if she were covering the last few feet of a tightrope, her steps fast but measured, her lips pressed flat with purpose. She pulled the chair back up to Alex's bedside, put down the briefcase, and picked a battered old book up off the night table.

A nurse named Helen fluttered around the room. The two had spent so much time together over the last few days that they barely spoke now, just went about their respective tasks. Helen swapped out an empty IV bag with a full one and double-checked a chart. Alex's mom resumed reading where she'd left off. Her features softened as she began reciting the familiar story.

" 'It is true that Osiris was first a living king. But it is also true that the Egyptians saw little difference between the world of the living and that of the dead ...' "

Helen shot her a quick, disapproving look, as if to say: All this talk of death. Alex's mom kept reading. She knew this story was her son's favorite. He always liked the ones with a hint of immortality to them. " 'Osiris ruled wisely, but his brother, Set, grew jealous. Set struck down his brother and cast his body into the floodwaters of the Nile. It was faithful Isis who searched for and found the body. Using powerful magic and potent spells, she brought Osiris back to life.' "

Helen glanced over, looked away. She headed toward the door, swiping at a last speck of dust as she left. Dr. Bauer shot to her feet, tossed the book aside, and glanced at the clock. How long until the next nurse ducked her head in: Five minutes? Ten?

Dr. Bauer reached up and wrapped her left hand around the ancient scarab at her neck. She waved her right hand toward the open door and watched it snap shut. Not enough. She looked down at her chair. She flicked her wrist toward the door again and the chair skittered across the waxed tile and lodged itself firmly under the door handle. Better.

Dr. Bauer took a deep breath. That was the easy part. What she was about to do was something else entirely. She wasn't sure it could be done, and she wasn't sure if it should be. She let go of the amulet and, with a trembling hand, picked up her briefcase.

She took one last look at her son, allowing herself to really see him this time. Her breath caught in her chest. He looked so small under the covers, and there were so many tubes and wires. The doctors had already begun talking to her about "moving on," about disconnecting.

"The machines are keeping him going," they told her, always careful to say "going" instead of "alive." To them, he was already gone.

But not to her.

Not yet.

A deep breath: She had to try. He was her son, not theirs. And she had access to more than mere machinery. She'd spent her life finding it. So many days and weeks away from him already. Days she would never get back, unless ...

She looked over at the little table covered with cards, stuffed animals, and flowers from her coworkers. She'd thank them later. She placed the vase of flowers on the floor and then swept her forearm across the table. The animals flopped onto the floor, landing with soft thuds, and the cards wafted down to join them.

Dr. Bauer opened her briefcase and carefully removed a panel revealing a secret compartment. She gently lifted out the object that had been hidden inside: her life's work. The golden letters of the Lost Spells reflected the dim light of the room as she flattened the ancient cloth out on the table. Her hands were trembling more now — shaking, really.

How can I control these spells if I can't control myself?

She let out a long, slow breath, trying to expel all fear and doubt.

She glanced at the door, at the clock, and then reached up and wrapped her left hand around her amulet again. The scarab: the symbol of rebirth, regeneration. It felt hot in her hand. On the table in front of her, the Lost Spells began to change. Soon, the golden letters were giving off more light than the room had to offer, glowing rather than reflecting. The linen lost the dull yellow tint of time and reclaimed the crisp white of long ago. Even the air seemed different, the scent of industrial cleaners brushed away by a light desert breeze.

The old magic was here. She could feel it all around her. It had traveled across the ages, and that both frightened and reassured her. Her eyes scanned the document, the ancient symbols now as clear to her as her ABCs. She found the right spell, and in a low, clear voice, she began to chant.

"Aa-Nadj Khetraak ..."

Her voice grew louder and her grip on the amulet grew stronger. The desert breeze became a strong wind, whipping through the little room. The blinds rippled and flapped against the inside of the closed window. She reached down and held the scroll in place. She didn't realize how tightly she was clutching her amulet until thin lines of blood began to slip out from between her fingers.

Her voice was no longer alone.

She heard them now: phantom whispers, dry and raspy, emerging from the air itself and echoing her words. Her right hand no longer trembled. Instead, it brushed across the page without her even asking it to, following the lines of text.

The sheer power of it overwhelmed her. It was as if, intent on starting a campfire, she'd looked up to find the entire campsite ablaze.

At last, she reached the end. Her right hand trailed off the edge of the scroll, and with great effort, she pried her left hand from the amulet.

The wind died down. The glow of the letters faded along with the whiteness of the linen. For a few moments, the only sound was the monotonous drone of the machines. Had it worked? She raised her eyes from the scroll to look at her son.

His small body was still motionless.

She felt all the energy drain out of her. Her knees buckled and she nearly fell to the floor. That was it, then.

Out in the hallway, someone pounded on the door. Dr. Bauer jumped at the sound. "This door has to stay open," a voice called from the other side. "And that TV was too loud."

"Just a second!" she called back, her voice faltering only slightly.

She looked down at the twin wounds on her bloody hand, where the copper-tipped beetle wings had punched through her skin. She grabbed a handful of tissues and quickly — with one hand and one fist — put the scroll back in its hiding place. I've done all I can, she thought, her head buzzing with the enormity of it.

More knocking.

"Coming!" she called, trying to find some scrap of brightness to attach to her voice. But as she started toward the door, a glimpse of movement in the corner of her eye stopped her cold.

She spun around. There it was again.

It wasn't much, just a twitch of Alex's hand. A moment later, she saw a quick nod of his chin.

She rushed across the room, tossed the chair aside, and threw open the door. "Quick," she cried. "He's awake!"