Eye of Hecate

Sadie

We race to the entrance of the museum, and I have no idea why, except that a giant glowing cat woman told us to, and my uncle's adopted daughter is dragging us there. Now, you must realize I'm already devastated by everything that happened. First, I lost my father. Second, my loving grandparents kicked me out of the flat. Then I discovered I'm apparently "blood of the pharaohs," born to a magical family, and all sorts of rubbish that sounds quite impressive but only brings me loads of trouble. And as soon as I found a new home—a mansion with proper breakfast and friendly pets and quite a nice room for me, by the way—Uncle Amos disappears, my lovely new crocodile and baboon friends are tossed in a river, and the mansion is set on fire. And if that isn't enough, my faithful cat Muffin decided to engage in a hopeless battle with a swarm of scorpions.

Do you call it a "swarm" for scorpions? A herd? A gaggle? Oh, never mind.The point is I can't believe I was asked to open a magic doorway when clearly I have no such skill, and now my—what, adopted cousin?—is dragging me away. I feel like an utter failure. 

"We can't just leave Bast!" I shout. "Look!"

Ozzy keeps running, dragging us along, but I can see quite clearly what's happening back at the obelisk. A mass of scorpions has crawled up Bast's glowing green legs and are wriggling into the hologram like it's gelatin. Bast smashes hundreds of them with her feet and fists, but there are simply too many. Soon they're up to her waist, and her ghostly shell begins to flicker. Meanwhile, the brown-robed goddess advances slowly, and I have a feeling she'll be worse than any number of scorpions.

Ozzy pulls us through a row of bushes and I lose sight of Bast. We burst onto Fifth Avenue, which seems ridiculously normal after the magic battle. We run down the sidewalk, shove through a knot of pedestrians, and climb the steps of the Met.

A banner above the entrance announces some sort of special Christmas event, which I suppose is why the museum is open on a holiday, but I don't bother reading the details. We push straight inside.

Ozzy turns at the doorway and points her hand, the way I had when I blasted the door to the library: like a two fingered gun with the thumb parallel. 

"Drowah," 

A gold line burns across the doorway. 

"We have to keep moving," she says. "That won't hold her for long."

What does the inside of the museum look like? Well, it's a museum: huge entry hall, lots of columns and so on. I can't claim I spend much time admiring the decor. I do notice it has queues for the ticket windows, because we run right past them. There are also security guards, because they yell at us as we dash into the exhibits. Ozzy leads us into the Egyptian area, in front of a reconstructed tomb sort of place with narrow corridors. Carter probably could tell you what the structure is supposed to be, but honestly I don't care.

"Come on," Ozzy says.

We slip inside the exhibit, which proves quite enough to lose the security guards, or perhaps they have better things to do than pursue naughty children.

When we pop out again, we sneak around until we're sure we aren't being followed. The Egypt wing isn't crowded—just a few clumps of old people and a foreign tour group with a guide explaining a sarcophagus in French. "Et voici la momie!"

Strangely, no one seems to notice Ozzy's staff and wand, or the enormous sword on Carter's back, which surely must be a security issue (and much more interesting than the exhibits). A few old people do give us odd looks, but I suspect that's because we're dressed in linen pajamas, drenched in sweat, and covered in grass and leaves. My hair is probably a nightmare as well.

I find an empty room and pull Carter and Ozzy aside. The glass cases are full of shabti. A few days earlier I wouldn't have given them a second thought. Now, I keep glancing at the statues, sure they'll come to life any minute and try to bash me on the head.

"What now?" I ask. "Did you guys see any temple?"

Ozzy mutters something under her breath. It sounds like another language. Then, she says, "I haven't been here in ages."

"I haven't seen one." Carter knits his eyebrows as if trying hard to remember. "I think there's a rebuilt temple down that hall...or is that in the Brooklyn Museum? Maybe the one in Munich? Sorry, I've been to so many museums with Dad that they all get mixed together."

I sigh in exasperation. "Poor boy, forced to travel the world, skip school, and spend time with Dad while I get a whole two days a year with him!"

"Hey!" Carter turns on me with surprising force. "You get a home! You get friends and a normal life and don't wake up each morning wondering what country you're in! You don't—"

"Are you guys kidding?" Ozzy demands. Her eyes flash with anger. "You don't know how good you've had it. At least you didn't get abandoned! You got homes and you get to see Dad, and—"

The glass case next to us shatters, spraying glass at our feet.

Carter looks at me, then Ozzy, bewildered. "Did we just—"

"Like my exploding birthday cake," I grumble, trying not to let on how startled I am. "You guys need to control your temper."

"Me?" Carter demands. He turns to Ozzy.  "What do you mean, we go to see Dad?"

Alarms begin to blare. Red lights pulse through the corridor. A garbled voice comes on the loudspeaker and says something about proceeding calmly to the exits. The French tour group runs past us, screaming in panic, followed by a crowd of remarkably fast old people with walkers and canes.

"We can talk about this later," Ozzy decides, still visibly angry. "Come on!"

We run down another corridor, and the sirens die as suddenly as they started. The blood-red lights keep pulsing in eerie silence. Then I hear it: the slithering, clacking sounds of scorpions.

"What about Bast?" My voice chokes up. "Is she—"

"Don't think about it," Carter says, though, judging from his face, that's exactly what he's thinking about. "Keep moving!"

Soon we're hopelessly lost. As far as I can tell, the Egyptian part of the museum is designed to be as confusing as possible, with dead ends and halls that double back on themselves. We pass hieroglyphic scrolls, gold jewelry, sarcophagi, statues of pharaohs, and huge chunks of limestone. Why would someone display a rock? Aren't there enough of those in the world?

We see no one, but the slithering sounds grow louder no matter which way we run. Finally I round a corner and smack straight into someone.

I yelp and scramble backwards, only to stumble into Carter. We both fall on our bums in a most unflattering way while Ozzy watches us with a look that says:  You guys are embarrassing. 

At first I don't recognize the girl standing in front of us, which seems strange, looking back on it. Perhaps she's using some sort of magic aura, or perhaps I just don't want to believe it's her.

She looks a bit taller than me. Probably older, too, but not by much. Her black hair is trimmed along her jawline and longer in the front so that it sweeps over her eyes. She has caramel-colored skin and pretty, vaguely Arab features. Her eyes—lined in black kohl, Egyptian style—are a strange amber color that is either quite beautiful or a bit scary; I can't decide which. She has a backpack on her shoulder, and wears sandals and loose-fitting linen clothes like ours. She looks as if she's on her way to a martial arts class. God, now that I think of it, we probably look the same way. How embarrassing.

I slowly begin to realize I've seen her before. She's the girl with the knife from the British Museum. Before I can say anything, Carter springs to his feet. He moves in front of me and brandishes his sword as if trying to protect me. Can you believe the nerve?

"Get—get back!" he stammers.

The girl reaches into her sleeve and produces a curved white piece of ivory—an Egyptian wand.

She flicks it to one side, and Carter's sword flies out of his hands and clattered to the floor.

She turns to Ozzy. "Where is Amos?"

Ozzy's face falls. "Amos is gone. He. left this morning."