I DON'T LIKE GOOD-BYES, and yet I have to tell you about so many of them.
[No, Carter. That wasn't an invitation to take the microphone. Push off!]
By sunset, Brooklyn House was back in order. Alyssa took care of the masonry almost single-handedly with the power of the earth god. Our initiates knew the hi-nehm spell well enough to fix most of the other broken things. Khufu showed as much dexterity with rags and cleaning fluid as he did with a basketball, and it's truly amazing how much polishing, dusting, and scrubbing one can accomplish by attaching large dusting cloths to the wings of a griffin.
We had several meetings during the day. Philip of Macedonia kept guard in the pool, and our shabti army patrolled the grounds, but no one tried to attack-neither the forces of Apophis nor our fellow magicians. I could almost feel the collective shock spreading throughout the three hundred and sixty nomes as they learned the news: Desjardins was dead, Apophis had risen, Ra was back, and Amos Kane was the new Chief Lector. Which fact was most alarming to them, I didn't know, but I thought we'd have at least a little breathing space while the other nomes processed the turn of events and decided what to do.
Just before sunset, Carter and I were back on the roof as Zia opened a portal to Cairo for herself and Amos.
With her black hair freshly cut and a new set of beige robes, Zia looked like she hadn't changed a bit since we first spoke with her at the Metropolitan Museum, even though so much had happened since then. And I suppose, technically speaking, that hadn't been her at the museum at all, since it was her shabti.
[Yes, I know. Horribly confusing to keep track of all that. You should learn the spell for summoning headache medicine. It works wonders.]
The swirling gate appeared, and Zia turned to say her good-byes.
"I'll accompany Amos-I mean the Chief Lector-to the First Nome," she promised. "I'll make sure he is recognized as the leader of the House."
"They'll oppose you," I said. "Be careful."
Amos smiled. "We'll be fine. Don't worry."
He was dressed in his usual dapper style: a gold silk suit that matched his new leopard-skin cape, a porkpie hat, and gold beads in his braided hair. At his side sat a leather duffel bag and a saxophone case. I imagined him sitting on the steps of the pharaoh's throne, playing tenor sax-John Coltrane, perhaps-as a new age unfolded in purple light and glowing hieroglyphs popped out of his horn.
"I'll keep in touch," he promised. "Besides, you have things well in hand here at Brooklyn House. You don't need a mentor anymore."
I tried to look brave, though I hated his leaving. Just because I was thirteen didn't mean I wanted adult responsibilities. Certainly I didn't want to run the Twenty-first Nome or lead armies into war. But I suppose no one who's put in such a position ever feels ready.
Zia put her hand on Carter's arm. He jumped as if she'd touched him with a defibrillator paddle.
"We'll talk soon," she said, "after...after things have settled. But, thank you."
Carter nodded, though he looked crestfallen. We all knew things wouldn't settle anytime soon. There was no guarantee we'd even live long enough to see Zia again.
"Take care of yourself," Carter said. "You've got an important role to play."
Zia glanced at me. A strange sort of understanding passed between us. I think she'd begun to have a suspicion, a deep-seated dread, about what her role might be. I can't say I understood it yet myself, but I shared her disquiet. Zebras, Ra had said. He'd woken up talking about zebras.
