“My lord,” Rooster Foot said. “The mountain is called Camelback. The city is called Phoenix.”
The fiery man laughed-a booming sound like thunder. “Phoenix. How appropriate! And the desert so much like home. All it needs now is to be scoured of life. The desert should be a sterile place, don’t you think?”
“Oh yes, my lord,” the toadie agreed. “But what of the other four?”
“One is already entombed,” the fiery man said. “The second is weak. She will be easily manipulated. That leaves only two. And they will be dealt with soon enough.”
“Er…how?” the toadie asked.
The fiery man glowed brighter. “You are an inquisitive little tadpole, aren’t you?” He pointed at the toad and the poor creature’s skin began to steam.
“No!” the toadie begged. “No-o-o-o!”
I could hardly watch. I don’t want to describe it. But if you’ve heard what happens when cruel kids pour salt on snails, you’ll have a pretty good idea of what happened to the toadie. Soon there was nothing left.
Rooster Foot took a nervous step back. I couldn’t blame him.
“We will build my temple here,” the fiery man said, as if nothing had happened. “This mountain shall serve as my place of worship. When it is complete, I will summon the greatest storm ever known. I will cleanse everything. Everything.”
“Yes, my lord,” Rooster Foot agreed quickly. “And, ah, if I may suggest, my lord, to increase your power…” The creature bowed and scraped and moved forward, as if he wanted to whisper in the fiery man’s ear.
Just when I thought Rooster Foot was going to become fried chicken for sure, he said something to the fiery dude that I couldn’t make out, and the fiery dude burned brighter.
“Excellent! If you can do this, you will be rewarded. If not…”
“I understand, my lord.”
“Go then,” the fiery man said. “Unleash our forces. Start with the longnecks. That should soften them up. Collect the younglings and bring them to me. I want them alive, before they have time to learn their powers. Do not fail me.”
“No, lord.”
“Phoenix,” the fiery man mused. “I like that very much.” He swept his hand across the horizon, as if he were imagining the city in flames. “Soon I will rise from your ashes. It will be a lovely birthday present.”
I woke with my heart pounding, back in my own body. I felt hot, as if the fiery guy were starting to burn me. Then I realized that there was a cat on my chest.
Muffin stared at me, her eyes half closed. “Mrow.”
“How did you get in?” I muttered.
I sat up, and for a second I wasn’t sure where I was. Some hotel in another city? I almost called for my dad…and then I remembered.
Yesterday. The museum. The sarcophagus.
It all crashed down on me so hard I could barely breathe.
Stop, I told myself. You don’t have time for grief. And this is going to sound weird, but the voice in my head almost sounded like a different person-older, stronger. Either that was a good sign, or I was going crazy.
Remember what you saw, the voice said. He’s after you. You have to be ready.
I shivered. I wanted to believe I’d just had a bad dream, but I knew better. I’d been through too much in the last day to doubt what I’d seen. Somehow, I’d actually left my body while I slept. I’d been to Phoenix-thousands of miles away. The fiery dude was there. I hadn’t understood much of what he’d said, but he’d talked about sending his forces to capture the younglings. Gee, wonder who that could be?
Muffin jumped off the bed and sniffed at the ivory headrest, looking up at me as if she were trying to tell me something.
“You can have it,” I told her. “It’s uncomfortable.”
She butted her head against it and stared at me accusingly. “Mrow.”
“Whatever, cat.”
I got up and showered. When I tried to get dressed, I found that my old clothes had disappeared in the night. Everything in the closet was my size, but way different than what I was used to-baggy drawstring pants and loose shirts, all plain white linen, and robes for cold weather, kind of what the fellahin, the peasants in Egypt, wear. It wasn’t exactly my style.
Sadie likes to tell me that I don’t have a style. She complains that I dress like I’m an old man-button-down shirt, slacks, dress shoes. Okay, maybe. But here’s the thing. My dad had always drilled into my head that I had to dress my best.
I remember the first time he explained it to me. I was ten. We were on our way to the airport in Athens, and it was like 112 degrees outside, and I was complaining that I wanted to wear shorts and a T-shirt. Why couldn’t I be comfortable? We weren’t going anywhere important that day-just traveling.
My dad put his hand on my shoulder. “Carter, you’re getting older. You’re an African American man. People will judge you more harshly, and so you must always look impeccable.”
“That isn’t fair!” I insisted.
“Fairness does not mean everyone gets the same,” Dad said. “Fairness means everyone gets what they need. And the only way to get what you need is to make it happen yourself. Do you understand?”
I told him I didn’t. But still I did what he asked-like caring about Egypt, and basketball, and music. Like traveling with only one suitcase. I dressed the way Dad wanted me to, because Dad was usually right. In fact I’d never known him to be wrong…until the night at the British Museum.
Anway, I put on the linen clothes from the closet. The slipper shoes were comfortable, though I doubted they’d be much good to run in.
The door to Sadie’s room was open, but she wasn’t there.
Thankfully my bedroom door wasn’t locked anymore. Muffin joined me and we walked downstairs, passing a lot of unoccupied bedrooms on the way. The mansion could’ve easily slept a hundred people, but instead it felt empty and sad.
Down in the Great Room, Khufu the baboon sat on the sofa with a basketball between his legs and a chunk of strange-looking meat in his hands. It was covered in pink feathers. ESPN was on the television, and Khufu was watching highlights from the games the night before.
“Hey,” I said, though I felt a little weird talking to him. “Lakers win?”
Khufu looked at me and patted his basketball like he wanted a game. “Agh, agh.”
He had a pink feather hanging from his chin, and the sight made my stomach do a slow roll.
“Um, yeah,” I said. “We’ll play later, okay?”
I could see Sadie and Amos out on the terrace, eating breakfast by the pool. It should’ve been freezing out there, but the fire pit was blazing, and neither Amos nor Sadie looked cold. I headed their way, then hesitated in front of the statue of Thoth. In the daylight, the bird-headed god didn’t look quite so scary. Still, I could swear those beady eyes were watching me expectantly.
What had the fiery guy said last night? Something about catching us before we learned our powers. It sounded ridiculous, but for a moment I felt a surge of strength-like the night before when I’d opened the front door just by raising my hand. I felt like I could lift anything, even this thirty-foot-tall statue if I wanted to. In a kind of trance, I stepped forward.
Muffin meowed impatiently and butted my foot. The feeling dissolved.
“You’re right,” I told the cat. “Stupid idea.”
Besides, I could smell breakfast now-French toast, bacon, hot chocolate-and I couldn’t blame Muffin for being in a hurry. I followed her out to the terrace.
“Ah, Carter,” Amos said. “Merry Chrstmas, my boy. Join us.”
“About time,” Sadie grumbled. “I’ve been up for ages.”
But she held my eyes for a moment, like she was thinking the same thing I was: Christmas. We hadn’t spent a Christmas morning together since Mom died. I wondered if Sadie remembered how we used to make god’s-eye decorations out of yarn and Popsicle sticks.