I avert my gaze.
“Tell him,” he orders, pushing the muzzle harder against Izzy’s temple.
She winces, and I break. “He’s right.”
Blaze’s swollen eyes widen. He’s got a million questions I’m sure, but a cracked voice floats through the room, preventing him from shooting them at me. “What happened?” Scarface has returned to the land of the…I’d say living, but I have a nagging feeling that the walking dead would be more appropriate. A few of his soldiers are coming to as well.
“Finally,” Thornton greets him cheerfully. “It’s about time you came back, old friend.” He gazes out of the window front. “The moon is up. It’s time to get this party started.”
Scarface eyeballs his men still struggling with the aftermath of my scream. “Get on your feet.” Once they’re up, he meets Thornton’s gaze and nods. “Ready.”
Asim isn’t here. Soldier-Creatures are circling us. My friends are still in the center of all this shit, and Blaze stares at me as if I betrayed him. I need this to end. “I won’t bring Seth back.”
Scarface and Thornton look at each other and burst into crazy laughter. The rest of the creatures join in. “You think we need you to bring him back?” Scarface chokes out between hysterical laughter.
Isn’t that what Asim said? That they need me to perform a ritual to release Seth from his prison? “She’s funny, isn’t she?” Thornton asks Scarface.
“Hilarious,” Scarface replies, getting a grip on his ugly laugh.
“Glad you’re amused,” I snort, tired of all this.
Thornton forces Izzy to move toward me. “I’m sorry, Princess. I keep forgetting how little knowledge you’ve got left.” He ogles the bodies. “We’ve got everything we need to bring our Lord back.”
I don’t understand. “Then why do you need me?”
“What’s the point of being a god when you’ve lost your immortality?” Scarface replies.
Still jack.
Thornton blows out a frustrated breath. “You took his immortality, Nisha. And you’re the one getting it back for him.”
Blaze frowns. “And how is she supposed to do that?”
Scarface flashes him a big fat smile. “Only one way to make someone immortal, mate.”
“The trials,” I mutter as lightning finally strikes. In the story my mom told me, human Seth went to the underworld to slay sixty-four demons. His reward for making it out alive—immortality.
Scarface snaps his fingers. “And the winner is, Nebt-Het.” He winks at me. “Looks like you aren’t as dumb as I thought you were.”
Blaze is at sixes and sevens like I was moments ago. “What fucking trials?”
It’s Izzy who answers him. “The Egyptians believed anyone who could walk through the underworld and come out alive would be rewarded with immortality.”
Blaze and Oz stare at her. So does everyone else—Shaggy, Mole, even Scooby, who’s still trying to keep the chief alive.
While they come to terms with the fiction that has become our reality, I’m haunted by a question. “But if I do the trial, I’d be awarded with immortality, not Seth.” At least, that’s what my mom used to say.
Thornton rolls his shoulders. “Do you remember the spell you used to kill him?”
I dig through my broken brain, rewinding every vision or hallucination I’ve ever had. It was something like: “To take his life, I sacrifice mine.” Is that what Asim meant when he said only I could reverse the ritual? Will Seth regain his life, if I reclaim mine?
“The both of you are tied to each other,” Thornton explains. “And it’s about time you repent for your crimes against him, don’t you think?” Then, he looks to Scarface. “Get everything ready. We can’t lose the power of the moon.”
Man, we’re screwed.
Scarface yanks the tablecloth off one of the tables in the center of the room. Five of his creatures are drawing hieroglyphs in a circle around it. The remaining soldiers have their guns pointed at my friends while Thornton keeps using Izzy as a human shield. He’s not afraid of me. Whatever powers I have are restricted by these dang cuffs around my wrists. But he doesn’t seem to take any chances with Oz. Not that Oz could take down all of them—even Blaze would lose that fight—but our insane history teacher seems to live by the “better safe than sorry” rule.
It’s about time Asim shows. He promised he’d get us out. Said we could trust him. Swore to help us. But I have a feeling the waiting is in vain. So, I use whatever little leverage I have left, hoping to get my friends to safety before all blows to hell. “How about a deal?”
Blaze shoots daggers at me. “Don’t you dare—”
Thornton kicks him in the thigh. “Shut up, will ya?” He zooms in on me. “You were saying, Princess?”
Have I lost my mind somewhere between the bookstore and here? Probably. Still, it’s the only thing I’ve got left. “I’ll do the trial, but only if you let them go.” I point at all of my friends.
Thornton smiles. “Sorry, that’s out of the question.”
“Then I won’t do it.”
“You sure, Nisha?” He chokes Izzy to the point where she’s gasping for air.
“Okay,” I scream.
“Okay what?”
I hate this man. “I’ll do it.” I’d do anything to get her out of here alive.
He loosens his grip and grins. “Good girl.”
I collect my thoughts. Maybe I’m approaching this the wrong way. Psychopaths—according to Investigation Discovery—only ever do things benefiting them. Let’s try this again. “You do realize the whole hotel is surrounded by cops, right?”
“So?” he mutters, unimpressed.
I gesture at the remaining hostages. “You’ve got seven hostages left in here. One of them being the chief of police. It’s just a matter of time before they storm this place.” I shrug one shoulder. “I mean, those who made it out probably told them all about you—how many of you there are, where we are, what you did to the chief. There’s no way they’ll wait for him to die,” I say, tilting my chin at Mole’s half-dead father.
Thornton squints. “Your tactical mastery shows, Princess.”
I don’t even know what that means, but whatever. “Let them go. That way, you’ll make sure no one comes barging in when you do…whatever it is you want to do. You don’t need them, right? You’ve got me.”
I think I’ve just cracked psycho-code. “Fine,” he grumbles. “You”—Mole—“you”—Shaggy—“and you”—Scooby. “Get the hell out of here, and take the chief with you.”
Shaggy refuses. “I won’t leave my friends.”
Thornton has a very convincing argument—a gun to Izzy’s head. “Get out, or this friend will join the chief in a second.”
“Go,” Oz orders.
Shaggy looks to Blaze. He too nods. “We’ll be fine, mate. But the chief needs a hospital.” Judging by Anubis’s grim look—yeah, he never left—he needs a morgue instead.
Mole, Scooby, and Shaggy lift the chief from the ground. One of the soldier-creatures opens the door for them. “Sorry,” Shaggy says before they disappear.
To my surprise, Anubis stays back, lingering in the corner, watching it all unfold. Is he here for someone other than the chief? My gaze skirts from Izzy, to Oz, and stays on Blaze. I don’t like that. At all. “What about the others?” I ask, hoping I can talk him into letting the rest go as well.
Thornton laughs. “Oh no, Princess. Everyone else stays.”
My mouth snaps open. “But—”
“We’re done,” Scarface cuts me off, nipping the argument in the bud.
“Perfecto,” Thornton sings, hauling Izzy into the center of the drawings.
“Bring them over,” Scarface orders his soldiers.
One of them pushes Blaze. “Move.” I swear, I’m more terrified of the I’ll-kill-you-and-eat-your-heart look in Blaze’s eyes than the prospect of underworld trials.
“Don’t do this,” Blaze begs when we reach the table. “I
’m begging you, princess.” There’s so much pain and desperation laced into his voice, it breaks me.
Unfortunately I can’t make him better. Only worse. “I’m sorry, Blaze.” There’s no scenario in which Izzy, Oz, and Blaze get out of this unharmed should I refuse to follow Thornton’s instructions. At the risk of sounding selfish, I can’t lose anyone else. My parents are gone, Amara is dead—no way I’m getting any of them killed.
Scarface carries a large trunk across the room. He props it on the dining room table. “We’re all set,” he assures Thornton.
“Great.” Psycho Teacher brings his lips to Izzy’s ear. “I had a great time, honey. But you’re no longer useful.” He lets go of her. “Don’t make me regret this,” he warns Oz before pushing her against his chest.
My cousin throws her arms around Oz, hugging him as if she never wants to let go. “You’re okay,” he whispers, stroking her hair. “I’ve got you, baby.”
Their love brings an everlasting light into the darkness, and though I’m still scared for them, I have a feeling they’ll be okay as long as they have each other.
“C’mon.” Thornton yanks me closer to the antique trunk. “The blood moon won’t last forever.”
“So, what’s in this for you?” I ask, part of me still holding on to the illusion Asim actually shows.
Surprise reflects in his nerd glasses. “You mean other than being the guy who helped a god get his immortality back?”
I nod.
He sighs. “Do you remember when I had that stroke a few years back?”
I don’t see how this is related, but for the sake of buying a little more time, I’ll play along. “You almost died.” I’d overheard the talks of the other teachers. Most of them thought he’d never recover.
“Not almost,” he corrects me, pain biting into his expression. “I did die.”
I swear, if he’s about to tell me he’s a ghost, or zombie, or any other creature usually featured on Supernatural, I’ll grab his gun and blow my own brains out. There’s just so much an atheist can handle—being an alleged goddess pretty much filled the glass to the very top.
“Do you know what happens to us when we take our last breath?” he asks, all the cockiness gone. I shake my head. “We find ourselves in a chamber with a golden scale, where our hearts will be measured against the weight of a feather. Depending on our lifestyles, we’ll then either go to the Field of Offerings, or are transported to the underworld.” He smirks. “Let’s just say, my elevator would have gone down. Luckily, Seth showed. He offered me a place by his side, a second chance at life. All he wanted in return was for me to find Nebt-Het, his one true love.” Thornton meets my gaze. “Imagine my surprise when I learned you’ve been right under my nose all this time.”
I have questions. How did he find out it’s me? How did Seth bring him back if he was dead? But Thornton is done wasting time. He opens the trunk and lifts a book made of pure gold onto the table. It’s the same book I’d seen in the vision at the lake—The Book of Souls.
“Open it,” he orders.
Captivated by the book’s aura, I move closer. When Asim told us about the book, I thought it would be written in hieroglyphs—the letters of ancient Egypt. What I see, however, is something entirely else. Weird symbols mix with letters I never knew existed. I trace the surface, feeling my way through like a blind woman.
“Open it,” Thornton barks again.
It’s a completely different language. The spookiest part—I can read it as if it were English. “Ra’s word I must see, Book of Souls I free thee.” And just like that, it opens up all by itself, exposing hundreds of spells and magic I never believed could exist.
Thornton pulls me away. “Look at me,” he orders.
Reluctantly, I take my eyes off the writing. “What?” I hiss.
He casts me a dark glance. “In order for you to do the spell required, I need to take those”—he points to my cuffs—“off. But make no mistake. The second you try something, my men will pull their triggers. Understood?”
I look around. Each one of my friends has his own soldier-creature guard. “Yes,” I promise.
“Second,” he goes on. “Should you decide not to take the trials, they will be executed. Am I making myself clear?”
“Absolutely,” I assure him.
His lips curl up. “Good. Now, my men will open the portal.” He gives Scarface a sign.
He and five soldier-creatures step onto the hieroglyphs. “Weben Seth. Weben Seth,” they chant.
“All you have to do,” Thornton goes on. “Is reverse the ritual you used to kill Seth.”
The chanting is driving me nuts. “And how am I supposed to know which one it is?” There must be thousands of spells and rituals. I’ll never find the right one.
Thornton pushes me to the book. “Put your hands on the pages.”
They’re not really pages, but golden plates. I’d rather not correct him and do as he says. “Now what?”
“Close your eyes.”
“Okay?”
“Think about the ritual.”
The vision creeps back into my mind—Seth following me into the chamber, me using the spell in the book then, poisoning myself with the toxin of the snake.
The golden plates beneath my palms move. A second later, I lift my hands, and the book flips its pages by itself until it stops at the spell.
Thornton gloats. “Wasn’t that hard, was it?”
No, it was as easy as breathing.
“Here.” Thornton pulls an ancient-looking dagger out of the trunk and puts it next to the book. “You’ll need this one.”
I recognize the blade immediately. It’s the one from my vision, the one Blaze—the Medjay—pushed through Seth’s back and into his heart. “Is that why you attacked the British Museum?” Amara’s phone calls come back to me. Was the dagger hidden there?
Thornton winks. “We needed all of the pieces to reconstruct the ritual, and your dead friend refused to hand them over. She left us no choice.” Psycho 101: always blame someone else for being an evil bastard.
“Weben Seth. Weben Seth.” The chanting gives me a headache.
“Ready?” Thornton asks, key to the cuffs dangling from his index finger.
“Nisha, don’t do this,” Blaze pleads.
“He’s right,” Izzy says. “You can’t help them.”
No, what I can’t do is watch more people I love die. I extend my hands. “I’m ready.”
He smacks his forehead. “Sorry, Princess. I almost forgot to get my insurance.” He walks to my friends. “Eenie”—he points at Oz—“meenie”—Blaze—“miney”—Izzy—“moe”—Oz. “What a surprise, it’s you,” he says, his index finger directed at Blaze.
A cocky grin plays over Blaze’s bruised lips. “Go to hell.”
The soldier-creature behind him smacks him in the head. “Shut up and move.”
“Make me,” he hisses in an act of last defiance.
But Thornton just shoves the gun against his temple and hauls him to the book and me. “You try anything, and he’ll be the first one down,” he threatens me. “Got it?”
“Nisha.” Blaze looks me deep in the eye. “Please, don’t do this.”
I hold my cuffed hands up. “Just get it over with.” I couldn’t have hurt Blaze more had I kicked him in the crotch. I’d rather have him in pain than dead.
The shackles drop. My life essence returns. The power vibrates through my core, rocking my insides. A nasty taste crawls up by throat—rusty iron. I’m thirsting for blood—Thornton’s blood. One look at Blaze, however, is enough to keep the killer inside under control.
“Weben Seth. Weben Seth.” They’re still chanting, huh? I must have blocked them out at some point. No wonder, you can get an aneurysm from the monotone sound.
I scan the room one last time, searching for an escape, hoping Asim keeps his word and gets us out. There’s just Anubis’s black eyes, pleading with me not to do this. I’ve disappointed so many people in my
life, what’s one more god on the list?
My gaze drifts to the spell in the book. It’s a simple one. All it requires is a drop of my blood and for me to read out the words, written in this alien language I happen to be able to speak.
“Weben Seth. Weben Seth.” The voices grow louder. Scarface lifts a golden chalice in the air. Bright, blinding light streams out of it.
Souls, my inner voice says. The souls of every dead person in the hotel—Marie’s included. They emerge from the chalice, circling in the air.
“Weben Seth. Weben Seth.”
“Do it,” Thornton yells at me, threatening Blaze with the gun.
“Don’t,” Blaze begs.
I slice the rusty but extremely sharp dagger through my palm. Warm liquid curves down my fingers, dropping onto the golden pages of the book. “To give him life,” I read, “I reclaim mine.”
“Weben Seth,” they keep chanting as the earth shakes beneath my feet.
Violent winds howl through the room. The souls of the dead merge into a gigantic ball of light. Angry red flashes jolt through the air. And then it happens.
We all watch as the souls implode, creating a portal to darkness.
Thornton hauls Blaze closer to me. “Go, or he dies.”
I move toward the portal. The closer I get, the sicker I feel. I shouldn’t have done this. It’s wrong. Who knows how many more people will die should Seth get his immortality back. That is if I make it through those alleged trials.
“Do it,” Thornton yells at me.
It’s just one more step. I can do this. I will—
I hear…meowing? My gaze drifts in the direction from where the noises are coming—the door. A fraction of a second later, all hell breaks loose.
The door flies open. A cat army storms into the room. Yes, I know how this sounds. But cats are what I see. The instant the soldier-creatures spot the furballs, they freeze.
Wait, are they scared of cats? Sure looks like it.
A dozen guys, dressed like Bedouins, are behind the cat army—amongst them, Asim. They too have guns, and while each and every soldier-creature is still rooted to the spot, terrified of the kittens, the Bedouins open fire.
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