Jagger Jones and the Mummy's Ankh

by Malayna Evans

  Jagger squeezed the Isis Knot amulet tighter in his sweaty palm, feeling nervous. Was this safe?

  The princess aimed the Horus Eye at Jagger.

  And then things got weird.

  The blue gem faded to brown. The gold melted and was replaced by flesh. It looked like a real eye with a black pupil.

  Jagger wasn’t imagining this. The thing was looking at them.

  “It blinked!” Aria cried.

  She was right. The eye really had blinked. Jagger shifted closer to his sister.

  “The gods see you, Jagger Jones. Let’s hope I’m right and they want you to have the Isis Knot. If Isis and Heka transfer the amulet’s power to you, you may be able to locate the gemstones from your vision.”

  The princess opened her arms wide, still clutching the Horus Eye. The room was so small, Tatia’s outstretched arms filled nearly half the space, her fingers extending over Aria’s head.

  Aria squealed as a bright ball of white light emerged from Tatia’s chest and hovered over her. Aria sat up taller, reaching out a finger as if she wanted to pop it.

  “Stop!” Jagger hunched his shoulders, staring at the giant, floating light with his mouth hanging open. He took another step back, putting himself between the light and Aria.

  “It’s pretty.” Aria clapped her hands. “Can I touch it?”

  “No!” Jagger shot back as the ball of light shifted directions and floated toward him like an enormous, bloated firefly out for blood. “It’s not safe,” he mumbled. It was the size of Aria’s old, stuffed frog and bright enough to make Jagger wish he was wearing sunglasses.

  “It is safe, Jagger Jones,” Tatia corrected him. “It’s a Seshep ny Netjer—”

  “God’s Light?” Jagger heard the proper noun in Egyptian, like the spell names. Titles, he figured. Learning a new language via magic was a trip.

  She nodded. “All magic is animated by a Seshep ny Netjer. That is true for magical things and magical people, although very few things or people have one. The amulet is bonded to me through its Seshep ny Netjer. But it’s considering you now.” Jagger thought he detected a hint of concern in her voice. “You must let it in, Jagger Jones. Open yourself to the gods.”

  Jagger took another step back, butting up against the table. He didn’t want that light touching him. Besides, even if he wanted to, he had no idea how to “open himself to the gods.”

  The light seemed unsure as well. Just as it neared Jagger, it slowed, as if considering his worthiness.

  Tatia scowled. Maybe it wouldn’t work after all. Maybe they could forget this whole thing, and he could take Aria home.

  Faster than a strike of lightning, the light split in two.

  Jagger sucked in a breath.

  Tatia shook her head. “What …”

  Two smaller balls of light lingered above him, bouncing gently. They paused, in tandem, then rushed into Jagger’s chest.

  He gasped and clawed at his chest. Even though he didn’t feel the lights enter him, it still freaked him out. “What is it?” He wanted that thing out of him. Now!

  “I don’t …” The princess was staring at him like he was the museum curiosity.

  A tugging sensation struck him. He stilled his hands, took a deep breath, and focused on his body. It was as if an invisible string connected him to the Knot of Isis amulet held in his left hand. He lifted his hand and stared at it, dumbfounded. What was happening? Jagger had no idea if this God’s Light was good or evil. Was it sentient? How?

  “Did it work?” Aria asked. He could hear the envy in her voice, as if being infested by some ancient ball of light was another experience she didn’t want to miss, like tracking rhinos in Namibia—one of Aria’s favorite Jones family adventures.

  He looked to the princess for an answer, even though it was pretty clear something had just happened.

  Tatia cocked her head to the side. “I’ve never seen a Seshep ny Netjer split.” She shook her head. “But even I have only encountered them a few times. They stick to the person or thing they’re bonded too. It’s odd though.” She narrowed her eyes on Jagger. “I suppose the gods’ mysteries are endless.”

  “But did it work?” Aria repeated.

  “That part worked.” Tatia nodded.

  Jagger couldn’t take his eyes off the Isis Knot amulet in his hand. How was he feeling the connection? His mind searched for anything scientific that could explain it.

  “Now you hold the Isis Knot’s power, Jagger Jones,” the princess continued. “The magic will only work for you, and it will only help you locate people and things you’ve experienced. Let’s hope your vision of the gemstones is sufficient to let you track them.”

  “So cool,” Aria breathed. “Can I get one?”

  Tatia slid down on the chair next to her, but she didn’t reward Aria’s ridiculous request with a response. “Hold the amulet. Calm and focus your mind. Picture the gemstones we need to find.”

  Jagger felt like scarabs were running up his arm, but he did as he was told—grasping the Isis Knot and trying to focus his mind. It was a little hard to think about jewelry when you were stuck three thousand years in the past with your too-vulnerable little sister and some mysterious God’s Light infesting your body.

  Nothing happened.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. As insane as it seemed, he had to try. If Tatia was right, that jewelry could wipe out his entire family. He needed to do everything he could to help them. He heard Mom in his head: Breathe. He inhaled through his nose, letting it slowly out through his mouth. He tried to put Aria out of his mind by visualizing the gemstones’ ghostlike appearance and sparkling lights.

  An image of the large malachite swam before his eyes.

  “Whoa!” A pulling sensation hit him. “That way.” Jagger pointed. He opened his eyes, struggling to orient himself in the small, unfamiliar room. Was that south?

  Tatia grinned. She jumped up and grabbed a map of Egypt off the desk, spreading it out on the gold table. “Good,” she said. “Now keep the gemstones in your mind, and show me where they are on this map.”

  The feeling shifted, triangulating. Jagger leaned over his sister, letting his finger roam over the map. He could feel their location. For a moment, he lost his sense of direction. Grasping the amulet tighter, he returned his thoughts to the gemstones and let his finger slide southward, landing on a familiar city.

  “Thebes.” A smile lit the princess’s face. “That’s excellent news. Herihor can help.”

  “Herihor?” Jagger shook his hand as the sensation faded. The smell of mint and eucalyptus was gone too. He glanced up; the colorful lights had also vanished.

  “That was magic!” Aria’s eyes were wide. “Is magic always pretty? Does it always smell yummy?”

  Jagger ignored her. Her questions were legit, but he had a more important one. “Who’s Herihor?”

  “The High Priest of the old god, Amun-Ra, at Thebes,” the princess explained, perching on a cedar chair and resting her arms on the gold table. “He’s a powerful man and a trusted ally. Like me, Herihor longs for the return of the old gods. He’s kept Amun-Ra’s priesthood strong in Thebes, where Pharaoh has not yet managed to stamp out the old gods’ power. I’ll send a letter of introduction.” She reached over to the desk and mined a papyrus scroll and a scribal kit from a small chest. After dipping her reed pen in the jar of black ink, she scrawled on the scroll. “Herihor is nearly impossible to get to. But he won’t refuse my wishes.”

  “Can he do magic too?” Aria’s eyes were bright. “Can you teach me? Can we do more?”

  Jagger shook his head. He didn’t like it. Everything about this situation was too inexplicable, too unfamiliar, too unscientific. How could he feel the presence of some gemstones hundreds of miles away?

  Plus, he knew what was coming next. “We’re going to Thebes, aren’t we?”

  “No, Jagger Jones.” Tatia looked up from the scroll. “You are going to Thebes.”
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br />   “Wait, what?” Jagger’s heart thumped. “You’re sending me to Thebes alone? You’re not coming?”

  She shook her head. “If your association with me is revealed, the two of you will be in even more danger. Anything of interest to me will attract the General like a beetle to dung.”

  “But—”

  “Well I’m going too!” Aria sat up straighter, pounding her fists on the table.

  “Yes, Aria Jones. You’re going.” Tatia’s eyes twinkled. “And so is the Protector.”

  DRESSED TO … KIDNAP?

  “The Protector?” Aria leaned toward Tatia eagerly. “The Protector is magical too, right?”

  “Yes.” The princess nodded. “One of our most accomplished magicians.”

  “Can everyone here do magic?” Aria’s eyes sparkled.

  The princess shook her head. “No. The gift is mostly limited to my family. I’m the most gifted magician our family has produced in generations. But there are a few others, outside of the family, who have the gift, although only the strongest magicians have power now. Father has successfully installed his new god, the Aten, throughout the country. The power of the old gods fades as the Aten’s rises.” She released a heavy sigh. “The General is evil, but he has no magic. Someone must be working with him, a magician powerful enough to cast the Heqa-oo Moot.”

  Great. Jagger dropped his head in his hands. “Okay. So who’s helping him? Is it someone from your family?”

  “I don’t know. As I say, magicians are rare, especially now, but the gods weren’t compelled to tell me who is working with the General.” She rolled the scroll and tapped it against the gold table, lips tight.

  “Were the gods compelled to share anything useful?” Jagger’s voice cracked.

  One side of Tatia’s lips curved up. “They shared you.”

  Aria smiled approvingly. “When do we meet this Protector?”

  Tatia glanced at the open door that led back out to her bedroom. “Soon.” She shifted her attention back to Jagger, examining him like a bug under a microscope. He glanced down at his dirty jeans and T-shirt, squirming self-consciously. “You’ll stand out like trees in a desert like that. Come.”

  She stood and led them back to a small room sandwiched between the study, where they’d just been, and her bedroom, where Mek was still lying. Aria stood next to him, bouncing on the balls of her feet, as Tatia opened a tall wardrobe that was painted with images of the goddess Hathor depicted as a cow-headed woman. It had gold knobs and small, ivory square inlays. Tatia hunted through it and pulled out piles of linens and diaphanous materials and leather sandals.

  “Are we getting makeovers?” Aria squealed happily, hugging her purse to her chest.

  Jagger moaned as Tatia draped a dress over his sister. The answer was obvious.

  Aria was thrilled with the white gown and elaborate jewels the princess gave her, even happier when she got made up to look like an ancient Egyptian princess. Things got iffy when Tatia wanted to shave Aria’s head. Aria didn’t care if kids in Egypt were bald. She was dedicated to her thick curls. After a short but frightening stare-down, Tatia caved to Aria’s will, just as Mom had every time she and Aria disagreed on her clothing. The princess braided Aria’s hair into cornrows and placed a blue and gold headband on her head. His sister looked like a pint-sized Cleopatra.

  “No.” Jagger shook his head when Tatia turned to him and lifted a blade to his hair. “I’ve been growing my ‘fro. You’re not touching it.”

  “You’ll draw unwanted attention with that hair,” the princess insisted.

  “I’m used to that.” He backed away from the princess and her blade. “We know how to blend in. We’re from Chicago.” He paused. “It’s, you know, diverse.”

  Tatia cocked her head to the side.

  “We’re biracial,” he explained. “Our mom is black, and our dad is white.”

  The princess shrugged. “Your hair is fine, Jagger Jones. But it’s not long enough to braid. We must cut it.”

  “I don’t want to cut it.” He put his hands on his head. The last time someone had suggested Jagger cut his hair, he was sitting on a stage with five other kids, staring out at an audience. A guy from the opposing debate team had used Jagger’s hair in his argument, comparing the government’s need to trim its “out of control” budget with Jagger’s supposed need for a haircut. Jagger never forgot how it felt to be singled out for something that was a part of him in front of all those people. Kids snickered, judges wiggled in discomfort, and Grams sagged with sadness. Mom looked like she wanted to go all mama bear on the kid. But it was Gramps’ reaction that steeled Jagger’s spine. Gramps smiled. And that smile gave Jagger exactly what he needed in that moment. His hair might not have looked like that of the other debaters, but it didn’t make him any less smart, or less responsible, or less competent. Gramps’ smile was a way of reminding Jagger of something Gramps often said to him: always remember you’re descended from kings and queens, so hold your head high and act like the royalty you are. At the time, Jagger couldn’t have imagined how right Gramps was. But that smile was enough. When it was Jagger’s turn to respond, he flipped the kid’s argument on its head. A few hours later, Jagger walked out of that debate tournament with a humbled opponent, a first place trophy, and newfound pride in his ‘fro.

  But the princess didn’t care about his sentimental attachment to his hair. Her chin jutted out. “Do you want to save our sisters?”

  “But …” He shuffled his feet. “Can’t I save our sisters and keep my hair?”

  Tatia folded her arms, glaring at him through tightened eyes. “Do you think you’ll get through the task ahead without sacrifice?” Her voice was stern. “Surely your hair doesn’t mean more to you than my sister? More than your sister?” She stared down at her feet, blinking quickly, before glancing back up at him and lifting the blade higher.

  Jagger sagged. She was right. He blew out a puff of air and nodded.

  Minutes later, he was left with stubble. His head felt too light. And then came the makeup! He knew boys in ancient Egypt wore makeup, but he hadn’t given it much thought until Tatia insisted on lining his eyes with kohl.

  When she was done with him, Aria couldn’t stop laughing. He was irritated, but who could blame her? He looked ridiculous in a dress, with more makeup than hair.

  The hazing would’ve lasted longer but for a knock on the bedroom door. Tatia left them in the adjacent room, warning them to stay silent as she rushed to open the door. She returned a moment later with a large woman waddling along behind her.

  Jagger froze, examining the newcomer. She had a wide, flat nose. Sweat ran down the folds of her three chins—her neck fat swung back and forth as she strode forward. She moved fast for such a big woman. She wore a white, tent-sized muumuu and a black wig cut into a short bob with blunt bangs. Golden chains dripped from her fleshy neck and arms.

  “She’s the Protector?” Aria’s eyes were wide.

  “No.” Tatia shook her head. “This is my dear friend and loyal ally, Wenher.”

  “When-Hair?” Aria whispered to Jagger as Tatia added a long string of titles loaded with phrases like beloved of the Aten and esteemed by the Great Royal Mother. “Aren’t there any Caseys or Mias or Zoes around here?”

  Jagger rolled his eyes, watching the woman as she shifted her glance from him to his sister.

  “I was expecting only one.” The woman sounded like she’d spent her life smoking cigarettes in one of Chicago’s grungiest blues clubs.

  “Yes,” Tatia said dryly. “So was I.”

  Wenher grunted. “No matter. I’ll get them where they need to go without attracting attention. That’s more than you could do.” One side of her fleshy lips quirked up.

  Tatia thanked her, then pivoted, placing her hands on Jagger’s shoulders. “You have one week, Jagger Jones. You must return to me then. With the gemstones.”

  Jagger felt faint as he did the math. An Egypti
an week was ten days long. It was about four hundred kilometers from Amarna to Thebes. At best, a good boat could cover seventy kilometers a day, which meant five days of sailing to get there. Coming back would be faster: the wind on the Nile blew north, toward Amarna. Still, that was brutal math, even for him. On the bright side, they’d only have to deal with returning in time if they managed to get the stones, which must be one of history’s longest long shots.

  “But … what …” Jagger couldn’t find the words. He was still trying to wrap his head around his family’s pending doom, and now the girl who’d dragged him into this was sending them across the country alone.

  “Wenher will take you to the Protector,” the princess promised. “The Protector will get you to Thebes. Once there, Herihor will help you.” She handed Jagger the scroll. “Don’t lose this. This letter of introduction will get you into the temple. Once in Thebes, you can use the amulet to pinpoint precisely where the gemstones are.”

  Jagger ran his hand over his stubbly head, trying to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

  “Will we see you again?” Aria’s puppy-dog expression was back.

  “You will, Aria Jones. You’ll return with the gemstones. We’ll save my sister.”

  “And then you’ll send us home,” Jagger added.

  Tatia turned away, waving at Wenher, who rushed them out through the bedroom, where Jagger snuck a peek at the slumbering Mek, then through the bedroom door, past several stern looking guards, and down maze-like halls, painted in colorful images of the royal family. Jagger made an effort to shut his mouth. He should act normal, but they were inside the royal palace of Amarna! The big woman hustled them out a massive entrance and onto a horse-drawn carriage, just big enough for Jagger and Aria to stand next to her.

  Jagger jumped onto the carriage next to Wenher, who reeked of sweat and honey. He turned back at the sound of children. Several kids spilled out from the enormous, gold palace doors. Two young girls giggled madly as a slightly older pair—a girl and a boy with a limp—chased them, the stern guards shifting to let the kids weave between them. The smallest girl stopped to pet Wenher’s horse. She reminded Jagger of a younger Aria. He smiled as she flashed an adorable grin at the big woman.