Tut

by P. J. Hoover

  “If he’s really back,” Gil said, “then we need to find a way to keep you safe.”

  “Keep me safe? Are you kidding? Don’t you see? This is the perfect opportunity.”

  “For what?” Gil turned the final corner to our street and started looking for a spot.

  “To kill him.” It was so obvious to me. How could Gil not see that?

  “There’s no way to kill an immortal.” Gil didn’t look at me when he said it. Instead, he got way too interested in parallel parking in front of our town house.

  “That’s what Horus reminded me of last night,” I said. “But he’s wrong. There must be a way.”

  Gil shook his head. “Horus is right. It can’t be done.” He answered way too fast. And I was overwhelmed by the feeling that he, like Horus, was lying to me. And maybe Horus wouldn’t tell me, but Gil would.

  “But…”

  “But what?” Gil said.

  “If it can’t be done, then why do we have to worry about protecting me?” I asked.

  Gil didn’t have an immediate answer. I’d caught him.

  “Well?”

  “We just do,” Gil said. “I’ll talk to Horus about strengthening the shields around the town house.”

  “Seriously?”

  “What?”

  “That’s all you have to say?” How was it that both Horus and Gil were keeping secrets from me?

  “There’s nothing else to say, okay?” Gil said. “Horemheb back means we need to be more careful.”

  Gil was wrong. Horemheb back meant revenge.

  “Anyway, I’m going out to get us dinner,” Gil said. “Any preference?”

  My only preference was finding a way to kill Horemheb. I’d have to do it without Horus or Gil. I wasn’t sure how I’d do this, but I’d do whatever it took. Talk to other gods—if I could find them. Pray to Osiris. Maybe I had to go back and visit my tomb. There could be some kind of clue there. Whatever it took, I would do it.

  “No preference,” I said, and Gil sped off to get us dinner.

  6

  WHERE I NEARLY MUMMIFY AN INTRUDER

  “Gil is out of his Sumerian mind,” Horus said before I’d even finished closing the door behind me. He paced back and forth on the top of the futon, and his spotted hair stood on end. Around the room, the shabtis were frantically working to contain the uneaten beetle population.

  “You’re both out of your minds,” I said. “I can’t believe neither of you are taking this Horemheb thing more seriously.”

  Horus leapt from the futon and confronted me by the entryway. “What did Gil tell you?”

  I shoved my way past him into the family room. “Same as you. That there’s no way to kill an immortal.”

  “It figures,” Horus said.

  “Of course it figures,” I said. “Because you’re both lying to me.”

  Horus flicked a scarab beetle across the room. Its feet started twitching the second it rolled onto its back, but a purple shabti named Lieutenant Roy ran over and flipped it right-side up.

  “I was hoping he’d tell you,” Horus said.

  Time stopped as I processed his comment. “Tell me what? How to kill Horemheb? Because I know there’s a way. If there weren’t, then why would Gil be so concerned about protecting me?”

  “He wouldn’t be,” Horus said.

  My scarab heart hummed in my chest. Horus was going to tell me the secret he was keeping.

  “Then tell me how to do it,” I said.

  Horus jumped to the little perch by the door that allowed him to look out the peephole. Once he was sure the coast was clear, he did some sort of waving, circular thing in front of the door with his paw.

  “What are you doing?”

  He landed back on the ground and started pacing again. “Putting up a ward. It’ll let us know when Gil gets close.”

  I had no clue Horus could do that. He was full of surprises. “He’s only getting dinner. You better hurry.”

  “You’re right.” Horus stopped in front of me. “Keep in mind that there’s only one reason I’m about to tell you what I’m about to tell you.”

  It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. If Horemheb was back, that could only mean the Cult of Set’s strength would increase. And if the Cult of Set got stronger, Set got stronger. Horus would never let that happen. To say Horus and Set despised each other would have been putting it mildly. There was this whole thing with a scratched-out-eye and torn-off … well, let’s just not mention that part, but it had ended horribly.

  “Set,” I said.

  “Set,” Horus agreed.

  “Horemheb is going to come after you,” Horus said. “You know that, right?”

  I knew it. He’d made that clear with the obelisk.

  “Let him come.” I’d finally have revenge.

  “You need to be careful.”

  “I get it,” I said. “Just tell me.”

  “I’m not kidding, Tut.”

  “Neither am I. And if you don’t tell me soon, Gil will be home.”

  Horus’s eyes flicked to the door. “You can’t tell him about this, Tutankhamun.”

  Whoa. Had he really pulled out the full-name thing?

  “I won’t tell him,” I said. “I promise.”

  Horus fixed his eye on me.

  “I promise. I swear.”

  “Promise made,” Horus said, and my chest tightened. When promises were made to the gods, they couldn’t be broken.

  “What do we do?” I asked.

  “So for starters, you’ll need power from the Book of the Dead. There’s a spell you’ll need to use.”

  Every bit of energy in my scarab heart tingled. A spell from the Book of the Dead. As had been proven so well back in my tomb, I didn’t have the power to use the spells. Only gods did.

  “How much power?” If Horus granted me power over the Book of the Dead, I could do almost anything except kill someone. Book of the Dead spells couldn’t be used for death. Horus had only granted me power once before, back during the Crusades. Some ridiculous fight had broken out between the gods and Horus needed me to perform a couple of miracles. In my immortal lifetime, the only thing that felt better than recharging my scarab heart was using the power from the Book of the Dead.

  “Enough power,” Horus said. “You want revenge on Horemheb. And I want to stop Set. I have a plan, but you’ll need a spell to make it work.”

  Energy jumped in my scarab heart. My immortal dreams were about to come true. I’d dreamed about revenge from the moment I discovered Horemheb was part of the Cult of Set. He’d killed my entire family. He had to die.

  “Fetch the Book of the Dead,” Horus said to the shabtis.

  Colonel Cody immediately looked to me. “Shall we do as the cat says?”

  “He’s a god, not a cat,” I said.

  “Yes,” Colonel Cody said. “Shall we do as the god cat says?”

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  “Very good, Great Master,” Colonel Cody said, and snapped his fingers.

  Four shabtis climbed to the top of the bookcase and returned moments later balancing a giant wooden box covered in gold. Horus insisted we keep the Book of the Dead out of reach so no spells would be cast accidentally. The Book of the Dead was funny that way. It obeyed the will of the gods, but it also had a mind of its own.

  “Open it, Tut.”

  Horus didn’t have to ask me twice. I ran my hands over the engravings on the top, remembering when life had been normal. I’d never thought about revenge back when I’d been pharaoh, because Horemheb had fooled me. I’d never be fooled again.

  “How many spells will I have?” I asked, anticipating the power running through me.

  “One,” Horus said. “It’s all you’ll need.”

  “One! You’re kidding, right?”

  “Why? What were you thinking?”

  “Ten.” That would be ten chances to fight Horemheb.

  Horus put up his paw. “Not a chance, Tut. Ten spells could kill
you.”

  It was easy to forget how much energy using the Book of the Dead required. How much it drained me the last time I’d used it. And it wasn’t just the draining. It was the way it left me feeling like I wanted more. Needed more. Like I would die if I didn’t get it.

  “What about seven?”

  “You only need one for the plan to work.”

  “What if something comes up?” I said. “It can’t hurt to give me a little more. How about five?” I could handle five.

  “Two,” Horus said.

  “Four.”

  So we settled on three. Three powerful spells from the gods to do away with my immortal enemy.

  I flipped the box open and unrolled the scrolls. And then I braced myself.

  Horus dug his claws into my hand. I’d been expecting it, but it still made my toes curl. We needed my blood for the power to transfer to me. I held my hand over the scrolls and let blood drip onto the thick, yellow papyrus. It vanished instantly. And then Horus said the words of power and I repeated them, making sure I didn’t get a single one wrong. I’d tell you what they were, except they said things about pulling entrails out and owing debt to the god of feces and stuff like that. Not pretty.

  Pain stabbed through my head, and every bit of air was sucked out of my lungs as the energy poured into me. My scarab heart pounded so hard, it felt like it was going to erupt from my chest. I fell to my knees and the shabtis circled me, but Horus hissed at them to keep back. They’d never seen me receive the power of the gods. Colonel Cody would probably want to take his own life for the pain I was going through.

  No sooner had I repeated the final word than the pain vanished. I shoved the golden box and scrolls aside. With the power of the Book of the Dead running through me, I felt like I could face ten Horemhebs. Twenty. Bring them on.

  “Tell me what I need to do,” I said. I was ready.

  “Right,” Horus said. “So there’s this knife. The gods know about it, but they don’t like to talk about it.”

  My impression of the gods was that all gossip was good gossip, as far as they were concerned. For them not to talk about something was as rare as the creation of intelligent life.

  “A knife? And Gil doesn’t know about it?”

  “Gil knows,” Horus said.

  “So what’s the problem, then?” I asked. “Why can’t I talk to him about it?”

  “Because the knife is dangerous,” Horus said. “You know how he is. He’d never let you try to find it.”

  “What kind of knife is it?” I asked. Gil was protective and all, but that seemed extreme.

  “The same knife that was used to kill Osiris,” Horus said. “A knife that can kill an immortal.”

  The knife that killed Osiris? I’d never really believed in it. I always thought it was more one of those figurative things. Like a symbol for death instead of an actual object.

  “It really exists?” I asked.

  “It really exists,” Horus said.

  “That kind of knife could kill Horemheb,” I said. My mind buzzed with the image of me finally getting my revenge.

  Horus scowled. “That kind of knife could kill you.”

  Which explained the secrecy. Gil would freak for sure if he thought I was looking for a weapon with the power to end my existence.

  “Where is it?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Horus said. “I’m not allowed to know.”

  “Not allowed to know?” Though I’d never tell him, I kind of thought Horus knew everything.

  “Don’t ask,” Horus said. “Just go to the Library of Congress. You’re looking for a scroll. But the scroll is invisible. Use spell number sixty-eight to reveal it. Got that? Spell sixty-eight.”

  “Sixty-eight,” I repeated.

  “Do we need to write that down?” Horus said.

  That’s when the doorbell rang. I wanted to mummify whoever was out there. This wasn’t a conversation I wanted interrupted.

  “Shall I do away with the intruder, Great Pharaoh?” Colonel Cody asked from under the coffee table.

  I shook my head. “No. Go hide somewhere until I get rid of them.” And my army of shabtis filed off into the coat closet.

  I pulled open the door without bothering to see who it was. Foggy Bottom was a safe neighborhood, and who’d have a chance against an immortal anyway?

  “Henry? What are you doing here?” That was the last time I opened the door without looking through the peephole first.

  “I thought we could work on our project.” Henry dropped his giant backpack to the ground and pulled out a book on King Tut. My shiny golden face stared back at me from the cover.

  “Our project?” I couldn’t believe he was here. His timing was horrible.

  “Yeah, I found us a book. My parents had it at home. Can I come in?” He looked past me, into my sanctuary, and his eyes were filled with amazement.

  Horus glared back at him with a scowl like a pirate.

  “Uh, yeah, sure, I guess.” I moved aside so Henry could get through the door. And that’s when I saw the van in the street—deep red, like it had been painted in blood, with some kind of golden designs on the sides of it. Some guy I’d never seen before with red hair sat in the driver’s seat. And in the passenger seat was Seth Cooper, in all his greasy-headed glory. Smiling at me. How did Seth know where I lived? No one knew where I lived. I slammed the door.

  “How’d you find out where my town house was?” I asked Henry. It couldn’t have been the Internet. Even though it was a huge pain in my butt, I’d removed all references to my present-day self. Or, at least two of the shabtis had done it at my command; Captain Otis and Captain Otto were master hackers.

  “That new girl, Tia,” Henry said. He made himself at home, dropping his backpack on Gil’s favorite chair. His collection of Sharpies spilled out onto the floor.

  A small scratching noise came from the closet. The shabtis had to know to stay hidden, didn’t they?

  “She told you where I live?” I said. How did not only Seth Cooper, but some girl I’d never met before yesterday, know my address? It wasn’t even on Google Maps.

  “Sure. Why? Is your address secret or something?” Henry started flipped through the King Tut book. It had so many sticky notes at the top that it looked like an accordion.

  “Of course not,” I said. “Anyway, this isn’t the best time.”

  “It’s never a good time for you,” Henry said. “Let me guess. You have other plans?”

  Talking to my cat about a mythical knife wasn’t something I could share. “I was just about to eat dinner.”

  Henry pulled a couple of grease-stained bags out of his backpack. “I thought of that, so I brought dinner. That way we can crank out this project.”

  “You got White Castle?” With revenge on my mind, my appetite was extinct.

  “There is no substitute,” Henry said, putting up his hand to high-five me.

  I did a halfhearted high-five in return.

  “I almost stayed at White Castle to eat, but they must have some kind of insect problem,” Henry said. He glanced around the town house at the scarab beetles running rampant, but managed to stop himself from saying anything about them. “Once they clear up the bug problem, we could go eat there sometime.”

  These were the kind of comments that made me feel weird. I mean, a year from now, Henry would be fifteen and I’d still be fourteen. Five years from now, Henry would be nineteen and—yep, that’s right—I’d still look fourteen.

  “Sounds like fun,” I heard myself say. It was like a strange part of my brain controlled my voice. I could stop it most of the time, but every once in a while, it would let a comment like that out.

  “Great,” Henry said. But his eyes weren’t on the bag of hamburgers. They roved the room, scanning the walls and tables and … well, pretty much every other bit of space. “What’s up with all this stuff?”

  It’s not like I was a hoarder or anything. But after three thousand years I’d gathered my fair
share of souvenirs. There were fans and statues and amulets everywhere. Hanging from the walls, resting on every table, stuffed in the drawers.

  Horus opened his mouth, and for a split second I thought he was going to talk. Which would have been a disaster. So I kicked a scarab beetle, and like any good cat, Horus followed it and pounced.

  “Just treasures,” I said, like it was no big deal.

  “A feather fan collection?” Henry said.

  “Those are real ostrich feathers.”

  So some of the stuff was junk. And it’s not like I got the shabtis to fan me or anything. Well, not too often. But there were some cool things, too. And important things. Like my Book of the Dead. Which was still sitting in the middle of the coffee table next to the King Tut book. I prayed Henry wouldn’t ask about it. And then I prayed Henry would leave.

  He didn’t. Instead, he grabbed a sword off the wall. “Are these real teeth?” He held it up, and the teeth hanging from it rattled together.

  I nodded. “From Africa. It’s really old, so be careful with—”

  Before I had a chance to finish, Henry swung it around ninja style, jumped, and landed a few feet away, nearly swiping Horus’s tail off.

  Horus whirled on him and hissed.

  I took the sword from Henry and hung it back on the wall. “It’s kind of like a hobby, I guess.”

  “Sword fighting?”

  “Collecting things.” Sword fighting had, at some point, been a hobby for me, too, but I opted against mentioning that.

  Another shiny object hanging on the wall caught Henry’s attention. “You have an antique star chart? Is this real?”

  Not only was it real, I’d drawn it myself, hundreds of years ago, after spending decades watching the movement of the planets. The paper had yellowed, even behind the protective glass. I’d have to get it represerved one of these days.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just something I picked up at the thrift store.”

  Henry jabbed a greasy finger onto the glass, and I tried not to cringe. The shabtis were going to be frantic after this visit. “Where’s Pluto? It should be right here.”

  I studied the map to act like I didn’t know. “Maybe it hadn’t been discovered yet?”