For those of you just tuning in, I am posting a chapter a month of Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus to help tide you over until the book comes out in April. I also need to post my standard spoiler alert:

WARNING, This chapter of Book Three, Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus, MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR BOOK TWO, Theodosia and the Staff of Osiris. So if you haven’t read that yet, STOP RIGHT NOW. The rest of the chapter is up under the cut in order to protect those who haven’t read Book Two yet.

C H A P T E R  F I V E

HE N RY  MA K E S   A N   U N E X PE C T E D  D I S C OV E RY

STILTON HAD THE DRIVER DROP ME at the corner of the square then take him around to the back of the building so we wouldn’t be seen together and raise any suspicions.

I opened the front door of the museum and peered cautiously inside. The foyer was a jumbled mess, partially assembled display cases were scattered throughout and half-unpacked crates littered the floor. At first glance, it appeared empty. Then I spied Clive Fagenbush coming down the stairs, carrying an enormous crate.

Like a hound on a scent, he quickly found me.

“Where have you been? Your parents and grandmother have been looking all over for you.” He seemed oddly pleased, as if he hoped I’d be getting in trouble for it.

“I was out for a walk,” I told him. It felt as if I’d been gone for days, but it hadn’t been more than two hours.

His look of disbelief told me what he thought of that excuse. Fagenbush managed to be more aware of my clandestine activities than anyone else, so he had good reason to be suspicious. He set the crate down and came over to where I stood. He confirmed we were alone, then lowered his voice. “Do you have a message for me to give to Wigmere?”

“Nope. Not a thing.” I stepped around the crate to make my way to the family withdrawing room, but he moved to cut me off.

“You’ re supposed to report to Wigmere every day. Through me,” he pointed out, his long nose quivering in frustration. “Have you come across anything else of note down in long-term storage? Anything else that Augustus Munk might have had hidden there?”

“Nothing more,” I said. “You can tell Wigmere I’ m still looking.”

“Since you’re not having any luck, perhaps someone with more experience ought to have a look. You might be missing something.”

I arched an eyebrow, like I’ d seen Mum do. “Wigmere seems to trust me with the task.”

His lip curled in disdain. “Not everyone is as easily fooled by you as he is. Besides, if you’re so very trustworthy, why did you sneak out today?”

Keeping tabs on me now, was he? “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“Wigmere has made you my business. And in spite of what I think of you, I have no intention of failing in my duties.”

Fagenbush sharpened his gaze, and I resisted a shudder. “I will have your reports for Wigmere. I will not let an eleven-year-old girl derail my career with the Brotherhood. Do you understand me? You can make this easy on us both, or you can make it quite difficult.”

“We’ll have to see about that,” I muttered.

He recoiled in surprise. “What did you say?”

“I said, Have you seen my cat? I can’t seem to find her this morning.”

Before he could say anything further, an imperious voice came from the nearby hallway.

“But where is the gel?”

Grandmother! While I was rarely glad of her visits, I had to admit that today she’d timed it perfectly. Fagenbush shot me a dark look, then scuttled back up the stairs to retrieve another crate.

Grandmother’s voice continued. “She’s usually always underfoot, and now when I have need of her, she can’ t be found. How very contrary of her.”

A horrible thought occurred to me. What if she had another one of those beastly governesses in tow? Just as I was considering hiding, she barreled into the room with Father trailing behind her. He looked quite put out.

“I don’t know where she is, Mother, but perhaps next time if you’d let us know ahead that you planned to visit, we could be sure she was here to greet you.”

Grandmother paused and surveyed the mess around her. “Really, Alistair. Is this any way to run a museum? It’s a pigsty. It’s bad enough you chose to work; the least you could do is keep your museum tidy.”

“We’re preparing a new exhibit, Mother. And we’re closed for preparations, so no one will have to see the mess. Except for those who drop by unannounced,” he said pointedly.

“Theodosia! There you are,” Grandmother said, sailing toward me. “Where have you been, child? We’ve nearly turned this place upside down looking for you. It was most inconsiderate of you to disappear.”

I opened my eyes wide and tried to look innocent. “I’ve been in the basement all day, cataloging the items down there.”

“Really?” Father frowned. “That was the first place I looked.”

“Well,” I demurred. “I did have to come upstairs to use the facilities. Perhaps you just missed me?”

Grandmother thumped her cane. “Do not be vulgar.”

“What would you prefer I call it, Grandmother? The water closet?”

“I would prefer you didn’t call it anything at all. It’s not spoken of in polite company. Now, Sopcoate seemed rather fond of you. I thought perhaps you’d have some ideas.”

Oh no! I did not want to discuss Admiral Sopcoate with Grandmother Throckmorton! She’ d been rather sweet on him, which, as disgusting as it was, wasn’t nearly so bad as him turning out to be an agent of Chaos. She thought he’d died a hero’s death when really he’ d simply escaped with his fellow Serpents of Chaos. “Ideas for what?” I asked cautiously.

Father clapped his hands together. “Well, now that you’ve found her, I think I’ll be off to the workroom.”

Honestly. He was such a coward sometimes!

Grandmother waved him away. “Very well. I’ll see myself out once Theodosia and I have finished. Come, gel. I don’t want to stand in this mess. Let’s go to the withdrawing room. I only have a few minutes before I must leave for the admiralty.”

Thank heavens for small favors I thought as I meekly followed her into the room our family used as a refuge from museum business.

“Sit down,” she said, taking a seat on the small red-velvet settee.

I perched myself on the edge of a chair. It doesn’t do to get too comfortable around Grandmother.

“So.” She glanced at me briefly, then turned to study the clock on the mantel. “There’s been no more word on Admiral Sopcoate.”

“I’m very sorry, Grandmother,” I murmured.

“Yes, well. It can’t be helped. However, I’ve decided that something must be done to commemorate his courage and patriotism.” She speared me with a gaze. “It’s the least we can do, don’t you think?”

“Er, yes, Grandmother.”

She gave a small satisfied nod, pleased that, for once, she and I were in accord. If only she knew! But I’d been forbidden to tell her. Not to mention, I wasn’t certain how she’d take the news. She was a devout Conservative and it might do her in if she realized she’d been consorting with an enemy, however unknowingly. “What did you have in mind?”

She stood up and went over to the fireplace. “Something grand, I should think. With lots of pomp and ceremony. A big brass band and dress uniforms. Maybe even a forty-one-gun salute. It seems appropriate for a hero such as Sopcoate.”

“But Grandmother . . .” I had to step carefully here. “There are many heroes who don’t receive a forty-one-gun salute, aren’t there? Otherwise, we’d hear the guns going off constantly. I imagine there must be regulations for who gets that sort of fanfare, don’t you think?”

She scowled at me. “You sound just like the admiralty.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She sighed and turned back to the fireplace. “The admiralty has finally agreed to allow me to hold a memorial service for Sopcoate. However, they stopped short of letting me use Westminster Abbey or have his coffin paraded through London on a gun carriage. They were strangely reluctant to honor him in the proper manner, which made me just that much more determined. I will not have him snubbed or forgotten.”

How Grandmother had managed to convince the admiralty to allow a memorial service, I’ d never know. I could only assume it was approved by someone who wasn’t cleared to know the true reason for Sopcoate’s disappearance. Since I had vowed to be tactful, all I said was “Perhaps it had less to do with his status as a hero and more to do with the fact that there isn’t a body?”

“Either way, it is unforgivable. Now, I have selected a mahogany coffin, lined with a tufted mattress made of silk. I decided Sopcoate would not want ruffles. I’ve ordered an inscribed brass plate and brass handles, and, for the pall, I’ve chosen silk, not velvet, since it is nearly spring. Don’t you agree?”

It seemed pointless to mention —yet again —that there was no body to put in this fancy coffin, so I merely nodded my head.

“I’ ve also hired a carriage with six horses. They tried to talk me into only four, but I think Sopcoate deserves at least six. I’ve also arranged for black crepe scarves, black gloves, and black hatbands to be distributed to all those attending the service. Oh, and black ostrich plumes as well. I do think they add so much dignity to a funeral, don’t you?”

“Actually, Grandmother, I’ve never been to a funeral,” I pointed out.

She turned around to face me. “But of course! You weren’t even born yet when my dear husband passed on.” She paused for a moment, dreamy-eyed. “Now t h at was a funeral.” Grandmother clucked her tongue. “If you’ve never attended a funeral before, you’ll need to be fitted for proper mourning clothes.”

“Mourning clothes?”

“Of course. You cannot attend in anything but unrelieved black.” She thumped her cane. “I’ll be back in a day or two with a seamstress so we can get you fitted.” Before she could elaborate, the sound of the front door crashing against the wall made us both jump.

“What on earth—” Grandmother began.

“Is anybody in this moldy old place?”

I leaped to my feet. “Henry?” Horrified, I ran to the front door. There my brother stood, hands on his hips, glaring into the foyer.

“I say, what’s all that racket?” Father appeared on the top step.

“It’s Henry, Father,” I told him. “He’s home for Easter holidays.”

“I would have been here loads sooner,” Henry said, fixing his glare on me, “if someone hadn’t neglected to come fetch me. Which reminds me. I need cab fare to pay for the hansom.”

Father came down the stairs in a hurry. “Why didn’t you tell us, Theodosia? We would have gone to pick him up ourselves.”

I squelched a bubble of irritation. While it was true that I was usually the one to remember such things, it didn’t seem fair that I should get in trouble when I forgot.

The cabby stuck his head in the door. “Where’s me blunt, mate? You said someone ’ere would pay me. You’d best not be messin’ wif ol’ Bert here.”

“I’m not,” Henry said, then turned to me. “I need cab fare,” he repeated.

“Well, I certainly don’t have it,” I told him. “Father? We need to pay for Henry’s cab.”

“A young child taking a cab, all by himself?” Grandmother sounded scandalized. She had followed me into the foyer and now stood in the doorway looking down her long nose at us.

Father stepped outside to pay the cabby. As Grandmother made a path through the crates and artifacts in our direction, Henry sidled up to me. “I had thought things were different between us, but I can see that I was wrong. You’ re still up to your old ways.”

“No, Henry. Honestly. I just simply forgot —”

“You? Miss Know-it-all? Forget? Ha. You’ve always threatened to forget to remind Mum and Dad, but why this time?”

“No, really. I did. You see —” How was I to explain it to him? Where to even begin?

“See? It’s like I said. You forgot.”

I hate it when Henry is right. I especially hate it when he is right and I am wrong. The truth is, I would n o t have remembered even if Grandmother hadn’t been waiting. Or even if the wretched scorpions hadn’t ambushed me.

Before we could continue our conversation, Grandmother reached us and began fussing over Henry, who lapped it up like Isis with a bowl of cream. At least now I could make my escape.

I edged toward one of the pillars, hoping to slip out of sight unnoticed. I wanted to head for the reading room and research the oracle ritual Awi Bubu and Trawley had used. Maybe there were clues that might explain how both Ratsy and I had managed to have the same prediction.

I had nearly made it to the hall when I had to hop out of the way as Vicary Weems strode by. He held his nose so high in the air he didn’t even realize he’d nearly bowled me over. Beast. I waited to see what he was up to.

Father had returned, and Weems pranced toward him, throwing a glance at Henry as if he were something nasty my cat had dragged in. Weems cleared his throat. “Excuse me, sir?”

Father, who had just managed to get Grandmother out the door, looked annoyed. “What is it, Weems?”

He cleared his throat again and tried to look as if what he was about to say pained him. However, the relish in his eyes belied that. “We’ve had a note from Lord Chudleigh, sir. He reminds us that the board of directors is still waiting for the museum’s inventory, which was due Friday.”

After the recent fiasco with all of London’s mummies ending up on our doorstep and suspicion landing, however briefly, on Father, the museum directors had decided they wanted a detailed inventory of all our artifacts, something that hadn’t been done in years —if ever. Presumably, the board members wanted a head count in case one of our artifacts decided to wander off. They completely missed the point that all the other artifacts had migrated here.

Father sighed and stabbed his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Yes, Weems. But as you can see, I’ m a little busy at the moment trying to get this new exhibit ready for the opening.”

“Yes, sir. I understand. But the opening is two weeks away, while the inventory was due three days ago. I find that it is all a question of managing one’s time proper —”

“Thank you, Weems,” Father interrupted, not sounding the least bit thankful. “I’ll have it to him directly.”

Weems quivered in righteous indignation as he gave a crisp “Very well, sir,” then high-stepped it out of there.

Honestly, how does he not trip over his own feet like that?

“Theodosia?”

Oops. “Yes, Father?”

“Have you finished inventorying the basement yet?”

“Almost done, Father. Just one more shelf, really.”

“Well then, get to it. I need it by the end of business today so I can get it to Chudleigh first thing in the morning.”

“Yes, Father.” Assigning me to inventory the basement had been a combination treat/punishment. (Yes, only my father would try to combine those two!) It was also an attempt to keep me occupied, since Grandmother had been unsuccessful in finding a governess who’d stick.

My research on the oracle rituals would have to wait. I changed direction and hurried to my small closet to fetch my ledger.

A miasma of cursed magic had hung over the basement for some time, but I hadn’t been able to pinpoint it to a particular artifact. Since I was running out of time, I decided to just grab every last bit of wax I owned and conduct a mass Second Level Test on everything at once.

I reached my closet and fetched the ledger from the washstand, where I’ d carelessly set it. Next I went to the large satchel where I kept all my curse-removing supplies and rummaged around until I had a handful of wax bits —candle stubs, mostly. Thus equipped, I headed for the catacombs.

On my way, I called softly for Isis, wondering where she’d gotten to. She normally came to greet visitors, so I was surprised she hadn’t turned up in the foyer when Henry had. Unfortunately, she didn’t turn up on my way to the basement either. Which was too bad, as I always preferred a bit of company down there.

The problem with the catacombs was that so many forgotten relics had been stacked on top of one another, it was nearly impossible to tell which ones were responsible for the vile magic and dark curses that swirled about. What made matters even worse was that the Staff of Osiris hadn’t even felt cursed, and I had no idea how to distinguish a power-laden artifact from an uncursed one.

I opened the door, turned up the gaslights, and then paused as the force of the dark magic hit me. I shuddered once, and gripped the three amulets I wore around my neck. Just as I lifted my foot to head down, a voice behind me said, “Can I come too?”

My pulse slowed a bit at this reprieve. “Henry!” Heartened considerably by the idea of a companion—even if it was only Henry —I said, “Why, of course you can come down. If you want to. But I didn’t think this sort of thing interested you all that much.”

Henry shrugged. “It’s not like there’s anything else to do in this stuffy old place.”

“Very well, then. Come along. But you need to wear this.” I lifted one of the amulets from my neck and held it out to him.

He recoiled as if I had offered him a plate of boiled suet.

“I’m not wearing one of your stupid necklaces.”

“It’s not a necklace, Henry. It’s protection. Remember? I gave one to Stokes when he was injured in St. Paul’s churchyard.”

He shook his head at me. “Quit pretending to be all magical and mystical,” he said.

“You’re not fooling anyone, and you just look stupid.” Then, before I could stop him, he

shoved past me and raced down the stairs. His words stung, and I had half a mind to leave him to the mercies of whatever magic he might find. Then we would see who was pretending. However, just the thought of that had me hurrying down the stairs after him. At the bottom step, instead of stopping, I kept right on going until I bumped smack into him.

“Watch it!” he said, pushing me away.

“Sorry,” I murmured as I slipped the amulet into his coat pocket under the guise of steadying myself. Once that important business had been taken care of, I turned my attention to the catacombs.

The gaslights barely penetrated the shadowed corners of the room, mostly because they weren’t run-of-the-mill shadows. I suppressed a shudder at the thought of an unprotected Henry. In front of me, Henry sniffed. “It smells like wet dog.”

My eyes flew to the Anubis statue sitting atop the Canopic shrine. He was sleek black stone, not a twitch of a whisker or tail, thank goodness. He hadn’t come to life again, not since I’ d returned the Orb of Ra to his shrine. But I’d been alone every other time I’ d come down here. I wasn’t sure if a second person’s k a would have an effect on him.

Some curses remained dormant for centuries until they were exposed to a person’s life force, which activated the magic in much the same way that the sun caused a flower to bloom.

“What’s your cat doing down here?” Henry pointed to where Isis lay, curled up between the statue’s front paws.

“What on earth are you doing here, Isis?”

She raised her head and blinked her golden eyes at me, then gave a meow of greeting.

Henry whistled, pulling my attention from the cat. His eyes were big and round as he stared at the mummies against the wall. “All right,” he finally said. “Now I see why you call it the catacombs. This place is creepy.”

I found it heartening that he finally felt a niggle of discomfort. He’d never admitted to that. “You should have seen it before I straightened it up some,” I told him as I headed for the shelves in the far corner, the very place I’ d found the Staff of Osiris. Ever since I’d learned that the staff had come to us as part of an entire warehouse of artifacts of unknown provenance, I’d been trying to identify the rest of the batch.

That was why I’d been dragging my feet on this inventory. If there were other powerful artifacts that wielded the power of the gods, I wasn’t sure I wanted to record them for all the world to see. Best to let them hide until I could get them to the Brotherhood of the Chosen Keepers and let them take it from there.

I glanced over my shoulder at Henry, who was still examining the row of mummies, paying particular attention to the mummy formerly known as Tetley. “I say, this fellow is rather odd-looking compared to the others.”

“You’ re correct, Henry. He is from a much more recent time period than the others are.” Would Henry recognize him? He had seen him once before, when Tetley was alive and we had been following him. As Henry continued to stare at the mummy, my worries grew.

“Here.” I took a blank page out of my ledger and handed it to him. “Could you go write down the names of all those weapons over in the corner? I haven’t had a chance to do it yet.” Actually, I had, but I knew that Henry had a keen interest in weaponry and it seemed like a good place to sit him.

“Weapons?” Henry’s whole face brightened. He took the sheet I held out and went over to the corner.

When he was safely occupied with that task, I proceeded toward the last shelf. As I’ d inventoried the basement, I’d also done a bit of organizing, and this shelf was where all the stone tablets had ended up, along with a few nearly unidentifiable odds and ends.

Hoping for a hint of latent power, I picked up the first stone tablet and held it tight. The stele featured a pharaoh offering wine to the god Amen-Ra and looked to be from the New Kingdom. However, there was no hint of power or magical energy. Of course, there hadn’ t been a trickle of power when I’ d first held the staff either. However, there had been a distinct flicker when I had accidentally activated it by setting the Orb of Ra into the jackal’s jaws. I stared at the stele in my hands. How on earth would one activate a stele? I wondered. I shook it slightly, but nothing happened.

I turned it over and over in my hands, looking for a small aperture such as a key might fit in, but there was nothing. If there was a way to activate this particular stele, it was a mystery to me.

After a quick glance at Henry to be sure he was well occupied (he was feinting and jabbing with a late Bronze Age ceremonial knife), I went on to the next stele. This one showed a pharaoh wearing the crown of Upper Egypt. The ibis-headed god of wisdom, Thoth, stood on one side while the falcon-headed god Horus stood on the other and appeared to be almost embracing him. Again, there was no visible means of activating it . . . but of course! It could be a much more subtle means of activation than a mechanical method. It might respond to b a or ka or something ethereal of that nature.

Once, I had accidentally breathed too close to a bronze vessel, and my breath had activated the curse hidden in inscribed hieroglyphs, causing the vessel to fill with a revolting substance reminiscent of frog slime. Leaning in close now, I breathed on the stele, then waited.

But that wasn’t the key this time. Not quite willing to give up, I carried the artifact closer to one of the gas lamps. Perhaps the flame would mimic the energy of the sun and bring any dormant curses or power to life.

“En garde!” Henry’s voice erupted in the silence, startling me. I turned toward him in time to see the point of a lance coming at my head. Without thinking, I held up the stele to ward off the blow. The lance connected with the stone tablet and sent it crashing to the floor.

For those of you just tuning in, I am posting a chapter a month of Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus to help tide you over until the book comes out in April. I also need to post my standard spoiler alert:

WARNING, This chapter of Book Three, Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus, MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR BOOK TWO, Theodosia and the Staff of Osiris. So if you haven’t read that yet, STOP RIGHT NOW. The rest of the chapter is up under the cut in order to protect those who haven’t read Book Two yet.

Chapter Four: The Arcane Order of the Black Sun Calls a Meeting

MY PARENTS NEVER DID REALIZE I’d been gone, and Monday morning arrived without incident. Well, except for being rushed through my breakfast, as Father wanted to get to the museum bright and early. We were in the process of preparing our newest exhibit —Thutmose III: The Napoleon of Ancient Egypt —and my parents were eager to get started. They were certain this would be an important exhibit for the Museum of Legends and Antiquities; it might even put us on the same footing as the British Museum.

Father called a staff meeting first thing.

“Very well,” he said, clapping his hands together awkwardly to get everyone’s attention. Father was brilliant but not at his best when directing people. “Two weeks,” he said.
“That’s how much time we have to finish putting this exhibit together, the finest exhibit of the decade, I might add. The board has allowed us to close for two weeks so we may devote our full attention to this matter, so let’s make the most of it, shall we? Weems?”

The priggish first Assistant Curator pranced forward, his feeble little mustache twitching as he said, “Yes, sir?”

Vicary Weems is the sort of grownup who believes children should not be seen and not heard. At all. He also dresses rather above his station, always wearing loud patterned vests that make my eyes ache and— of all the ridiculous things —spats. I don’ t care if King Edward himself wears them, they are still ridiculous looking, like bibs for one’s feet.

“You have the floor plans I gave you for the new display cases, correct?”

Weems patted the pocket of his scarlet and gold vest. “Right here, sir.”

“Good. You’ll direct Dolge and Sweeny with the placement of the cases.” He paused a moment, then turned to Dolge. “They have been delivered, haven’t they?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Fagenbush?” Father continued.

The loathsome Second Assistant Curator stepped forward, bringing a small cloud of boiled-cabbage-and-pickled-onion fumes with him. His thick black eyebrows were drawn
together in a V. Whatever did Lord Wigmere see in him?

“We’ll need you up in the workroom so you can start packing the artifacts for transport down here.”

Fagenbush nodded.

“Stilton?”

My favorite curator, Edgar Stilton, sprang to attention, a faint tic beginning in his left cheek. “Right here, sir.”

Father consulted his list. “Let’s see, you’re to . . .”

“I’m to visit the draper this morning and approve the material for the display backing,” Stilton said, then blinked rapidly, as if surprised by his own boldness.

“Oh, that’s right. Very well, then. I guess that’s it. Any questions? Let’s get to it.” The others began to trickle away, and he turned to me. “Theodosia?”

“Yes, Father?”

“How’s that inventory coming along down in long-term storage?”

“Nearly done,” I said cheerfully, waving my ledger book.

“Excellent.” He turned to go, but I stopped him.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to assist you and Mother with the upcoming exhibit?”

“Not right at the moment, no. Perhaps later . . .”

I sighed. “Very well.” It was beastly unfair, if you asked me, especially since it had been my discovery of the annex to Thutmose III’s tomb that had given them this idea for the
exhibit in the first place. It seemed as if I should at least be able to help. However, I am sad to say, that I have found there to be little justice in the world.

Feeling somewhat sorry for myself, I cast one last longing glance at all the commotion going on in the foyer then, resigned to my fate, headed for the catacombs.

Of course, they weren’t really catacombs, merely longterm storage space for the museum, but it felt as creepy as catacombs. I clutched the three amulets around my neck and reached for the door.

A shadow loomed in front of me and I jumped. “Stilton!” I said, rather louder than I’d intended. “What are you doing here? You gave me quite a start.”

The entire left side of the Third Assistant Curator’s body twitched as he held his finger to his lips. “Shh.” His eyes were bright, his cheeks slightly flushed.

“What is it?” I whispered.

“The grand master wants to see you.”

My sense of victory at having evaded him yesterday evaporated. “Now?”

“Yes, miss. He’s called a meeting of the Black Sun. Everyone will be there.”

That was Stilton’s one glaring fault. He belonged to the Arcane Order of the Black Sun. “Well, I’ m very busy. I’ m afraid it’s not a good time.”

Stilton blinked twice and looked apologetic. “Everyone’s preoccupied with the exhibit just now, Miss Theo. And you’ re supposed to be down in the long-term storage. No one will miss you for hours.”

Well, he had that part right. I’d be lucky if they remembered me when it was time to go home. “But what about you? Aren’t you supposed to be visiting the draper’s?”

Stilton looked a bit smug. “I took care of that on my way home last night.”

“Oh. But I already gave Trawley his magical favor. What does he want with me now?”

A hatchet-faced man stepped out of the hallway behind Stilton. “I thought you said she was coming?”

Stilton flinched at the sound of Basil Whiting’s voice. Sent reinforcements, had they? This didn’t look good.

“S-she is. In just a moment,” Stilton said. “Aren’t you, Miss Theo?” His weak tea–colored eyes pleaded with me.

Since Trawley had sent his second in command as backup, it was clear I had no choice. “Of course, Stilton. I’d love to.” If he caught my sarcasm, he made no sign.

“Very well, miss. This way.” He motioned toward the east entrance.

With a sigh, I headed down the corridor. “I thought you scorpions were supposed to serve me,” I muttered, feeling quite put out.

“We’re to see to your safety, miss,” Whiting said, falling into step behind me.

“Yes, but that’s not quite the same thing, is it?”

He looked over my head at Stilton as if to say You deal with her. Stilton shrugged. Or twitched. I couldn’t be sure which.

Once we were outside, he opened the carriage door for me, then followed me inside it. Much to my relief, Whiting joined Ned Gerton up on the driver’s box. Stilton cleared his throat and held up a black silk blindfold.

I stared at it with distaste. “Is that really necessary?”

“The supreme master says so, miss. I’m just following orders.”

“Like nice little sheep,” I murmured.

“What was that?” he asked, a startled look on his face.

“I think I’ll have a nice little sleep. On the ride over,” I added. “Do wake me when we’re there.” I wedged myself in the farthest corner, leaned my head back, and closed my eyes. There. Stilton would have to manhandle me to get that wretched blindfold on. Let’s see if he would go that far.

I waited, nerves on edge, but after a long tense moment, I heard him sigh and settle back into his seat. Excellent.

Fifteen minutes later, I felt the carriage draw to a stop.

“Please, miss,” Stilton whispered. “You must let me put the blindfold on now or we’ll both be in trouble.”

I opened my eyes. “Very well.” I had, after all, won a small victory. It would be easy to allow him to save face.

He slipped the blindfold on and tied it very gently, making sure not to get my hair tangled up in the knot. “Do you have sisters, Stilton?”

“Why, yes, miss. How’d you know?” There was a touch of awe in his voice, as if he thought I’d divined it somehow. I hated to lose that advantage by explaining that only a man with sisters would be so good at dealing with hair, so I simply said, “Just a lucky hunch.”

There was a low whistle from outside the carriage. “All right then, the coast is clear,” Stilton said. I heard him open the door; he took my hand and carefully led me down the steps. We shuffled along until he told me to stop. He knocked out the signal on the door, which opened immediately. “’ E’s waiting in the chamber. Right impatient, ’ e is. Wants to know wot took you so long.”

“The girl resisted at first,” Basil Whiting said from just behind us.

“I thought Tefen here said he could control ’ er,” the unidentified porter said.

“I can.” Stilton sounded a bit testy as he guided me through the doorway.

Once again I was led down a dark and twisting corridor before we came to a stop. The silk was removed from my eyes and I found myself in the familiar dark chamber, lit only with black candles in sconces against the wall. Half a dozen cloaked, hooded figures knelt before me. Only Aloysius Trawley remained standing, his eyes glittering, black and
wild in the dim light. It was quite unsettling really, having a half-dozen grown men in hoods watching you while you have no idea who they are.

“You’re late,” he said to Stilton.

“There was some trouble getting away, I’m afraid.”

Trawley turned his crazed eyes on me. “I thought you said you could handle her.”

“I can.” Stilton’s gaze shifted to Whiting, as if daring him to contradict. “It’s just that Throckmorton called an unexpected staff meeting, so we were running late.”

Accepting this excuse, Trawley jerked his head toward the kneeling men. “Go ahead and join the others. We’ve had to start without you.”

Stilton and Whiting took their places on the floor, and Trawley turned back to me.

“Welcome, O Light Giver of Heaven.”

Oh, for goodness sake. Not that again. “Mr. Trawley,” I said, forgoing his favored title of supreme master. “Why have I been brought here against my will?”

“Against your will, O Maker of Morning? Have you no wish to see your loyal servants? It has been over two weeks since we last spoke. I thought you had agreed to share your wisdom and magic with us. With you as Isis, and me as Osiris, we will usher in the new age of Horus.”

Age of Horus? What did he mean by that? Horus was the son of Isis and Osiris, and the slayer of Set, but I’ d never heard of an age of Horus before. The man was clearly a lunatic. “No. I agreed to do you one magic favor, which I’ve done.”

“Are you referring to your prophecy, by chance? The one that hasn’t yet come true?” His voice grew annoyed as he spoke.

He was going to hold me responsible for that, was he? “Surely you realize I can only repeat what the gods tell me. I have no power as to whether or not it comes to pass.”

He took a step closer, his wild eyes growing angry. “Is that really so? The Queen of all Gods, who can raise the dead and give men vile curses and command the jackal Anubis, cannot order a prophecy to come to pass?”

I shot a hot glance Stilton’s way. So m e o n e had been reporting my activities back to Trawley. As if understanding my accusation, Stilton gave a quick, tiny shake of his head.

I returned my attention to the fuming man in front of me. “First of all, as I told you last time, I am not the queen of all gods. I’ m simply a girl who’s learned to remove curses. That’s all.”

Trawley glowered at me. “How then did you raise the mouse back to life?”

“He was just stunned,” I lied.

“And how then did you cause the man at the docks to be covered in boils? And don’ t deny it. One of the scorpions heard him lay the blame at your feet.”

Who had been tattling? “It wasn’t me . He simply managed to get a hold of a cursed object and that’s what caused the boils.”

Trawley took another step closer and I resisted the urge to back up. “If you are not the Queen of the Gods, why then does the jackal Anubis do your bidding?”

No choice but to just bluff this one out. “Jackal? What jackal?”

Trawley jerked his head, and Basil Whiting stepped forward, the flickering light glancing off his razor-sharp cheekbones.

“Please tell the Rosy Light of Morning what you saw down on the Prince Albert Docks two weeks ago,” Trawley ordered.

“I was in position, keeping an eye on the man she’d cursed, who was cooling his heels in the river. After about half an hour, a commotion broke out on the deck of the boat they was on—”

“Ship,” I corrected.

Startled, Whiting stared at me. “What?”

“It’s a ship, not a boat,” I explained.

“Quiet!” Trawley ordered. Then to Whiting, he said,

“Continue.”

“A jackal appeared, carrying a long stick or cane of some kind in his mouth. I decided to follow, and he led me back to her museum, where he went inside through a broken window. I tried to go in too, but the watchman stopped me and said the museum was closed.”

This was not good. Not good at all. I had so hoped no one had seen Anubis as he ran through London. Or at least, no one who could connect him with me. “Er . . . ,” I fumbled.

“Sir?” Stilton interrupted gently.

Trawley turned on him. “What?”

Stilton tugged at the cloak around his neck. “We really do have only a short time.”

Trawley stared at Stilton intently, as if trying to bend the younger man’s will to his own, then finally looked away. “If time is short,” he said, “let’s begin the ceremony.”

I was so relieved by this reprieve that I didn’t even mind that I was stuck spending the next half-hour watching a number of grown men wander around in ancient Egyptian dress and wave flowering branches in the air. They looked beyond ridiculous. Their chanting was equally nonsensical, blathering on about the fruits of the great mysteries and whatnot. At the very end, they all laid their flowering staffs at my feet and then Trawley cast himself upon them.

I was horrified. “Get up!” I snapped.

“You must raise me up, O Isis. Raise me up, so like the sun rising in the sky, the Age of Horus can begin.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake! I reached down, grabbed hold of his meaty arm, and yanked—none too gently. He lurched to his feet and then straightened his robes.

“The Age of Horus is born,” he declared. “All hail!”

The rest of the men shouted out, “Hail the Age of Horus!” then fell silent.

“Are we done?” I asked hopefully.

Trawley closed his eyes for a long moment. Stilton stepped forward. “Her parents will miss her before too long,” he said apologetically.

His words, while not exactly true, gave Trawley pause. “Very well. We are done for the moment anyway.” He took a step in my direction, using his superior height to try to intimidate me. “But the next time you come,” he said, “I want you to bring the staff Whiting spoke of. I would like to see it for myself, even if it cannot raise the dead.”

I bobbed a small curtsy. “I will do my best to arrange it,” I lied. The problem was, I no longer had it. Wigmere had taken it for safekeeping. “But it’s hard enough to sneak away as it is without carrying a five-foot-long stick,” I pointed out.

Trawley sighed. “Remove her,” he told Stilton.

Oh dear, he sounded angry, and I really didn’t want to provoke someone as unstable as he was. “I’m terribly sorry, sir. It’s just very difficult to move about freely when one is a child. And if my movements were further curtailed, we’ d never have a chance to have our little talks.”

“Very well,” Trawley said, sounding somewhat appeased.

“But you and I shall meet again.” His frantic eyes zeroed in on mine. “Soon.”

“Of course, Mr. Trawley!” I bobbed another curtsy. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Tefen.” Trawley jerked his head in Edgar’s direction. “See her home.”

“Very well, sir. Come along, Rosy Light.” His lips twitched ever so slightly as he said this, and I resisted the urge to slug him. Instead, I high-stepped it over to his side, then followed him down the corridor. Walking quickly, we made our way to the front door, where he paused and began patting his pockets, looking for a blindfold.

I took advantage of his distraction and opened the door and marched straight outside without waiting for the blind fold.

“Miss Theo!” he said, scandalized.

“Too late,” I chirped at him. “I’ve seen it. Now quit dawdling and let’s get back to the museum.” As we moved to the carriage, I took stock of my surroundings. It was a quiet, well-to-do neighborhood. Near Fitzroy Square, if I wasn’t mistaken. Who knew a temple of the Black Sun would lurk in such normal surroundings?

Stilton looked about nervously, anxious that none of the Black Sunners see my unblindfolded state. “In you go,” he whispered, opening the carriage door. “Before the driver sees you.”

I climbed into the carriage while he gave the address of the museum to the driver. As Stilton settled into his seat, he looked serious. “I know that I’m the one who introduced you to the Black Sun,” he said, picking his words carefully. “But I think it best that you don’t visit them when I’m not there.”

“Visit them! I don’t visit them! They jolly well kidnapped me right off the street.”

Stilton looked even more worried. “Trawley seems very focused on that staff, doesn’t he?” His foot began tapping out a rapid tattoo on the carriage floor until he quickly reached out with his hand and stopped it.

“You’re the one that told him about the mouse.” I didn’t even try to keep the accusing tone out of my voice.

“I know, and I’m sorry for it. I’d hate to think I’d gotten you mixed up in something unhealthy, Theo.”

“Shouldn’t you have thought of that before you introduced us?”

“I was trying to rescue you at the time,” he pointed out, a bit defensively. “I didn’t have many resources available.”

“True. I’ d forgotten about that.” If not for Edgar, who knows what would have happened to me when the Serpents of Chaos had commandeered my carriage.

When we arrived back at the museum, there was a grand carriage parked outside. Grandmother Throckmorton! My heart sank. Suddenly, Aloysius Trawley didn’t seem so bad.

So first, I had to find the right book to alter. How thrilled was I to find the above book at the library’s used book store–it’s even a translation of an Arabic poem! How perfect.

This first image was my first experiment. It’s very simple,  just a mood piece for the first book, touching on picking up Mother from the train station.

This next picture was trying to evoke the sense of showdown I knew was coming in Book Two, involving the Dreadnought, the Serpents of Chaos, and a certain prophecy regarding a red sun…

And lastly, a scene in the catacombs, with all those mummies…

While I will confess to being all thumbs when it comes to art, I do love collaging. I love the whole “found” thing aspect of the art form, the junk turned to jewels element of taking used and discarded trash and scraps and using that to create something beautiful and evocative.

It reminds me very much of writing, actually.

As a writer, I collect mental junk, a face here, a look there. The snippet of conversation I overheard at the restaurant. The scolding I heard the mother give her son at the grocery store. The surprising sight of a teenage punk driving his 80 year old grandmother around in his hyped up jalopy. A sunset. A birdsong. A remembered feeling from when I was seven years old. This is the sort of stuff writers collect in their heads, where it rolls around for years, decades sometimes, until it becomes tumbled and smoothed and juxtaposed with other things and becomes something entirely new.

WARNING, This chapter of Book Three, Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus, MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR BOOK TWO, Theodosia and the Staff of Osiris. So if you haven’t read that yet, STOP RIGHT NOW. The rest of the chapter is up under the cut in order to protect those who haven’t read Book Two yet.

Chapter Three – Scorpions on the Loose

BOTHER. I had hoped to avoid another meeting with the supreme master of the Arcane Order of the Black Sun for a while longer. Say, a lifetime. In fact, that’s why it had taken so long for Will to coax me out to the Alcazar to see Awi Bubu; I’d been trying to avoid Trawley. He was mad as a hatter and convinced I was a reincarnation of Isis and had mystical powers. Of course, that was all nonsense, but even so, he had a nasty habit of snatching me off the street.

Whiting stepped away from the lamppost and sauntered in my direction. He hesitated as a black carriage turned down the street and then drove past. Just as he started to move again, the carriage pulled sharply against the curb, merely a few feet in front of Whiting.

Oh dear, not reinforcements, I thought. Surely three grown men against one eleven-year-old girl were good enough odds for them. Wait a minute. I knew that carriage. It was spotlessly clean and shiny, unmarked black; it be- longed to the Brotherhood of the Chosen Keepers. The door opened, and a worn, familiar face with a thick white mustache and solemn blue eyes looked out at me. “Theodosia?”

“Lord Wigmere!” My voice caught on a faint sob of relief as I hightailed it over to the carriage, giving Whiting a wide berth.

“What on earth are you doing in this part of town, child?”

“Attending a magic show,” I explained, looking longingly inside the carriage.

“Here, get in. This isn’t a safe neighborhood for a young girl to be wandering alone. Danger seems to find you easily enough without compounding the problem by being careless.”

“It’s not my fault, sir. Trouble does seem inclined to follow me around,” I said as I hopped into the carriage, settled my- self on the opposite seat, and smoothed my skirts to hide the trembling in my hands. That had been close. “Thank you, sir.”

I thought briefly of mentioning the scorpions following me, but I didn’t want to bring on another scolding. Besides, he had told me a while ago that they were harmless. Annoying, but harmless.

Wigmere rapped on the ceiling with his cane, and the carriage lurched forward. Although he was impeccably dressed in his frock coat and top hat, he looked older than he had the last time I’d seen him. More careworn. “I wouldn’t have thought you were interested in parlor tricks and magic,” he said.

In for a penny, in for a pound. “It was because of Will, sir. He’d located a rather suspicious Egyptian magic show and wanted to see what I thought of it.”

Wigmere snorted through his mustache. “That boy! He has no idea what we’re up against. He thinks he’s landed in a penny dreadful and is having a grand adventure.”

“It was an unusual magic show, sir.”

“Bah!”

“And Will was extraordinarily helpful with the Dreadnought situation,” I reminded him. “I could never have pulled it off without his aid.”

“Nevertheless,” Wigmere said. “This isn’t a game, and I won’ t have him treating it as such. Too much is at stake. Your safety included.”

“Yes, sir.” Well, I’d tried.

“Speaking of the Dreadnought. . . did Fagenbush give you the news about Bollingsworth and the others?”

“No, sir, he didn’t,” I said.

Wigmere cleared his throat. “Well, the good news is our doctors from Level Six were able to stabilize Bollingsworth’s condition. It will take a while, but he will recover from the curse he got from that rope of yours.”

“And then what will happen to him?”

“Then we’ll toss him into our deepest, darkest prison and throw away the key.”

“What’s the bad news?” I have learned that when someone starts out with the good news, bad news is certain to follow.

“Unfortunately, there has been no sign of the men who escaped the Dreadnought. The Brotherhood has searched high and low, to no avail. I’m afraid they have gotten clean away.”

My heart sank. “It would be so lovely if just once they could all get locked up,” I said.

“I agree. But having them on the loose is just one more reason it is so important for you to be careful. You and Will are children, and as such, I feel an extra responsibility to keep you safe. All the operatives that I can spare are out searching for the Serpents of Chaos. Even so, one of their agents could easily follow Will to your arranged meeting place and nab you both. It is even more important than ever that you put aside your dislike of Fagenbush and begin following instructions. Speaking of which, he has yet to bring me a report from you.”

I squirmed, wretchedly uncomfortable. “Well, you see, sir, he really doesn’t care to deal with me —”

“Nonsense. He’ll deal with whom he’s instructed to deal. There is no room for personal animosity within the Brotherhood, Theodosia. Our mission is too critical for such petty concerns.” His piercing blue eyes bored into me, as if searching out any flaw or selfishness.

“Yes, sir,” I murmured, relieved that the Museum of Legends and Antiquities had just come into view.

“Excellent.” Wigmere nodded, his face relaxing. “Then I’ll expect to receive regular reports on your progress from Fagenbush.”

The carriage rolled to a stop across the street from the museum. It wouldn’t do to have anyone see Wigmere and me together.

“Thank you for the lift, sir.”

“You’re most welcome, and do try to stay out of unsavory neighborhoods, would you?”

“Yes, sir.” I hopped out of the carriage and made my way across the street. While I was most grateful for the rescue from the Black Sunners, I really could have done without the sharp reminder to work with Fagenbush. Even though I had recently discovered he was one of the Chosen Keepers (what had they been thinking?), I still tried to ignore him whenever possible.

* * *

Once back in the museum, I decided to search out my parents and see if they’ d wondered where I’ d got to. They weren’t in the private family withdrawing room we kept here at the museum or in the staff withdrawing room. Their offices were empty too, so I went up to their workroom on the third floor. I paused at the door, listening.

“I don’ t know why you think it’s hopeless,” Mother was saying. “I’m sure we can appeal to Maspero and get a second hearing. Surely Davis isn’t the last word on the subject.”

My ears perked up. They were talking about their work in the Valley of the Kings.

“You put more faith in the workings of the Cairo Antiquities Service than I do, Henrietta. I doubt we’ll get help from that quarter.”

“But it was our discovery . . .” Mum muttered, then fell silent.

The good news was they hadn’t noticed I was gone. The bad news was, well, they hadn’t even missed me. Their lack of attention used to bother me, but I’d learned to accept it as something of a blessing. It allowed me to take care of business without having to answer all sorts of awkward questions.

And there was quite a lot of business to take care of.

There were at least two curses, possibly three, down in Receiving. I had to get them removed before the new exhibit opened. We couldn’ t risk cursing untold numbers of museum visitors. It would be bad for business!

Having located my parents, I went to my own little room in the museum. It was actually more like a rather large closet, but it made me feel better to think of it as a room. Once there, I slipped out of my coat and put on a pinafore, then tugged off my dress gloves and replaced them with a pair of sturdier ones. Next I checked to be sure all three amulets were still safely around my neck. Satisfied that I was as protected as could be, I fetched my curse-removing kit from the cupboard and made my way to Receiving.

Luckily, it was Sunday, so neither Dolge nor Sweeny, the museum’s two hired hands, were about and I had the entire receiving area to myself. I quickly got to work.

There had been a shocking number of cursed artifacts among the antiquities Mum had brought back with her a few short months ago. I didn’t remember ever seeing so many in one batch.

The first object on my list was a basketful of black rocks carved to look like grain. I had discovered this curse by accident one day when I’d gone into the staff room to fix myself a jam sandwich and had found the loaf of bread full of bugs. When I looked closely, I saw that they weren’t ordinary bugs but teensy-tiny scarab beetles. I followed the thin trail of them all the way back to the staging area. Honestly! It was hard enough to get any food around here with my parents as preoccupied as they were with their work; I did not need curses mucking up what little food there was.

This particular curse had required oodles of research, and I had found only one similar curse listed in T. R. Nectanebus’s Hidde n Eg ypt : Mag ic , Alc h e m y, an d t h e Oc c ult . I’ d
had to adjust the recipe to suit my needs.

I set my carpetbag down and rifled through my supplies until I found my mortar and pestle, a jar of honey, a small sack of dirt, and a pillbox Grandmother had tossed in the rubbish bin. The primary ingredient of the recipe was honey, because one of the principles in Egyptian magic is that demons abhor things that we humans love, such as sweets. It was a common method of driving demonic spirits and black magic away, using sweets.

I poured the honey into the mortar, then added the measure of dirt. There was a tickling sensation at the back of my neck, as if someone had blown on it. I whirled around.
“Who’s there?” My voice wavered as the fine hairs at my nape still tingled.

Even though there was no one in sight, I was certain I was being watched. I peered into the shadowy corners of the room, but nothing moved.

With my shoulder blades itching, I held my nose and opened the pillbox. Nectanebus’s recipe called for swallow droppings, but I hadn’t been able to find any of those. However, there was a large flock of pigeons that often roosted near the museum, so I’ d scraped their droppings into the pillbox. (Yet another reason it is so important to wear heavy duty gloves when conducting magic!)

Using a bit of stick, I scraped all the droppings into the mortar, then ground everything together with the pestle. Last, I took a piece of bread and crumbled it into the honey-and-dropping mixture. Nectanebus claimed that using the honey, bread crumbs, and dung together would redirect the cursed miniature scarabs from the bread to the dung. One could only hope.

I dumped the grain-shaped rocks out onto the table and smeared the mixture in the bottom of the basket, as instructed. Then I put all the grain back in the basket, and that was that. I had only to wait for three days, and the curse would be permanently removed. Either that or Receiving would stink to high heaven.

I felt a chill on my shoulders and turned around again, thinking Mum or Dad had wandered down to check on me. But there was still no one there, and no open door to account for a draft. Uneasy, I quickly carried the grain basket to where it had been and then put the empty jars and bags back into the satchel, pausing when I heard a faint rustling sound.

I strained to hear better. It had come from the northwest corner of the room. I peered up into the shadows. Something dark lurked up there. It rustled again, and in one Sweeping movement I knocked the rest of the supplies off the work table and into my bag.

As I headed toward the door, the rustling grew louder. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the shadow detach itself from the ceiling and begin oozing in my direction. I picked up my pace and fled. Clearly, I had more work to do.

Over at HipWriterMama we are having a contest and giving away an Advanced Reader’s Copy of the Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus! So if you’re interested in entering, hop on over there.

But do it quickly! The contest ends Monday, November 30 at 11:00 pm EST.  Good luck!

1. When is your birthday?

September 21

2.What is your favorite color?

It changes, depending on my mood, but usually green, blue, or purple.

3. What is your favorite food?

It’s a toss up between homemade bread, popcorn, or ice cream.

4. what inspired you to write?

I’ve always enjoyed writing, ever since I was eight years old. What inspired me to write Theodosia’s story was a combination of my love of ancient Egypt and a desire to write a book I would have loved when I was eleven years old.

5. Is there a reason you named her Theodosia?

Honestly, that name just kind of popped into my head sounding very British and old fashioned, so I grabbed it. Sometimes I have to search high and low for a name and sometimes it just comes to me, that one was a “just come to me” sort of name.

6. Will you write more Theo books after the Eyes of Horus?

Yes.

7. If yes, how many? At least two.

8. What will they be called?

Right now, the working titles are, Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus, and Theodosia and the Flame of Sekhmet.

9. Do you have any pets?

I used to have lots of pets, but now only one. (For more about my earlier pets, read here.)

10. If yes, what are they and what are their names?

One very old, cranky, demonic cat named Oreo.

11. if you met me would you treat me like a little kid or a grownup based on my writing to you?

I would treat you like an equal unless you did something that forced me to treat you like a little kid (like disrupted a school presentation I was giving.) One of the reasons I write for kids, and write a character like Theo specifically, is that I DO firmly believe that kids are much smarter, wiser, and generally on top of things than they tend to get credit for.

How much do I adore these Theodosia covers?? Yoko Tanaka is a GENIUS!

WARNING, Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus is Book Three and the chapters MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR BOOK TWO, Theodosia and the Staff of Osiris. So if you haven’t read that yet, STOP RIGHT NOW. The rest of the chapter is up under the cut in order to protect those who haven’t read Book Two yet.

Chapter Two
Curioser and Curioser

THE SPACE WAS DARK AND SMALL and smelled of mice. Once he’d gotten his bearings, Ratsy led us through a twisting set of hallways.

“How does he know his way around so well?” I asked Will.

“’E’s worked ’ere before, miss. When you’re a rat catcher, you get to know your way around a lot of places.”

Will’s words filled me with unease. I risked a glance behind me, afraid giant rats might be following us even now, but I could see nothing in the gloom.
Will came to an abrupt stop, and since my attention had been behind me, I bumped into him with an oof.

“Careful, miss. There’s people about now.”

Indeed, I could hear voices and the sound of steps hurrying back and forth.

Backstage was a confusing collection of small rooms and closets opening off a crooked hallway. To make matters worse, the entire floor listed sharply to the right. A faint odor of old sweat and pipe smoke hung in the air.

Ratsy held his finger to his lips, then pointed to a door that was slightly ajar.

“Take’s dropping off,” said a voice. If I wasn’t mistaken—and I rarely was —it was the announcer’s voice. It had the same flat vowels and oratory quality.

“Some days are better than others, are they not?” This voice was softer and had a lilting accent. Awi Bubu’s? “And the daytime shows, they are never as good as those at night.”
“Mebbe. But that’s the whole point of keeping a foreigner around, to pump up the profits. If you can’t do that, I’ll get someone else in here.”

“You have had three weeks of very good profits.”

“And I want three more. Now keep the money coming in or you and that mummy of yours are out on your ear.”

“You don’t really mean that.”

I flinched, certain the other man would begin yelling that he certainly did too mean it. Instead, there was a long pause, and then he spoke again. “You’ re right. I don’ t. Just try to bring in more than you did today.”

Before the three of us eavesdroppers could react, the announcer came barreling out of the small room directly into us.

We stared at each other in surprised shock before my instincts kicked in. “Is this where the Great Awi Bubu is?” I asked in a breathless voice. “Do you think it would be all right if we spoke to him?” I clasped my hands together as if in adoration.

The announcer looked nonplussed for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t care what you kids do as long as you’re out of here in five minutes.” He pushed past us, and we were left staring at the door.

“Go on, then.” Will nudged me. “You ’eard the man. We only got five minutes.”

I suddenly felt shy. What was I going to say to the magician anyway? Ho there, were you using real Egyptian magic? Are you by any chance a member of the Arcane Order of the Black sun?

“Do come in and quit hovering at my door,” the magician called out.

We all froze, then shuffled into the room like a small herd of sheep.

“’Ow’d you know we was out there, guv’nor?” Will asked, his eyes round again. They were going to pop out of his head if he kept this up.

“Did you use yer Egyptian magic on us?” Ratsy asked eagerly.

“Nothing as exciting as all that, I’ m afraid. I heard the stage manager talking to you.”

As the magician spoke, his eyes drifted to me. He blinked twice, then asked, “How can the humble Awi Bubu serve you?”

“Whoa,” Ratsy said, ignoring the man’s question. His eyes were glued to the cloth-wrapped figure propped against the wall. “Is this the mummy you use on stage?”

It was so clearly a fake that I couldn’t help but snort. Awi Bubu cocked his head to the side and studied me. “You do not believe in mummies, miss?”

“Of course I do, but real ones, not fakes like this.” I turned to Ratsy. “It really is a fake. Go ahead and poke it. With your permission, of course,” I hastily added.

Awi Bubu nodded; his glittering black eyes still sharply focused on me. “But of course.”

Will grabbed Ratsy and pulled him back. “’E ain’t touchin’ that thing. No way, miss. It’ d curse him, it would. You should know that better’n anyone.”

I felt Awi Bubu’s glance sharpen even more.

“But that is the point, Will. I do know more than most, and it is clearly a fake. Here.” I sighed in exasperation, stepped over to the wall, and poked the wrapped figure (I refused to call it a mummy) in the stomach.

It grunted, which startled Will and Ratsy so bad that they squealed and leaped backwards.

“See?” I told them. “Real mummies don’t grunt. And they aren’t soft, like this one is. It’s a man wrapped up in linen, just like I told you.”

“Let me introduce you to my assistant, Kimosiri,” Awi Bubu said.

The tall figure reached up and unwound the wrappings from his head, revealing a large lumpy face with weathered skin and small black eyes.

“Very pleased to meet you,” I said.

He nodded solemnly at me.

“So Little Miss is a skeptic?” Awi Bubu said. “How does she come to be such an expert on mummies, I wonder.”

The room grew a little warmer and for a brief moment, I found myself wanting to tell him just how very much I knew about mummies and Egyptian magic. Instead, I said, “That’s funny, sir. That’s exactly what I wanted to ask you. Some of the tricks you performed were very authentic reenactments of ancient Egyptian rituals. I wondered how you came to know of such things.”

“Ah, but I asked you first, did I not? Shall we agree to a trade of information?”

“Very well,” I said, intending to tell him as little as possible. “My parents run a museum with Egyptian exhibits. Since I spend a lot of time there, I’ve picked up a few things about ancient Egypt. Now it’s your turn.”

“I’m afraid I’ve nothing as interesting as a museum in my past. I am but an exile from my own country, Egypt, as you rightly guessed. When I found myself alone in a strange land with no means of support . . . well, one must make a living however one can.” He glanced pointedly at Ratsy and Will, and I was suddenly afraid that he somehow knew that Will was, or had been, a pickpocket. Then I realized I was being silly. He was most likely referring to Ratsy’s profession.

“Which of my tricks most impressed Little Miss?” He smiled at me, revealing a gold tooth. “Clearly not my mummy act.”

“Er, no.” For some reason, I was reluctant to let him know what exactly had alerted me. “It was the oracle trick. The one where you used Ratsy here.”

“Ah.” Was it my imagination or did his face relax slightly? “In fact, I wanted to ask if by any chance you know Aloysius Trawley? I’ve seen him perform the very same trick.”

“Alas, I do not know this Mr. Trawley, and I am crushed to hear I am not the first to perform this act in London. However, I am curious as to how Little Miss comes to know so much about ancient Egyptian rituals?”

Bother. That was the problem with asking questions. Sometimes one revealed more than was wise. “I told you, my parents run a museum.”

“Yes, but museums do not generally offer insight into the actual rituals performed by ancient Egyptian priests.”

I ignored that for the moment. “That thing you had Ratsy say, about the black sun and red sky. Is that something you have all your volunteers say?”

Awi Bubu turned to Ratsy. “Did I tell you to say that?”

Ratsy shook his head.

The magician spread his hands wide. “I said nothing other than what you and the audience heard. Do his words mean something to you?”

“Of course not,” I lied. “They were just odd, that’s all.”

“Exactly which museum do Little Miss’s parents run? Perhaps I may come visit next time I am feeling homesick.”

“The British Museum.” The lie popped out of my mouth like an eager toad. Startled, Will turned and looked at me. Before more questions could follow, I bobbed a quick curtsy. “Thank you very much for letting us chat with you. It’s been lovely, but your manager said we only had five minutes and we don’ t want to keep you.” I grabbed Will’s arm and we headed for the door, Ratsy right behind us.

“Goodbye, Little Miss! Thank you for honoring me with your visit.” Awi Bubu’s mocking voice followed us out into the hall.

As Ratsy led us to the nearest exit, I realized the conversation hadn’t been as informative as I’ d hoped. I had no choice but to chalk up the similarities between Ratsy’s prediction and mine to coincidence. The only problem was, I wasn’t very fond of coincidences.

We met up with Snuffles, and when we were outside, I asked Ratsy about it again, hoping that with Awi Bubu nowhere in sight, he’d feel free to tell me the truth.

“No, miss. ’E didn’t whisper nothing in me ear or slip me a note.”

“Ratsy couldn’t read a note, even if Awi Bubu had given him one. ’E doesn’t know ’ow to read.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what to say to that.

Will motioned his brothers on ahead, then pulled me aside. “So, wot’d you fink?”

“About what?”

“About the magician, o’ course!”

“Oh. He was fascinating.”

“So don’t you fink that proves I have a nose fer Egyptian magic? Don’t you fink I could ’ave a future in the Brotherhood as somefink more than a errand boy?”

“I would certainly think so,” I said. Unfortunately, it wasn’t my decision. It was up to Lord Wigmere, head of the Brotherhood of the Chosen Keepers.

“Then you’ll put in a good word wif Wiggy next time you see ’im, won’t you?”

Somehow, I didn’t think a group of men dedicated to protecting their country from the influence of ancient magic and curses would give two figs about the Alcazar Theater or penny-show magicians. However, I promised that I would talk to Wigmere, then left Will to his brothers and began walking back to the museum.

My mind whirred frantically, trying to puzzle out just who exactly Awi Bubu was. I suppose it was possible that ancient Egyptian rituals were common knowledge among Egyptians. Except that was one of the things that were so exciting about archaeology; it unlocked the secrets to the past, secrets that even the Egyptians themselves had forgotten about their history, so that explanation didn’t really work. It seemed more likely that he was simply unwilling to confess
that he was a member of the Black Sun. Or, I thought, my steps slowing, perhaps he was a plant for the Serpents of Chaos. They also knew quite a lot about Egyptian magic.
And were dedicated to using it to plunge our world into, well, chaos.

As I turned the corner off Phoenix Road, I detected a flicker of movement nearby, and then a man fell into step behind me. I thought it was Gerton, but I couldn’t be sure. Either way, it wasn’t good news.

Half a block later, another man stepped out of a recessed doorway as I passed. I kept my eyes in front of me and pretended I hadn’t seen him. If I ignored them, perhaps I’ d make it back to the museum without a confrontation.

However, when Basil Whiting, Trawley’s second in command, stepped out of an alley and leaned up against a lamp- post, effectively cutting off that avenue of escape, it became clear that not only had the scorpions found me, but they weren’t about to let me pretend otherwise.

However, be aware that the chapters in Book Three MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR BOOK TWO, THEODOSIA AND THE STAFF OF OSIRIS. So if you haven’t read that yet, STOP RIGHT NOW. I’ll be putting the chapters up under the cut in order to protect those who haven’t read Book Two yet.

You have been warned.

Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus
Chapter One – The Great Awi Bubu

M A R C H 2 3 , 1 9 0 7

I HATE BEING FOLLOWED. I especially hate being followed by a bunch of lunatic adults playing at being occultists. Unfortunately, the Black Sunners were out in full force today. I’ d spotted the first one on High Street, and by the time I’ d reached the Alcazar Theater, there were two more on my tail.

I glanced at the sparse crowd waiting outside the rundown theater, my heart sinking when I saw that Sticky Will wasn’t there yet. Not knowing what else to do, I got in line for the ticket window, then checked to see if the men would follow. One leaned against the building across the street, and another one lounged against a lamppost, pretending to read the paper.

“If you aren’t going to purchase a ticket, get out of the way,” a coarse voice said.

I pulled my gaze away from my pursuers to find the woman in the ticket booth glaring at me. While my attention had been focused elsewhere, the line had moved forward, and it was now my turn. “Sorry,” I muttered, setting my coin on the counter.

She snatched it up and shoved a green paper ticket at me. “Next?” she called out.

As I left the ticket booth, Will was still nowhere in sight. Keeping a close eye on the Black Sunners for any sudden moves, I ventured over to the playbill pasted to the crumbling brick wall.

INTRODUCING
THE GREAT AWI BUBU!
PERFORMING
REAL EGYPTIAN MAGIC!

The lurid picture showed a man in traditional Egyptian garb raising a mummy.

I was relatively sure that whatever the Great Awi Bubu did, it was n o t Egyptian magic. He was most likely some charlatan taking advantage of London’s heightened interest in all things Egyptian.

Not that I’d had anything to do with that —well, not intentionally anyway. All those mummies running loose in London hadn’t really been my fault. How was I to know that there was such a thing as a staff that could raise the dead? Or that it would be lurking in the Museum of Legends and Antiquities’ basement? It could have happened to anyone.

Sticky Will had been instrumental in fixing the situation, and in the process he’ d learned a little more about my unique relationship with the artifacts in my father’s museum. Rather too much, if you asked me. But it couldn’t be helped.

Oh, he didn’t know I was the only one who could sense the vile curses and black magic still clinging to the artifacts. Or the true extent of my knowledge of the ancient Egyptian rituals and practices that I’d used to remove the curses. But he had seen some of the magic in action. And he’d seen what unscrupulous people were willing to do to get their hands on it. Consequently, Will now spent a large portion of his time scouring London in search of even more Egyptian magic, determined to prove that he was ready, willing, and able to take on the dark forces that surrounded us.

Which was why I now stood in front of the Alcazar Theater, ticket clutched in my hand, after everyone else had gone inside. The Black Sunners across the street —they called themselves scorpions, in honor of an old Egyptian myth —also seemed to realize that the crowd had thinned. With no one else about, one of the scorpions —Gerton, I believe —decided to make his move. Stepping away from the building, he headed across the street.

Will or no Will, I had to get inside. As I turned for the door, I heard a loud, wet, snuffling sound from behind the ticket booth. I perked up. There was only one person I knew who could turn a runny nose into a calling card: Snuffles.

I hurried around the corner, nearly bumping into one of Will’s younger brothers. He wore a loud, plaid morning coat that was so large it nearly dragged on the ground. His sleeves had been rolled up several times, and he peered up at me from under an enormous bowler hat that was held in place by his rather remarkable ears. “Yer late,” he said.

“No, I’ m not. I’ve been waiting here for ages. Where’s Will?”

“’E’s inside already. Sixth row from the stage, center section, aisle seat. And ’e says to ‘urry. The show’s about to start.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I’ll meet you inside,” he said, then disappeared back down the street.

With one final glance in Gerton’s direction, I proceeded to the theater entrance, gave my ticket to the porter, and went inside.

The lobby was empty and I could hear the feeble music of an out-of-tune piano. I opened the door that led to the auditorium and found that the lights had already been turned down. I let my eyes adjust to the dark, relieved when I finally recognized Will in the sixth row. He was easy to spot, actually, as he kept turning in his seat and looking around.

For me, no doubt.

He spotted me, then waved. I hurried to the empty seat next to him.

“Wot took you so long?” he asked.

“I’ve been waiting out front for ages,” I said. “Where were you?”

Before I could answer, Snuffles and another boy appeared in the aisle. “Let us in,” Snuffles said, a bit urgently. I turned my knees to the side so he could work past me. The second boy removed his tweed cap as he scooted by and I recognized the thin, pinched features of another one of Will’s brothers —Ratsy. We had met briefly aboard the Dreadnought during a rather distracting set of circumstances. Nevertheless, he gave me a nod of greeting.

“How did you get in here?” I whispered to Snuffles.

He looked at Will, who pointedly wouldn’t meet my gaze. “We used a side entrance, miss. Now ’ush. It’s about to start.”

Just then, the piano music became louder, more jangling.

The curtain opened. I settled back in the lumpy, threadbare seat, and resolved to enjoy myself.

The stage held two fake palm trees, a pyramid that looked as if it was made of papier-mâché, and half a dozen burning torches. A sarcophagus sat in the middle of the stage. The music stopped, and the theater was so quiet you could hear the hiss of the gas lamps. Slowly, the lid to the sarcophagus began to open. It fell against the side with a thud, then a figure rose up from its depths.

“The Great Awi Bubu,” a loud voice intoned from somewhere offstage, “will now perform amazing feats of Egyptian magic. This magic is old and dangerous, and the audience is advised to do exactly as the magician says in order to avoid any misfortune.”

The magician was a skinny, wizened man who did indeed look to be of Egyptian descent. His head was bald and rather large. He wore a pair of wire spectacles perched on his beakish nose; it gave him the air of a very old baby bird. He wore a tunic of white linen with a colorful collar that looked vaguely like ancient Egyptian dress.

He stepped toward a basket near the front of the stage. Will elbowed me in the ribs. “Watch this now,” he whispered.

“I am watching,” I whispered back. What did he think, that I was sitting here with my eyes closed?

Awi Bubu pulled a flutelike instrument from the folds of his robe, and began to play a strange, haunting melody. Slowly, he sat down in front of the basket and crossed his legs. After another moment of music playing, the lid of the basket began to rise. It swayed gently, then fell to the side.

“You must all be very quiet,” the announcer told us in a hushed voice. “Any sudden noise could be disastrous.”

A moment later a small, dark form appeared at the lip of the basket. It hesitated for a moment, then darted free and scurried over to the magician. Several more forms followed. Scorpions —scores of them. I shivered as they scuttled their way up Awi Bubu’s legs, onto his chest, and across his arms. One even climbed up his neck to rest on his bald head, like a macabre hat. Throughout it all, other than playing his flute, the magician did not so much as twitch a muscle.

As the audience held its breath, there was a disturbance at the back of the theater. “Hey! You can’t go in there without a ticket!”

I craned my neck around to see two heavily cloaked men walking down the aisles, searching the faces in the theater. More scorpions! Only this time, of the human variety.

I scrunched down low in my seat, grabbed Snuffles’s hat, and plopped it down on my own head, trying not to think of lice. I held my breath, hoping Gerton and Fell wouldn’t spot me.

The strange music chose that moment to clatter to a stop. The two human scorpions came to a halt in the aisle, giving the porters a chance to catch up with them. As they were escorted out of the theater, Awi Bubu opened his eyes and, with surprising grace, rose to his feet, the scorpions still clinging to him. The audience gasped.

Next to me, Will shuddered violently. “That’s disgusting, that is.”

“There must be a trick to it,” I whispered back to him.

“Scorpions are deadly poisonous. Perhaps he’s had all their stingers removed.”

Will cut a glance my way. “Do you always try to ruin the suspense, miss?”

Before I could reply, there was a nudge in my ribs. “Can I ’ave me ’at back, miss?”

“Sorry,” I said, handing it to Snuffles.

“Shh!” someone behind us hissed.

I scowled, but was saved from answering when the music began again, coming in short staccato bursts. The scorpions changed their direction and began to crawl off the magician. However, instead of heading back to the basket, they scuttled to the edge of the stage. A woman screamed, and the audience reared back in their seats.

“Quiet now,” the announcer reminded us. “You don’t want to provoke the magician’s beasties.”

The entire audience (myself included) held its breath as the scorpions hovered at the edge of the stage. Finally, they gave one last wave of their claws and swarmed back into the basket.

The audience relaxed a bit as the magician went over to secure the scorpions in the basket. Before he had finished, there was a loud thumping from within the pyramid. After two more thumps, something crashed right through and onto the stage. We all gasped in surprise as a mummy lumbered out. I glanced at Will, whose eyes were as big and round as guineas. Honestly. It was clearly a man wrapped up in linen; how could anyone be fooled by this? They wouldn’t be if they had ever seen a real mummy. Especially if they’d been unfortunate enough to see a real mummy on the move, as I had. I stifled a shudder.

“It’s right creepy, ain’t it, miss?” Will whispered, mistaking my shudder as having to do with the mummy onstage. Not wanting to ruin his enjoyment, I simply said, “Fascinating.” (Fascinating is such a lovely word—it covers so many possibilities.)

The mummy shuffled around onstage a bit while the audience oohed and aahed. Then the mummy paused, as if noticing the audience for the first time. Slowly and with great theatrics, he began to lurch toward the audience as if he planned to come right off the stage and into our midst.

“Awi Bubu seems to have lost control of the mummy,” the announcer said in a breathless voice. “Quick now, before it’s too late, toss coins at him. Coins are the only thing that will
stop him.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. What kind of operation was this anyway? There was a halfhearted smattering of coins onto the stage. From the corner of my eye, I saw Will, Ratsy, and Snuffles all toss something toward the mummy. That’s when I began to get angry. Will and his brothers had so little, as did most of the other people in this rundown joke of a theater. How dare the management try to milk even more of their hard-earned money from them?

Finally, as if beaten back by the coins, the mummy retreated into the pyramid. The audience settled down, and I shifted in my seat.

The torches dimmed and two stagehands dressed as Egyptian slaves hurried out onto the stage. While they laid bricks down on the floor, Awi Bubu went to one of the fake palm trees and lifted a bronze dish from behind it.

“For Awi Bubu’s next amazing feat of magic, we need a volunteer from the audience. Who will volunteer?”

Like deranged jack-in-the-boxes, Will, Snuffles, and Ratsy leaped to their feet, their hands thrust high into the air. Awi Bubu studied the audience carefully before raising a long skinny arm and pointing at Ratsy.

He gave a hoot of glee, and Will and Snuffles groaned in disappointment. An usher arrived at the end of the row to escort Ratsy up onto the stage. Once Ratsy was there, Awi Bubu positioned him on the bricks, face-down, then set the vessel on the floor by his head. One of the stagehands lit some incense, and Awi Bubu poured a few drops from a
flask into the bronze dish.

A jolt of recognition shot through me. The Great Awi Bubu was reenacting an ancient Egyptian oracular ceremony, the very same one Aloysius Trawley had forced me to
perform a few short weeks ago! Whoever this magician was, he clearly knew something about real ancient Egyptian practices. Which made him very interesting indeed.

“Remove all thoughts from your mind,” the magician instructed Ratsy in a low, sing-songy voice. “Let it become a blank slate by which the gods can communicate.” Then he
began to chant. “Horus, we call upon your power and strength. Open this child’s eyes to your wisdom.”

I sat bolt upright in my seat. Those were the exact words that Trawley had used. Did this Awi Bubu belong to Trawley’s Arcane Order of the Black Sun—a secret society dedicated to matters of the occult? Is that why Trawley’s men had been so comfortable barging into the theater?

As the smell of incense in the theater began to overpower the smell of gin, Awi Bubu asked Ratsy a question. “What is your name?”

“Ratsy.”

“What is your occupation?”

“A rat catcher.” I was suddenly very glad Will hadn’t been picked; he’ d have been forced to confess he was a pick-pocket in front of this rough crowd.

“Where do you live?”

“Nottingham Court, off Drury Lane.”

The magician turned to the audience. “Who has a question they’d like to ask the oracle?”

Hands shot into the air. How could people be so gullible? How could they not tell this was all a hoax? But no one seemed to suspect a thing. They were all waving their arms in the air, hoping Awi Bubu would pick them.

“Will me old man’s ship come in soon?” a young clerk clutching his hat in his hand called out.

“No. He will be in debtors’ prison by the end of the year,” Ratsy intoned in a hollow voice.

A woman sprang to her feet. “Will my son get better?”

“’E’ll be right as rain come next Tuesday.”

She closed her eyes in relief.

“What ’ orse should I bet on this Saturday?” a man shouted.

“Pride o’ the Morning,” Ratsy said. The man—along with half the occupants of the theater —hastily scribbled the name down on a scrap of paper.

“Will there be any more funny business like them mummies?” an old man asked, his question causing the others to quiet down.

There was a pause, then: “The Black Sun shall rise up in a red sky before falling to earth, where a great serpent will swallow it.”

I gasped. Those were the very words I had uttered to Trawley! How did Ratsy know? Had Awi Bubu slipped him a note? Whispered in his ear? Surely this proved the magician was one of Trawley’s men.

“It is time to come back to earth, my child,” Awi Bubu said gently.

Ratsy blinked, then scrambled to his feet and looked sheepish. “Will I ’ave a chance to do magic?” he asked.

“You have done magic,” Awi Bubu informed him kindly. Then he bowed. The audience applauded, and Ratsy flushed bright red all the way to his ears. Awi Bubu motioned to
Ratsy, and the audience applauded even louder. As Ratsy made his way back to his seat, the magician bowed one last time, and then the curtains closed.

People began leaving their seats and heading up to the exits, but there was one determined man coming down the aisle. Gerton had got past the porter somehow.

I quickly turned to Will. “Do you think you could get us backstage? I’d like to meet this magician of yours.”

Will’s face brightened. “’E’s something, ain’t ’e, miss! I told you I could be more than just an errand boy. I’ve got a nose for this stuff, I ’ave.”

“Er, yes, you do,” I agreed. “Can we hurry?” I asked, glancing once more at the approaching Gerton.

“I’m sure Ratsy can get ye back there. Let’s ask ’im.”

We went toward the stage and caught up with Ratsy just as he was coming down the steps. He still looked a bit dazed and sheepish. “Did I really do magic?” he asked.

“Sure did, bucko! Spouted out all sorts of stuff. Ratsy’s small pinched face glowed with pleasure. “D’ you fink you could get us backstage? You knows the way, don’ t you, Rats?”

Ratsy nodded. “Sure.”

Will turned to Snuffles. “You guard the exit so it don’t get locked before we’re done ’ere.”

With a quick look around, Ratsy led me and Will toward a small door to the left of the main stage. I glanced over my shoulder. Gerton was still searching through the seats, trying to find me.

Almost as if he’d felt my gaze on him, he lifted his head and looked my way.

I quickly darted through the door, hoping he hadn’t seen me.

Chapter Two will be posted on November 6. Check back then!

If any of you are in the area, I’d LOVE a chance to meet you!