Rick Riordan - The Throne of Fire

I looked across the river to Manhattan. It was a great view. When Sadie and I had first arrived at Brooklyn House, Amos had told us that magicians tried to stay out of Manhattan. He said Manhattan had other problems—whatever that meant. And sometimes when I looked across the water, I could swear I was seeing things. Sadie laughed about it, but once I thought I saw a flying horse. Probably just the mansion’s magic barriers causing optical illusions, but still, it was weird.

I turned to the only piece of furniture on the balcony: my scrying bowl. It looked like a birdbath—just a bronze saucer on a stone pedestal—but it was my favorite magic item. Walt had made it for me right after he had arrived.

One day, I’d mentioned how nice it would be to know what was going on in the other nomes, and he’d made me this bowl.

I’d seen initiates use them in the First Nome, but they’d always seemed pretty difficult to master. Fortunately, Walt was an expert with enchantments. If my scrying bowl had been a car, it would have been a Cadillac, with power steering, automatic transmission, and a butt warmer. All I had to do was fill it with clean olive oil and speak the command word. The bowl would show me anything, as long as I could visualize it and it wasn’t shielded by magic. Places I’d never been to were hard to see. People or places that I’d seen personally or that meant a lot to me— those were usually easy.

I’d searched for Zia a hundred times with no luck. All I knew was that her old mentor, Iskandar, had put her into a magical sleep and hidden her somewhere, replacing her with a shabti to keep her safe; but I had no idea where the real Zia was sleeping.

I tried something new. I passed my hand over the saucer and imagined the Place of Red Sands. Nothing happened. I’d never been there, had no idea what it looked like apart from possibly being red and sandy. The oil showed me only my own reflection.

Okay, so I couldn’t see Zia. I did the next best thing. I concentrated on her secret room in the First Nome. I’d been there only once, but I remembered every detail. It was the first place where I’d felt close to Zia. The surface of the oil rippled and became a magical video feed.

Nothing had changed in the room. Magic candles still burned on the little table. The walls were covered with Zia’s photographs—pictures of her family village on the Nile, her mother and father, Zia as a small child.

Zia had told me the story of how her father had unearthed an Egyptian relic and accidentally unleashed a monster on their village. Magicians came to defeat the monster, but not before the entire town was destroyed. Only Zia, hidden by her parents, had survived. Iskandar, the old Chief Lector, had taken her to the First Nome and trained her. He’d been like a father to her.

Then, last Christmas, the gods had been unleashed at the British Museum. One of them—Nephthys—had chosen Zia as a host. Being a “godling” was punishable by death in the First Nome, whether you meant to host the god’s spirit or not, so Iskandar had hidden Zia away. He’d probably meant to bring her back after he sorted things out, but he had died before that could happen.

So the Zia I’d known was a replica, but I had to believe the shabti and the real Zia had shared thoughts. Wherever the real Zia was, she would remember me when she woke up. She’d know that we shared a connection—maybe the start of a great relationship. I couldn’t accept that I’d fallen in love with nothing but a piece of pottery. And I definitely couldn’t accept that Zia was beyond my power to rescue.

I concentrated on the image in the oil. I zoomed in on a photograph of Zia riding on her father’s shoulders. She was young in the photo, but you could tell she was going to be beautiful when she grew up. Her glossy black hair was cut in a short wedge, as it had been when I knew her. Her eyes were brilliant amber. The photographer had caught her mid-laugh, trying to cover her dad’s eyes with her hands. Her smile radiated playful mischief.

I will destroy the girl you seek, the three-headed snake had said, just as I destroyed her village.

I was sure he meant Zia’s village. But what did that attack six years ago have to do with Apophis’s rising now? If it hadn’t been just a random accident—if Apophis had meant to destroy Zia’s home—then why?

I had to find Zia. It wasn’t just personal anymore. She was connected somehow to the coming battle with Apophis. And if the snake’s warning was true—if I had to choose between finding the Book of Ra and saving Zia? Well, I’d already lost my mom, my dad, and my old life for the sake of stopping Apophis. I wasn’t going to lose Zia too.

I was contemplating how hard Sadie would kick me if she heard me say that, when somebody knocked on the balcony’s glass door.

“Hey.” Walt stood in the doorway, holding Khufu’s hand. “Um, hope you don’t mind. Khufu let me in.”

“Agh!” Khufu confirmed. He led Walt outside, then jumped on the railing, disregarding the hundred-foot drop to the river below.

“No problem,” I said. Not like I had a choice. Khufu loved Walt, probably because he played basketball better than I did.

Walt nodded at the scrying bowl. “How’s that working for you?”

The image of Zia’s room still shimmered in the oil. I waved my hand over the bowl and changed it to something else. Since I’d been thinking about Sadie, I picked Gran and Gramps’s living room.

“Working fine.” I turned back to Walt. “How are you feeling?”

For some reason, his whole body tensed. He looked at me like I was trying to corner him. “What do you mean?”

“The training room incident. The three-headed snake. What did you think I meant?”

The tendons in his neck relaxed. “Right…sorry, just a weird morning. Did Amos have an explanation?”

I wondered what I’d said to upset him, but I decided to let it pass. I filled him in on my conversation with Amos. Walt was usually pretty calm about stuff. He was a good listener. But he still seemed guarded, on edge.

When I was done talking, he stepped over to the railing where Khufu was perched. “Apophis let that thing loose in the house? If we hadn’t stopped it—”

“Amos thinks the serpent didn’t have much power. It was just here to deliver a message and scare us.”

Walt shook his head in dismay. “Well…now it knows our abilities, I guess. It knows Felix throws a mean shoe.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah. Except that wasn’t the ability I was thinking of. That gray light you blasted the snake with…and the way you handled the shabti practice dummy, turning it to dust—”

“How did I do it?” Walt shrugged helplessly. “Honest, Carter, I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it ever since, and…it was just instinctive. At first I thought maybe the shabti had some kind of self-destruct spell built into it, and I accidentally triggered it. Sometimes I can do that with magic items—cause them to activate or shut down.”

“But that wouldn’t explain how you did it again with the serpent.”

“No,” he agreed. He seemed even more distracted by the incident than I was. Khufu started grooming Walt’s hair, looking for bugs, and Walt didn’t even try to stop him.

“Walt…” I hesitated, not wanting to push him. “This new ability, turning things to dust—it wouldn’t have anything to do with…you know, whatever you were telling Jaz?”

There it was again: that caged-animal look.

“I know,” I said quickly, “it’s none of my business. But you’ve been acting upset lately. If there’s anything I can do…”

He stared down at the river. He looked so depressed, Khufu grunted and patted him on the shoulder.