R. LaFevers - Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos

“At the moment she seems to,” I muttered. “Now, what did you find out?”

“The bloke made ’is way to some digs on Carleton Terrace Gardens.”

“Carleton Terrace! Isn’t that right next to the German Embassy?” Did that mean this skulky fellow was a German? And why would a German be following Mum? Or care so much about her trunks?

The urchin shrugged. “I just follows ’em, miss. I don’t tell ’em where to go.” His eyes darted over my shoulder, then back at me. “We’re even now, right miss?”

“Yes, I suppose—”

“Got to go,” he said, turning to dart back into the crowd.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “How can I find you?”

The urchin grinned, revealing a missing tooth. “I’m usually here most days.” He glanced over my shoulder one more time, then was gone, disappearing into the crowd. I was surprised at how alone I felt all of a sudden. A person could get used to having an ally.

Just then I heard an all too familiar voice behind me. “Does Father know about this?”

Slowly, I turned around. “Henry. You’re home.” I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice. Well, I tried a little. Why couldn’t he be helpful like Sticky Will?

“Are you so desperate for friends that you’re picking up strays?”

My face grew hot and I clenched my fists to keep from socking him. “I have plenty of friends,” I spluttered.

“Really? Who? A scrawny cat? Flimp? A boring curator you make cow eyes at?”

“I do not make cow eyes at him!”

“Street urchins?”

“Oh, shut up. I do too have friends.” I did. Really. Sticky Will was my ally, wasn’t he? Or was he just a pickpocket hoping for another pasty? Oh, who needs friends anyway? “Where are Mother and Father?”

“Getting my luggage. They told me to run on ahead and see if I could find you.”

Behind him, I saw my parents making their way through the crowd, along with a porter juggling Henry’s luggage. “How many days’ break do you get this winter?” I asked.

“Three weeks,” Henry said. “And if you’re snotty to me, I’ll make sure they put you on a train to school when they send me back.”

The cad.

After we picked Henry up from the train station we went directly home to our house on Chesterfield Street. It was wonderful to be home! Thick curtains and even thicker carpets kept all the drafts away and there was a fire burning in every room in the house. Cook, relieved to have something to do, made a fabulous dinner of steak and kidney pie, and even Henry wasn’t too much of a bore.

Then, after dinner who should show up but Uncle Andrew, Mum’s brother and my favorite uncle in all the world. Of course, the townhouse was much too cramped for all of us so Mum and Dad made a last-minute decision to go to the country. We all packed like madmen, bundled up, and piled into a carriage that carried us off to our home in Surrey. I have to say, I think it was the best Christmas ever! Except for the rain.

The only awkward bit was when Mother and Father opened their presents from me. They tried to be polite, but I saw the puzzled looks they exchanged when they thought I wasn’t looking. I’d made them each an amulet. Of protection. To be worn when we’re at the museum. Honestly. You’d think they’d have sorted this stuff out by now.

Uncle Andrew showed me how to throw knives that afternoon. We didn’t tell Mum. She got angry enough last year when he showed me how to shoot clay pigeons with a shotgun. I landed flat on my backside in the muddy slush with a bruise the size of a pudding on my right shoulder. But I blew that clay pigeon to smithereens. I don’t know why Mum got so upset. According to Uncle Andrew she’s a crack shot herself. But she says I’m too young. What I’d like to know is how old does a person have to be before they get to do all the fun stuff?

USUALLY WHEN I RETURN TO THE MUSEUM after a long absence, it feels like I’m being welcomed by an old friend. All the creaks and groans seem cheerful. As if the wraiths and spirits are relieved to have me back, as if they liked having someone around who was aware of their existence.

But not today.

Today, the minute I stepped foot into the building, it felt different. Colder. More still. As if everything were holding its breath. I gazed around the vast main hall, peering up into the small balconies and archways that lined the stone walls, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

It was unsettling, to say the least.

When I set my valise down on the tiled floor, the soft click echoed down the chamber and disappeared into utter silence. Father started to walk around me, but I put out my hand to stop him. “Do you notice anything?”

He scowled at me, then concentrated a moment. “No,” he said, rather crisply. “Nothing. The only thing I notice is that you’re about to go off on one of your tangents. I’m warning you, Theodosia.”

Father turned toward the stairs and tripped over my valise. “What in heaven’s name is that?”

“Just a few things I brought with me. Supplies, that sort of thing.” Clean clothes, to be exact. Just in case we got stuck at the museum for days on end again.

“Hmph,” he growled, then strode out of the foyer toward the stairs that led up to his workroom.

I heaved a sigh, then looked away from Father to find Henry grinning at me. “You made a good impression on him, there, Theo.”

I glared at him. “Yes, almost as good an impression as you made when you tried to light the gaslight at home with your finger and nearly burned your hand off.”

Henry kicked halfheartedly at my bag. “It was supposed to be an experiment. On static electricity.”

Henry looked so dejected I was almost sorry I’d brought it up. But really, I didn’t need Henry to remind me how iffy my position was. It wouldn’t take much for Father to decide I was suffering from nerves or some equal nonsense and pack me off to some cold gray school to cure me of them.

I left Henry in the foyer studying his bandaged finger and went up to the second floor to stash my case in my closet. Then I went up to the third floor and the Ancient Egypt Exhibit, curious to see if I could work out what was making the museum feel so wrong. Besides, if I pretended I wasn’t really looking for Isis, maybe I’d have a chance of finding her.

When I was halfway up the stairs, a voice behind me made me jump.

“So what is wrong?” It was Henry.

“As if I’d tell you, you little beast. You’d be off to Father in a minute flat, tattling and trying to get me locked up in another of those hideously boring schools.”

“They’re not so hideous. They’ve got sports, you know. Besides, maybe I won’t tattle. Not if you make it worth my while,” he said.

I stopped and whirled around to face him. “And why would I want to do that?”

“If you tell me what’s wrong, I’ll even try to help you work out what’s going on.”

“I don’t need your help to work out anything.”

Henry’s face fell and I immediately felt awful. Then I had a brilliant idea. What if the reason Henry hated the museum was because he could sense all the black magic? He was my brother, after all. Shouldn’t we share the same traits, just like we share the same eye color (hazel, if you’re wondering)? “Actually, there is something you can help me with,” I told him. “But keep your voice down and your hands in your pockets.”

He muttered something about bossing not being part of the deal and shuffled along after me.