R. LaFevers - Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos

I removed some of the wax bits from the jar and carefully set them in a circle around the base of the statue.

By dinnertime, the entire circle of wax bits was a foul greeny-black color. Drat! I don’t think the wax has ever turned dark that quickly before. Now I had to come back and conduct a Third Level Test. Unfortunately, in order to do that, I needed moonlight. Moonlight is the only way to make the inscribed curses visible to the human eye.

Of course, the only way to view something in moonlight is at night.

And I loathe the museum at night.

AS ALUCK WOULD HAVE IT, it turned out to be another one of those nights when Father became so absorbed in his research that he forgot all about going home. It was the fourth night in a row, and for a change, it worked well with my own plans.

Just before midnight, I ventured out of the staff room into the museum. The gaslights had been turned low so that just a tiny blue bead glowed along the dark hallway at regular intervals. The feeble light from my oil lamp barely made a dent in the cavernous darkness, but I didn’t let that deter me. I reached up and clutched the three protective amulets that hung around my neck. Father says I let my imagination run away with me, but the truth is, in the darkest hours of the night, if you look very closely (which I try not to) you can see the dangerous dead — the akhu and mut —rise up out of their urns and sarcophagi like a thick, choking mist. The ancient magic and words of terrible power ooze out of the arcane texts and inscribed objects. They hover in the corners and lurk in the shadows. How could I possibly venture out into that without some protection, I’d like to know?

Not wanting to make any noise that might draw the spirits’ attention, I padded along in my stockinged feet, which were soon numb with cold.

Of course, Father had moved the wretched statue from the receiving area up to his workroom on the third floor. I hugged the wall as I crept up the polished wooden stairs, careful to avoid the ones that creaked.

No matter how quiet I was, the deep, gaping shadows around me seemed to grow larger and more forbidding. I was painfully aware of the last earthly remains, bones, coffins, and sacred relics of old, long-forgotten religions surrounding me. In the light of my oil lamp, the shadows bobbed and weaved like leering demons.

At last I reached the third floor and entered Statuary Hall. Enormous Egyptian sculptures lined the walls like ever-watchful guardians. The majestic faces of pharaohs stood side by side with mysterious sphinx heads, the smallest of which towered twenty feet high and cast harsh puddles of blackness on the floor.

I hurried past the looming statues until I reached the doorway that led into the Ancient Egypt Exhibit. I paused, bracing myself. Even though I patrolled this exhibit as often as possible, I could never be too sure what might be waiting for me in there. Magic is a tricky business, and the Egyptians were masters of it. Some spells seemed to regenerate themselves after a full moon or on specific unholy days. Others were only visible during certain seasons or when the stars and planets were aligned just so. All in all, ancient Egyptian magic is a horrid jumble of sinister possibilities, and I never take anything for granted when dealing with it.

With one fortifying breath, I made a mad dash through the room, scurrying past the exhibit cases, looking neither to the right nor the left. With one last shiver, I reached the workroom door, yanked it open, and slipped inside.

This room was dark, too, but pale, silvery moonlight shone in through the windows. And in that pale moonlight sat the statue of Bastet, an intricate, malevolent pattern of sacred words and symbols writhing across its surface like a nest of restless vipers.

Sometimes I really hate being right.

As I drew near the statue, I caught the symbol of Anubis, god of the underworld, as well as one for Seth, the god of chaos. There! Another symbol floated by, one I hadn’t seen much but I think represented the demonic spirits of the restless dead. Any hopes I’d had of a rather small curse disappeared. I was dealing with an artifact positively steeped in vile, Egyptian black magic.

I needed a closer look, which meant I would have to pick the horrid thing up.

I glanced around the workroom. Wearing gloves wasn’t protection enough when the hieroglyphs were swarming like this. The symbols had a way of trying to poke their way through the gloves and into my hands. I wasn’t very keen on those words and symbols of evil power running along my skin, if you please.

I found an old rag on Father’s worktable and wrapped it around my hand like an extra glove. Then I picked up the statue and carried it over to the window to have a better look.

The symbols slowed a bit once the statue was in my hand. I felt them probing at the rag, trying to get past the cloth barrier and worm their way into my flesh. I had to hurry.

The symbol of Apep, the serpent of chaos, floated by, followed by Mantu, the god of war. How odd. I’d never seen him on a cursed object before. There were more symbols: symbols for armies and destruction and—

There was a creak on the floorboards just outside the workroom door. Jolted into action, I scurried across the room, thrust the statue back on its shelf, and frantically searched for a hiding place. There were lots of shadowy corners, but I wanted something more substantial than that.

Spying an old packing crate in the corner, I hopped inside and covered myself as best I could with bits of packing material. I hunkered down, averted my eyes from the door, and waited.

You may wonder why I didn’t look up to see the intruder. I can assure you, I wanted to. But I’ve lived alongside the restless, ancient spirits long enough to know that when you look at things, you focus your whole ka, or life force, on them, which causes their power to grow even stronger. If this nighttime visitor was of the supernatural variety, focusing my life force on it was as good as shining an oil lamp in its face.

My oil lamp! I peered through a crack in the side of the crate and saw my discarded lantern off to the side of the shelves. Luckily, the flame had gone out.

The door swung open, creaking slightly on its hinges. The footsteps paused in the doorway, as if the person or thing were surveying the room. Then the floorboards creaked again as someone — or something — stepped inside. I risked a glance through the crack again, just long enough to see a black hooded shape moving across the floor.

I wrenched my gaze away and tried to still the beating of my heart. It sounded like thunder to my ears — surely the intruder would hear it!

The footsteps came to a stop in front of the shelves, mere inches from where I was hiding. Risking another peek, I saw the large black shape studying the middle shelf, where I’d put the statue of Bastet back in its place. As my eyes swept downward again, I noticed two black shoes poking out from under the figure’s long cape.

My heart calmed a bit. Supernatural beings don’t wear shoes. Whatever it was — whoever it was — it must be human. Which I greatly preferred to the alternative.

Although, anyone skulking around a museum in the dead of night was probably up to no good. Except for me, of course — I had only the noblest of motives.

Slightly more confident now, I risked another glance and saw a long, black arm snake out from underneath the cloak. The movement sent a slight current of air toward me and I caught a whiff of boiled cabbage and pickled onions.