R. LaFevers - Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos

When he reached the door, he slammed it shut, certain his threat would be enough to force my cooperation. Fagenbush was revolting, but when he was in a rage he was positively terrifying. Quite frankly, this new side of him scared the stuffing out of me.

I went over to the door and locked it. “Idiot,” I whispered, mad at myself for letting him rattle me so. I had an overwhelming urge to snuggle with Isis just then, but there wasn’t time. I bent down to give her a quick rub under the chin and promised myself a long cuddle with her after I had dealt with the statue.

I hauled my carpetbag full of curse-removing supplies out from behind the desk and began to rummage around. For any who might be interested in such things, I’ve made a list of what my kit contains.

RECOMMENDED SUPPLIES AND EQUIPMENT FOR ANCIENT EGYPTIAN CURSE REMOVAL

Unbleached linen or muslin thread in the following colors: red, green, yellow, white, blue, and black

mortar and pestle

loads of wax, preferably white

sharp-edged stick for carving in wax

gold- and silver-colored wire

willow wood twigs

variety of herbs, such as catnip and rue

frankincense and myrrh

red wine

honey

milk

lettuce juice (extracted from lettuce leaves. They are often hard to find so 1 substitute cabbage, then water it down a bit. Seems to work fine.)

stones, pebbles, and shells in interesting sizes and shapes

small fish or chicken bones

odd bits of natural bric-a-brac, such as cat teeth, bits of lizard skin, a good collection of that sort of thing

small bits of rock and semiprecious stones, like quartz, sandstone, lapis lazuli, jasper, malachite, carnelian, turquoise, alabaster

Since I am mad about collecting wax bits, there was easily enough to make a small figurine. Once I had formed the replica (which didn’t look very much like a cat, but rather more like a slender tree trunk with ears — hopefully it wouldn’t matter), I carved the correct hieroglyphs in the bottom of it, then set it down.

I reached back into my bag and pulled out a glass vial, opened it, and sniffed. Claret. I’d had to snitch it from the decanter in Father’s library. If he ever noticed it was missing, I would blame it on Fagenbush. Smiling at the thought of this subtle revenge, I groped around until my hand closed around a small muslin pouch.

Since so many magical recipes call for the herb rue, I always try to have a supply of it on hand. (It’s good for warding off evil spirits and is useful against the hysterical spasms or afflictions that curses can cause.) It’s devilishly hard to find, and takes all my pocket money as well. Removing curses is not a task for the faint-hearted or financially strapped; unfortunately, I am both.

I mixed the two ingredients together in a mortar, grinding the rue down fine with the pestle. When it was ready, I took a deep breath and stripped off my gloves. With the stub of a pencil, I drew a wedjat eye on each of my palms and hoped it would be protection enough. I dipped a clean rag in the potion and began wiping it on the cursed statue. As I chanted the words from the book, I was careful to keep the rag between the statue and my fingertips at all times.

In Egyptian magic, in addition to using the right recipe, the words you use and how you use them are critically important for any curse or spell. You must get the words just so and have the proper tone of voice in order for it to work. Or at least, that’s what the books said. I knew I was doing that part right because the statue began to vibrate and the scent of sulfur grew stronger. The hieroglyphs that I had seen last night suddenly rose to the surface in a buzzing frenzy. The good news was, wherever I touched the statue with the potion, the symbols shrank back, as if afraid. Surely that was a good sign.

When I finally ran out of potion, all the symbols had shrunk to half their original size. I stopped dabbing and stepped back, still chanting. Slowly, the hieroglyphs seemed to try and pull away from the surface of the statue, as if the words I uttered were calling to them. With a series of dull pops, they broke free of the statue and rose up into the air above it, where they hovered like a swarm of angry bees. I held my warded hands out in front.

The stench of sulfur was overpowering, and I tried to utter the words of power without breathing in any of the ghastly fumes. Unfortunately, when I came to the phrase “Begone you putrid she-cat,” Isis protested by swiping at my ankle with her claws.

Startled, I looked down at her. “Not you,” I said. As I spoke, the buzzing symbols quit hovering and began streaming straight toward my cat. The moment they touched her, she snarled, and every hair on her body stood straight up on end as the hieroglyphs danced along her fur. Isis’s eyes grew wild and her ears flattened against her head. An unholy yowl erupted from her throat.

She was no longer my beloved pet, but Evil Incarnate. Was that what Nectanebus had meant when he said it was critically important to focus and avoid distractions? The curse was supposed to rise off the statue and flow into the wax figurine, which I was then to burn. At least, that’s what had happened in the past.

But now I had no idea what to do. And I didn’t dare take my eyes off Isis long enough to read the book for suggestions.

The bespelled cat reached out and swiped me again, this time with all the furies of hell behind her. Her claws sliced through my woolen stockings and bit painfully into my shin. She arched her back and hissed, then ran to hide under the bookshelf, where she continued to make low, demonic yowls.

I collapsed into a chair and stared at the bookshelf, then turned to look at the sleek statue of Bastet, which now sat as peaceful as you please.

What had I just done? Poor Isis!

Reverse it. That’s what I had to do. Reverse it.

But… it could be undone, couldn’t it? Oh, dear.

And what if that nasty curse had gone into me ? My stomach twitched uncomfortably. Best not to think about that.

When I was sure I could stand again, I hurried back over to the books spread out on my desk. Surely there must be a way to fix this. Just then, the clock began chiming the hour. Two o’clock! Where had the day gone? It was time to collect Mother.

My joy at Mother’s homecoming was somewhat dampened by poor Isis’s predicament. I would have to work out what to do about Isis later. I closed the book and snatched the neutralized statuette off the table and rolled it up in an old piece of parchment so I could return it to the shelf upstairs.

Halfway out of the room, I remembered that Father would probably be hungry. I hurried back to the table and tucked the last of the jam sandwiches into my pocket. After one last apologetic glance in Isis’s direction, I headed out the door.

I stayed on the lookout for any signs of Fagenbush as I went. Who knows what he would do if he found me with the statue? Probably bash me over the head with it.

I finally reached Father’s workroom and made my way through upended dinosaur bones, half-opened crates, cracked urns, and a headless marble sculpture. After I returned the statuette to its shelf, I went in search of Father. I found him at one of his worktables, trying to reconstruct a piece of clay tablet from Mum’s dig that had been in the crate with the Bastet statue. The stele was in seven different pieces, and it looked like he was having some difficulty.

I waited patiently for him to notice me. When that didn’t happen, I cleared my throat. “Father? It’s time to pick Mother up from the station.”