"It belonged to our parents," Carter said.

He and I shared a look, silently agreeing that was enough said. Our mum and dad had sailed this riverboat up the Thames to Cleopatra's Needle the night Mum had died releasing Bast from the abyss. Afterward, Dad had sat in this very room, grieving, with only the cat G.o.ddess and the demon captain for company.

Bloodstained Blade had accepted us as his new masters. He'd followed our orders before, but that was little comfort. I didn't trust him. I didn't like being on this ship.

On the other hand, we needed to get to the Hall of Judgment. I was hungry and thirsty, and I supposed I could endure a twenty-minute voyage if it meant enjoying a chilled Ribena and a plate of tandoori chicken with naan.

The four of us sat around the table. We ate while we compared stories. All in all, it was quite possibly the most awkward double date in history. We had no shortage of dire emergencies to talk about, but the tension in the room was as thick as Cairo smog.

Carter hadn't seen Zia in person for months. I could tell he was trying not to stare. Zia was clearly uncomfortable sitting so close to him. She kept leaning away, which no doubt hurt his feelings. Perhaps she was just worried about having another fireball-throwing episode. As for me, I was elated to be next to Walt, but at the same time, I was desperately worried about him. I couldn't forget how he'd looked wrapped in glowing mummy linen, and I wondered what Anubis had wanted to tell me about Walt's situation. Walt tried to hide it, but he was obviously in great pain. His hands trembled as he picked up his peanut b.u.t.ter sandwich.

Carter told me about the pending evacuation of Brooklyn House, which Bast was overseeing. My heart nearly broke when I thought of little Shelby, wonderful silly Felix, shy Cleo, and all the rest going off to defend the First Nome against an impossible attack, but I knew Carter was right. There was no other choice.

Carter kept hesitating, as if waiting for Walt to contribute information. Walt stayed silent. Clearly he was holding something back. Somehow or other, I'd have to get Walt alone and grill him for details.

In return, I told Carter about our visit to the House of Rest. I shared my suspicions that Amos might be calling on Set for extra power. Zia didn't contradict me, and the news didn't sit well with my brother. After several minutes of swearing and pacing the room, he finally calmed down enough to say, "We can't let that happen. He'll be destroyed."

"I know," I said. "But we can best help him by moving forward."

I didn't mention Zia's blackout in the nursing home. In Carter's present state of mind, I thought that might be too much for him. But I did tell him what Tawaret had said about the possible location of Bes's shadow.

"The ruins of Sais..." He frowned. "I think Dad mentioned that place. He said there wasn't much left. But even if we could find the shadow, we don't have time. We've got to stop Apophis."

"I made a promise," I insisted. "Besides, we need Bes. Think of it as a trial run. Saving his shadow will give us a chance to practice this sort of magic before we try it on Apophis-um, in reverse, of course. It might even give us a way to revive Ra."

"But-"

"She's got a point," Walt interrupted.

I'm not sure who was more surprised-Carter, or me.

"Even if we get Setne's help," Walt said, "trapping a shadow in a statue is going to be difficult. I'd feel better if we could try it on a friendly target first. I could show you how it's done while-while I still have time."

"Walt," I said, "please, don't talk like that."

"When you face Apophis," he continued, "you'll have only one chance to get the spell right. It would be better to have some practice."

When you face Apophis. He said it so calmly, but his meaning was clear: he wouldn't be around when that happened.

Carter nudged his half-eaten pizza. "I just...I don't see how we can do it all in time. I know this is a personal mission for you, Sadie, but-"

"She has to," Zia said gently. "Carter, you once went off on a personal mission in the middle of a crisis, didn't you? That worked out." She put her hand on Carter's. "Sometimes you have to follow your heart."

Carter looked like he was trying to swallow a golf ball. Before he could say anything, the ship's bell sounded.

In the corner of the dining room, a loudspeaker crackled with Bloodstained Blade's voice: "My lords and ladies, we have reached the Hall of Judgment."

The black temple looked just as I remembered. We made our way up the steps from the dock and pa.s.sed between rows of obsidian columns that marched into the gloom. Sinister-looking scenes of Underworld life glittered on the floor and in friezes circling the pillars-black designs on black stone. Despite the reed torches that burned every few meters, the air was so hazy with volcanic ash, I couldn't see far in front of us.

As we moved deeper into the temple, voices whispered around us. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw groups of spirits drifting across the pavilion-ghostly shapes camouflaged in the smoky air. Some moved aimlessly-crying softly or tearing at their clothes in despair. Others carried armfuls of papyrus scrolls. These ghosts looked more solid and purposeful, as if they were waiting for something.

"Pet.i.tioners," Walt said. "They've brought their case files, hoping for an audience with Osiris. He was gone so long...there must be a real backlog of cases."

Walt's step seemed lighter. His eyes looked more alert, his body less weighed down by pain. He was so close to death, I'd feared this trip to the Underworld might be hard for him, but if anything he seemed more at ease than the rest of us.

"How do you know?" I asked.

Walt hesitated. "I'm not sure. It just seems...correct."

"And the ghosts without scrolls?"

"Refugees," he said. "They're hoping this place will protect them."

I didn't ask what from. I remembered the ghost at the Brooklyn Academy dance who'd been engulfed in black tendrils and dragged underground. I thought about the vision Carter had described-our mother huddled beneath a cliff somewhere in the Duat, resisting the pull of a dark force in the distance.

"We need to hurry." I started to forge ahead, but Zia grabbed my arm.

"There," she said. "Look."

The smoke parted. Twenty meters ahead stood a ma.s.sive set of obsidian doors. In front of them, an animal the size of a greyhound sat on its haunches-an oversized jackal with thick black fur, fluffy pointed ears, and a face somewhere between a fox and a wolf. Its moon-colored eyes glittered in the darkness.

It snarled at us, but I wasn't put off. I may be biased, but I think jackals are cute and cuddly, even if they were known for digging up graves in Ancient Egypt.

"It's just Anubis," I said hopefully. "This is where we met him last time."

"That's not Anubis," Walt warned.

"Of course it is," I told him. "Watch."

"Sadie, don't," Carter said, but I walked toward the guardian.

"Hullo, Anubis," I called. "It's just me, Sadie."

The cute fuzzy jackal bared his fangs. His mouth began to froth. His adorable yellow eyes sent an unmistakable message: One more step, and I'll chew your head off.

I froze. "Right...that's not Anubis, unless he's having a really bad day."

"This is where we met him before," Carter said. "Why isn't he here?"

"It's one of his minions," Walt ventured. "Anubis must be...elsewhere."

Again, he sounded awfully sure, and I felt a strange pang of jealousy. Walt and Anubis seemed to have spent more time talking with each other than with me. Walt was suddenly an expert on all things deathly. Meanwhile, I couldn't even be near Anubis without invoking the wrath of his chaperone-Shu, the G.o.d of hot air. It wasn't b.l.o.o.d.y fair!

Zia moved next to me, gripping her staff. "So, what now? Do we have to defeat it to pa.s.s?"

I imagined her lobbing some of her daisy-destroying fireb.a.l.l.s. That's all we needed-a yelping, flaming jackal running through my father's courtyard.

"No," Walt said, stepping forward. "It's just a gatekeeper. It needs to know our business."

"Walt," Carter said, "if you're wrong..."

Walt raised his hands and slowly approached the jackal. "I am Walt Stone," he said. "This is Carter and Sadie Kane. And this is Zia..."

"Rashid," Zia supplied.

"We have business at the Hall of Judgment," Walt said.

The jackal snarled, but it sounded more inquisitive, not so chew-your-head-off hostile.

"We have testimony to offer," Walt continued. "Information relevant to the trial of Setne."

"Walt," Carter whispered, "when did you become a junior lawyer?"

I shushed him. Walt's plan seemed to be working. The jackal tilted its head as if listening, then rose and padded away into the darkness. The obsidian double doors swung open silently.

"Well done, Walt," I said. "How did you...?"

He faced me, and my heart did a somersault. Just for a moment I thought he looked like...No. Obviously my mixed-up emotions were playing with my mind. "Um, how did you know what to say?"

Walt shrugged. "I took a guess."

Just as quickly as they'd opened, the doors began to close.

"Hurry!" Carter warned. We sprinted into the courtroom of the dead.

At the start of the autumn semester-my first experience in an American school-our teacher had asked us to write down our parents' contact information and what they did for a living, in case they could help with career day. I had never heard of career day. Once I understood what it was, I couldn't stop giggling.

Could your dad come talk about his work? I imagined the headmistress asking.

Possibly, Mrs. Laird...I'd say. Except he's dead, you see. Well, not completely dead. He's more of a resurrected G.o.d. He judges mortal spirits and feeds the hearts of the wicked to his pet monster. Oh, and he has blue skin. I'm sure he'd make quite an impression on career day, for all those students aspiring to grow up and become Ancient Egyptian deities.

The Hall of Judgment had changed since my last visit. The room tended to mirror the thoughts of Osiris, so it often looked like a ghostly replica of my family's old apartment in Los Angeles, from the happier times when we all lived together.

Now, possibly because Dad was on duty, the place was fully Egyptian. The circular chamber was lined with stone pillars carved in lotus flower designs. Braziers of magic fire washed the walls in green and blue light. In the center of the room stood the scales of justice, two large golden saucers balanced from an iron T.

Kneeling before the scales was the ghost of a man in a pinstriped suit, nervously reciting from a scroll. I understood why he was tense. On either side of him stood a large reptilian demon with green skin, a cobra head, and a wicked-looking pole arm poised over the ghost's head.

Dad sat at the far end of the room on a golden dais, with a blue-skinned Egyptian attendant at his side. Seeing my father in the Duat was always disorienting, because he appeared to be two people at once. On one level, he looked like he had in life-a handsome, muscular man with chocolate-brown skin, a bald scalp, and a neatly trimmed goatee. He wore an elegant silk suit and a dark traveling coat, like a businessman about to board a private jet.

On a deeper level of reality, however, he appeared as Osiris, G.o.d of the dead. He was dressed as a pharaoh in sandals, an embroidered linen kilt, and rows of gold and coral neckbands on his bare chest. His skin was the color of a summer sky. Across his lap lay a crook and flail-the symbols of Egyptian kingship.

As strange as it was seeing my father with blue skin and a skirt, I was so happy to be near him again, I quite forgot about the court proceedings.

"Dad!" I ran toward him.

(Carter says I was foolish, but Dad was the king of the court, wasn't he? Why shouldn't I be allowed to run up to say h.e.l.lo?) I was halfway across when the snake demons crossed their pole arms and blocked my path.

"It's all right," Dad said, looking a bit startled. "Let her through."

I flew into his arms, knocking the crook and flail out of his lap.

He hugged me warmly, chuckling with affection. For a moment I felt like a little girl again, safe in his embrace. Then he held me at arm's length, and I could see how weary he was. He had bags under his eyes. His face was gaunt. Even the powerful blue aura of Osiris, which normally surrounded him like the corona of a star, flickered weakly.

"Sadie, my love," he said in a strained voice. "Why have you come? I'm working."

I tried not to feel hurt. "But, Dad, this is important!"

Carter, Walt, and Zia approached the dais. My father's expression turned grim.

"I see," he said. "First let me finish this trial. Children, stand here on my right. And please, don't interrupt."

My dad's attendant stamped his foot. "My lord, this is most irregular!"

He was an odd-looking fellow-an elderly blue Egyptian man with a huge scroll in his arms. Too solid to be a ghost, too blue to be human, he was almost as decrepit as Ra, wearing nothing but a loincloth, sandals, and an ill-fitting wig. I suppose that glossy black wedge of fake hair was meant to look manly in an Ancient Egyptian sort of way, but along with the kohl eyeliner and the rouge on his cheeks, the old boy looked like a grotesque Cleopatra impersonator.

The roll of papyrus he held was simply enormous. Years ago, I'd gone to synagogue with my friend Liz, and the Torah they kept there was tiny in comparison.

"It's all right, Disturber," my father told him. "We may continue now."

"But, my lord-" The old man (was his name really Disturber?) became so agitated he lost control of his scroll. The bottom dropped out and unraveled, bouncing down the steps like a papyrus carpet.

"Oh, bother, bother, bother!" Disturber struggled to reel in his doc.u.ment.

My father suppressed a smile. He turned back to the ghost in the pinstriped suit, who was still kneeling at the scales. "My apologies, Robert Windham. You may finish your testimony."

The ghost bowed and sc.r.a.ped. "Y-yes, Lord Osiris."

He referred to his notes and began rattling off a list of crimes he wasn't guilty of-murder, theft, and selling cattle under false pretenses.

I turned to Walt and whispered, "He's a modern chap, isn't he? What's he doing in Osiris's court?"

I was a bit troubled to find that Walt once again had an answer.

"The afterlife looks different to every soul," he said, "depending on what they believe. For that guy, Egypt must've made a strong impression. Maybe he read the stories when he was young."

"And if someone doesn't believe in any afterlife?" I asked.

Walt gave me a sad look. "Then that's what they experience."

On the other side of the dais, the blue G.o.d Disturber hissed at us to be quiet. Why is it when adults try to silence kids, they always make more noise than the noise they're trying to stop?

The ghost of Robert Windham seemed to be winding down his testimony. "I haven't given false witness against my neighbors. Um, sorry, I can't read this last line-"

"Fish!" Disturber yelped crossly. "Have you stolen any fish from the holy lakes?"

"I lived in Kansas," the ghost said. "So...no."

My father rose from his throne. "Very well. Let his heart be weighed."