A golden hieroglyph burned in the air over Wayne’s head:
The twine whipped toward him like an angry snake, growing longer and thicker as it flew. Wayne’s eyes widened. He stumbled back and sent jets of flame shooting from both staffs, but the rope was too quick. It lashed round his ankles and toppled him sideways, wrapping round his whole body until he was encased in a twine cocoon from chin to toes. He struggled and screamed and called me quite a few unflattering names.
I got up unsteadily. Jerrod was still out cold. I retrieved my staff, which had fallen next to Wayne. He continued straining against the twine and cursing in Egyptian, which sounded strange with an American Southern accent.
Finish him, Isis warned. He can still speak. He will not rest until he destroys you.
“Fire!” Wayne screamed. “Water! Cheese!”
Even the cheese command did not work. I reckoned his rage was throwing his magic off balance, making it impossible to focus, but I knew he would recover soon.
“Silence,” I said.
Wayne’s voice abruptly stopped working. He kept screaming, but no sound came out.
“I’m not your enemy,” I told him. “But I can’t have you killing me, either.”
Something wriggled in my pocket, and I remembered Carter. I took him out. He looked okay, except of course for the fact he was still a lizard.
“I’ll try to change you back,” I told him. “Hopefully I don’t make things worse.”
He made a little croak that didn’t convey much confidence.
I closed my eyes and imagined Carter as he should be: a tall boy of fourteen, badly dressed, very human, very annoying. Carter began to feel heavy in my hands. I put him down and watched as the lizard grew into a vaguely human blob. By the count of three, my brother was lying on his stomach, his sword and pack next to him on the lawn.
He spit grass out of his mouth. “How’d you do that?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “You just seemed...wrong.”
“Thanks a lot.” He got up and checked to make sure he had all his fingers. Then he saw the two magicians and his mouth fell open. “What did you do to them?”
“Just tied one up. Knocked one out. Magic.”
“No, I mean...” He faltered, searching for words, then gave up and pointed.
I looked at the magicians and yelped. Wayne wasn’t moving. His eyes and mouth were open, but he wasn’t blinking or breathing. Next to him, Jerrod looked just as frozen. As we watched, their mouths began to glow as if they’d swallowed matches. Two tiny yellow orbs of fire popped out from between their lips and shot into the air, disappearing in the sunlight.
“What—what was that?” I asked. “Are they dead?”
Carter approached them cautiously and put his hand on Wayne’s neck. “It doesn’t even feel like skin. More like rock.”
“No, they were human! I didn’t turn them to rock!”
Carter felt Jerrod’s forehead where I’d whacked him with my wand. “It’s cracked.”
“What?”
Carter picked up his sword. Before I could even scream, he brought the hilt down on Jerrod’s face and the magician’s head cracke
d into shards like a flowerpot.
“They’re made of clay,” Carter said. “They’re both shabti.”
He kicked Wayne’s arm and I heard it crunch under the twine.
“But they were casting spells,” I said. “And talking. They were real.”
As we watched, the shabti crumbled to dust, leaving nothing behind but my bit of twine, two staffs, and some grungy clothes.