“Maybe not,” the cat goddess
said. “I’m no expert on execration, mind you. Nasty business. But it’s possible that a statue used for execration was originally meant to represent the target’s shadow, which is an important part of the soul.”
“So,” Sadie said, “we could cast an execration spell on Apophis, but instead of destroying a statue, we could destroy his actual shadow. Brilliant, eh?”
“That’s nuts,” Julian said. “How do you destroy a shadow?”
Walt shooed a mashed-potato penguin away from his Jell-O. “It’s not nuts. Sympathetic magic is all about using a small copy to manipulate the actual target. It’s possible the whole tradition of making little statues to represent people and gods—maybe at one time those statues actually contained the target’s sheut. There are lots of stories about the souls of the gods inhabiting statues. If a shadow was trapped in a statue, you might be able to destroy it.”
“Could you make a statue like that?” Alyssa asked. “Something that could bind the shadow of…of Apophis himself?”
“Maybe.” Walt glanced at me. Most of the folks at the table didn’t know we’d already made a statue of Apophis that might work for that purpose. “Even if I could, we’d need to find the shadow. Then we’d need some pretty advanced magic to capture it and destroy it.”
“Find a shadow?” Felix smiled nervously, like he hoped we were joking. “Wouldn’t it be right under him? And how do you capture it? Step on it? Shine a light on it?”
“It’ll be more complicated than that,” I said. “This ancient magician Setne, the guy who wrote his own version of the Book of Overcoming Apophis, I think he must have created a spell to catch and destroy shadows. That’s why Apophis was so anxious to burn the evidence. That’s his secret weakness.”
“But the scroll is gone,” Cleo said.
“There’s still someone we can ask,” Walt said. “Thoth. If anyone knows the answers, he will.”
The tension around the table seemed to ease. At least we’d given our initiates something to hope for, even if it was a long shot. I was grateful we had Walt on our side. His charm-making ability might be our only hope of binding a shadow to the statue, and his vote of confidence carried weight with the other kids.
“We need to visit Thoth right away,” I said. “Tonight.”
“Yes,” Sadie agreed. “Right after the dance.”
I glared at her. “You aren’t serious.”
“Oh, yes, brother dear.” She smiled mischievously, and for a second I was afraid she might invoke my secret name and force me to obey. “We’re attending the dance tonight. And you’re coming with us.”
S A D I E
5. A Dance with Death
CHEERS, CARTER. At least you have the sense to hand me the microphone for important things.
Honestly, he drones on and on about his plans for the Apocalypse, but he makes no plans at all for the school dance. My brother’s priorities are severely skewed.
I don’t think I was being selfish wanting to go to the dance. Of course we had serious business to deal with. That’s exactly why I insisted on partying first. Our initiates needed a morale boost. They needed a chance to be normal kids, to have friends and lives outside Brooklyn House—something worth fighting for. Even armies in the field fight better when they take breaks for entertainment. I’m sure some general somewhere has said that.
By sunset, I was ready to lead my troops into battle. I’d picked out quite a nice black strapless dress and put black lowlights in my blond hair, with just a touch of dark makeup for that risen-from-the-grave look. I wore simple flats for dancing (despite what Carter says, I do not wear combat boots all the time; just ninety percent of the time), the silver tyet amulet from my mother’s jewelry box, and the pendant Walt had given me for my last birthday with the Egyptian symbol of eternity, shen.
Walt had an identical amulet among his own collection of talismans, which provided us a magic line of communication, and even the ability to summon the other person to our side in emergencies.
Unfortunately, the shen amulets didn’t mean we were dating exclusively. Or even dating at all. If Walt had asked me, I think I would’ve been fine with it. Walt was so kind and gorgeous—perfect, really, in his own way. Perhaps if he’d asserted himself a bit more, I would’ve fallen for him and been able to let go of that other boy, the godly one.
But Walt was dying. He had this silly idea that it would be unfair to me if we started a relationship under those circumstances. As if that would stop me. So we were stuck in this maddening limbo—flirting, talking for hours, a few times even sharing a kiss when we let our guard down—but eventually Walt would always pull away and shut me out.
Why couldn’t things be simple?
I bring this up because I literally ran into Walt as I was coming down the stairs.
“Oh!” I said. Then I noticed he was still wearing his old muscle shirt, jeans, and no shoes. “You’re not ready yet?”
“I’m not going,” he announced.
My mouth fell open. “What? Why?”