The Red Pyramid (Kane Chronicles 1)

“That’s what mend spells are for, yes?”

We examined the back of the stone, and I had to admit I was impressed by Carter’s memory. Two cat-snake monsters stood in the center of the palette, their necks entwined. On either side, Egyptian men with ropes were trying to capture the creatures.

“They’re called serpopards,” Carter said. “Serpent leopards.”

“Fascinating,” I said. “But what are serpopards?”

“No one knows exactly. Dad thought they were creatures of chaos—very bad news, and they’ve been around forever. This stone is one of the oldest artifacts from Egypt. Those pictures were carved five thousand years ago.”

“So why are five-thousand-year-old monsters attacking our house?”

“Last night, in Phoenix, the fiery man ordered his servants to capture us. He said to send the longnecks first.”

I had a metallic taste in my mouth, and I wished I hadn’t chewed my last piece of gum. “Well...good thing they’re at the bottom of the East River.”

Just then Khufu rushed into the library, screaming and slapping his head.

“Suppose I shouldn’t have said that,” I muttered.

Carter told the shabti to return the Narmer Palette, and both statue and stone disappeared. Then we followed the baboon upstairs.

The serpopards were back, their fur wet and slimy from the river, and they weren’t happy. They prowled the broken ledge of the terrace, their snake necks whipping round as they sniffed the doors, looking for a way in. They spit poison that steamed and bubbled on the glass. Their forked tongues darted in and out.

“Agh, agh!” Khufu picked up Muffin, who was sitting on the sofa, and offered me the cat.

“I really don’t think that will help,” I told him.

“AGH!” Khufu insisted.

Neither Muffin nor cat ended in -o, so I guessed Khufu was not trying to offer me a snack, but I didn’t know what he was on about. I took the cat just to shut him up.

“Mrow?” Muffin looked up at me.

“It’ll be all right,” I promised, trying not to sound scared out of my mind. “The house is protected by magic.”

“Sadie,” Carter said. “They’ve found something.”

The serpopards had converged at the left-hand door and were intently sniffing the handle.

“Isn’t it locked?” I asked.

Both monsters smashed their ugly faces against the glass. The door shuddered. Blue hieroglyphs glowed along the doorframe, but their light was faint.

“I don’t like this,” Carter murmured.

I prayed that the monsters would give up. Or that perhaps Philip of Macedonia would climb back to the terrace (do crocodiles climb?) and renew the fight.

Instead, the monsters smashed their heads against the glass again. This time a web of cracks appeared. The blue hieroglyphs flickered and died.

“AGH!” Khufu screamed. He waved his hand vaguely at the cat.

“Maybe if I try the ha-di spell,” I said.

Carter shook his head. “You almost fainted after you blew up those doors. I don’t want you passing out, or worse.”

Carter once again surprised me. He tugged a strange sword from one of Amos’s wall displays. The blade had an odd crescent-moon curve and looked horribly impractical.

“You can’t be serious,” I said.