Chapter 31
A rush of magic flowed from Alistair, through the bond, and into Sam. The symbols on the Aten Disc began to glow, lighting up in a pattern. The completed hexes on the bodies flared to life.
“Thy rising is beautiful in the horizon of heaven, O Aten, ordainer of life,” Sullivan chanted in a slow, measured pace.
“Thou dost shoot up in the East, thou fillest every land with thy beneficence. Thou art beautiful and great, and exalted above every other. Thy rays touch all the lands which thou hast made.”
The draw of magic continued—an ordinary hex would have been filled by now, especially with so many familiars and witches working on it.
These hexes were hungry.
“One God, like whom there is no other. Thou didst create the earth by thy will, thou alone existing, men and women, cattle, beasts of every kind that are upon the earth, and that move upon feet, all the creatures that are in the sky and that fly with their wings. Thou dost grace familiars with thy magic, and bless the witches who receive thereof.”
A wave of dizziness washed over him, and his injured leg gave out, forcing him to lie on the floor. How much longer could this go on? How much more magic could it devour?
“Thou settest every person in his place. Thy beams nourish every field; thou risest up and they live, they germinate for thee. Thou makest the Seasons to develop everything that thou hast made.”
Other familiars were beginning to wilt now. Witches glanced worriedly around, but no one dared to stop, and all of Sam’s attention was on the disc in his hands. The hexes kept sucking down magic greedily—almost malevolently.
From below, there came the sound of the elevator doors opening.
“Thou providest their daily food, every man having the portion allotted to him. Thou dost compute the duration of his life. The young bird in the egg speaketh in the shell, thou givest breath to him inside it to make him to live. Thou makest him so that he can crack the shell. He cometh forth from the egg, he chirpeth with all his might, he walketh on his two feet.”
The light was growing stronger and stronger, the sun climbing inevitably toward the horizon. Exhaustion pulled Alistair down like the weight of gravity, as though the gush of magic was blood. But footsteps sounded on the stairs.
“Thou settest in the horizon of the west, the earth is in darkness, in the form of death. Men lie down in a booth wrapped up in cloths, one eye cannot see its fellow. Yet when thou riseth, life is restored. As one season gives way to the next, as night becomes day, as the chick quickens and emerges from the egg, as—”
A small robin hurtled through the air, smashing into the paper and knocking it from Sullivan’s hands. At the same moment, a tiger roared from the top of the stairs.
Help had arrived.
* * *
“Boss, wait!” Turner called from the top of the stairs. “The familiars aren’t doing so good, and this—I’m not sure—”
Alistair tried to push himself to his feet and failed, too drained by the loss of magic. But it seemed his attempt to talk to Turner last night had done some good. Enough that he’d let Doris and Philip up here with him.
Philip sprang to one of the beams overhead, crouching and snarling. Doris didn’t have the snow leopard’s grace, but her roar was more than enough to make anyone hesitate.
The robin circled around and landed in front of Wanda, shifting into human form as she did so.
“What the hell are you doing?” Holly demanded.
“This isn’t worth it! You’re putting everyone’s lives at risk just to save The Pride.
But The Pride is gone, and it’s not coming back.
” She blinked, tears welling in her dark eyes.
“But I am. I’m here. So you’ve got to choose—me, and Philip, and Doris, and everyone else who loves you, or a dream whose time has come and gone. ”
Wanda wobbled as she shifted, and Joel had to catch her elbow to keep her from falling. She reached out a manicured hand toward Holly. “Songbird, I…”
“No one move,” Sullivan ordered. His face was twisted into an expression of pure rage, and he’d snatched up the dropped paper in one hand. With the other, he’d pulled a gun from his pocket.
Alistair bristled. Sam was too close to Sullivan, seeming frozen in shock, still holding the golden disc aloft. “Stay still—don’t draw his attention.”
Sam’s gaze flicked to him, signaling he understood. If they could keep Sullivan distracted long enough, the ritual’s moment would pass. That would give them time to either figure something out or flee.
Sullivan leveled the gun at Turner. “How dare you,” he said. “You know what this means to me, Lenny.”
“I know, boss, and I’m sorry.” Turner held empty hands out toward him. “But something isn’t right here.”
“He’s right,” Doc said frantically. “I’ve been trying to tell you—it won’t work the way you think it’s going to! I opened Neferneferuaten’s coffin, there was a painting inside the lid, hieroglyphs warning she was killed by—”
Sullivan turned and shot him.
Doc screamed and collapsed, the trouser leg over his left shin going red with blood. He gripped it with both hands, trying to stem the flow, writhing like a half-squashed bug on the floor.
“The next one is going through your head,” Sullivan said, before swiveling back to Turner. “As for you, traitor—”
Philip sprang from the pinnacle beam, but a falcon flew into his face, and he hit the floor beside Sullivan instead of on top of him.
Doris roared again—and then there was a confusion of familiars and witches, some loyal to Sullivan, some running for the stairs before gunfire could erupt, others too drained to move.
Alistair shifted and heaved himself up, though it took a monumental effort. He had to get to Sam—
He froze. Sullivan aimed the gun at Sam.
“Keep holding the disc!” he commanded, and began to chant again, the words coming in a rush to make up for lost time.
“When thou riseth, life is restored! As one season gives way to the next, as night becomes day, as the chick quickens and emerges from the egg, as the man casts off his cloth wrappings and stands for the day, let these dead rise and breathe in your life-giving rays, O Great Aten!”
And on the name of the god, the first beam of the rising sun cut across the lake and rested on the golden disc in Sam’s hands.
The bodies began to stir beneath their shrouds.