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 passed 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.
“Petitioners,” 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 massive 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 god of hot air. It wasn’t bloody fair!
Zia moved next to me, gripping her staff. “So, what now? Do we have to defeat it to pass?”
I imagined her lobbing some of her daisy-destroying fireballs. 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…”