The Kane Chronicles(122)

Walt laughed. I supposed it was funny. Proper wasn’t the first word normally used to describe me.

I pounded his chest again, though I’ll admit not very hard. I put my hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll have you remember,” I warned, “that my father is your employer in the Underworld. You’d best mind your manners.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Walt said. He leaned down and kissed me. All my anger melted into my shoes.

We started to dance. There was no music, no ghostly dancers, no floating on air—nothing magic about it. Freak watched us curiously, no doubt wondering how this activity was going to produce turkeys to feed the griffin. The old tar roof creaked under our feet. I was still quite tired from our long battle, and I hadn’t cleaned up properly. No doubt I looked horrid. I wanted to melt into Walt’s arms, which is basically what I did.

“So you’ll let me stick around?” he asked, his breath warm on my scalp. “Let me experience a typical teenage life?”

“I suppose.” I looked up at him. It took no effort at all to slip my vision into the Duat and see Anubis there, just under the surface. But it really wasn’t necessary. This was a new boy in front of me, and he was everything I liked. “Not that I’m an expert myself, but there is one rule I insist on.”

“Yes?”

“If anyone asks you if you’re taken,” I said, “the answer is yes.”

“I think I can live with that,” he promised.

“Good,” I said. “Because you don’t want to see me be cross.”

“Too late.”

“Shut up and dance, Walt.”

We did—with the music of a psychotic griffin screaming behind us, and the sirens and horns of Brooklyn wailing below. It was quite romantic.

So there you have it.

We’ve returned to Brooklyn House. The various catastrophes plaguing the world have lessened—at least somewhat—and we are dealing with an influx of new initiates as the school year gets properly under way.

It should be obvious now why this may be our last recording. We’re going to be so busy training and attending school and living our lives, I doubt we’ll have time or reason to send out any more audio pleas for help.

We’ll put this tape in a secure box and send it along to the chap who’s been transcribing our adventures. Carter seems to think the postal service will do, but I think I’ll give it to Khufu to carry through the Duat. What could possibly go wrong?

As for us, don’t think our lives will be all fun and games. Amos couldn’t leave a mob of teens unsupervised, and as we don’t have Bast anymore, Amos has sent a few adult magicians to Brooklyn House as teachers (read: chaperones). But we all know who’s really in charge—me. Oh, yes, and perhaps Carter a little bit.

We’re not done with trouble, either. I’m still worried about that murderous ghost Setne, who’s on the loose in the world with his devious mind, horrible fashion sense, and the Book of Thoth. I’m also puzzling over my mother’s comments about rival magic and other gods. No idea what that means, but it doesn’t sound good.

In the meantime, there are still hotspots of evil magic and demon activity all over the world that we have to take care of. We’ve even got reports of unexplainable magic as close as Long Island. Probably have to check that out.

But for now, I plan on enjoying my life, annoying my brother as much as possible, and making Walt into a proper boyfriend while keeping the other girls away from him—most likely with a flamethrower. My work is never done.

As for you lot out there, listening to this recording—we’re never too busy for new initiates. If you have the blood of the pharaohs, what are you waiting for? Don’t let your magic go to waste. Brooklyn House is open for business.