A snake. The myths only ever said a snake. But a version written in Isis’s own hand had one key difference—not a snake, but a child of Apep. The snake demon found in the underworld.

The underworld only Osiris and Anubis could freely visit.

“PICK UP!” I SCREAM INTO THE PHONE AS IT rings and rings and rings. Screaming makes my head throb, but I can’t stop. I stumble upstairs, throwing everything out of my drawers as I look for my passport. My hand closes over the small bag of protective amulets my mother sent, the ones that survived Anubis’s destruction of my room. I shove them into the pocket of my flannel pajama pants.

Passport passport where is my passport ANSWER THE PHONE MOTHER ANSWER IT ANSWER IT.

Passport in the nightstand.

She’s not answering the phone.

I pull on a pair of shoes and run down the stairs, this time calling Sirus.

He doesn’t answer, either.

Email she’ll check her email. I write one so fast I’m sure it’s incoherent but it doesn’t matter because she needs to know. I have to know that she knows.

Still the phone cradled against my ear rings and rings and rings. Why isn’t she answering the phone? He can’t be there yet. He still has to fly back to Egypt. Where I need to be, where I should be. The images, so many of them, of my mother being unmade by darkness play on repeat in my pounding head and I can’t let that happen, I won’t let that happen.

Why would Anubis do this? What does he stand to gain by killing my mother? What did he say to me . . . something about Hathor saying I was useless. The hall. They were kissing in the hall.

Hathor. If anyone has a reason to hate my mother and want her dead, it’s Hathor. She must have seduced Anubis and gotten him to work for her. How long has she been planning this, plotting to strike when my mother is most vulnerable?

“ANSWER!” I scream into the phone, then throw it against the wall.

Airport. I’ll go to the airport and get on the next flight to Egypt. It’s a stupid plan, some part of me knows that, but I can’t sit here. Either my mom will check her email or she won’t, but I can’t sit here and wait and wait to see whether or not I’ll have a mother to go home to.

How to get to the airport, though? I laugh bitterly at the irony of staying with a brother who arranges transportation to the airport for a living but having no idea how to do it for myself. Screw it, I’ll drive. I grab the keys to the Mini off the counter and run into the garage, opening it.

The key fits in the ignition, then nothing happens. I put the key in. WHY IS NOTHING HAPPENING? I twist it, and the radio and lights come on, but the engine is still off. “Start! Start! Why won’t you start?” I sob, smashing my bloodied palms against the steering wheel.

Even if I get the car started, I literally have no idea how to drive it or how to get to the airport from here. My forehead drops against the steering wheel and I cry because I am powerless and I’ve always been powerless and I hate, hate, hate it. How can I have a happy heart and helping hands when I can’t help the woman who spent her whole life helping me, the woman I spent the last three years hating?

A hand comes down softly on my shoulder and I scream, sitting up straight.

“It’s me! Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Ry holds out a hand to help me out of the car.

I stare at him. “What are you still doing here?”

“I said I wasn’t going to leave until you told me that Sirus was here and everything was okay. I meant it. I’ve been sitting in my truck researching concussions.”

I take his hand and almost fall getting out of the car. “I need to get to the airport. I have to go to Egypt right now.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re going to kill my mom! Hathor and Anubis are going to kill her, and she’s not answering her phone, and if she dies there will be no one strong enough to bring her back to life.”

“Come on,” he says, grabbing my hand and running with me to his truck. He peels out, dialing his phone. “Mom, we need the Lear. Isadora’s family is in trouble.”

“I don’t know how to buy a plane ticket,” I say, desperation and despair washing over me.

Ry looks at me, the phone still to his ear. “You don’t need to. We’re going to fly you to Egypt. My family has a plane; it’s gassed up and ready for a trip my parents were going to take tomorrow.”

“But—”

“It will take a fraction of the time flying a normal plane would. I’m going to get you there, and we’re going to save your mom. I promise.”

He goes back to the conversation and nods. “Okay, yeah, tell Aunt Iris we need her there now. Thanks, Mom. I love you.” He hangs up, then hands me the phone. “Keep trying your mom.”

“Thank you.” My voice cracks. “Thank you.” I dial the number I now have memorized, then listen, each ring sounding longer and farther away. It rings and rings and rings.

A bump jars me awake. I don’t know where I am or why the whole world is dim and shaking. There are leather seats that look like armchairs, and wood paneling, but it’s narrow and . . .

My mother. The jet. Ry. I rub my eyes, my stomach roiling with motion sickness. The combination of concussion (I will never admit to Tyler that I actually have one) and the sleep-aid pain meds I took has left me utterly disoriented. Ry tried valiantly to keep me awake, but I dropped off several times.

“We’re getting close,” Ry says, opening the shade to look out the window. Another bunch of turbulence makes my teeth rattle.