The Throne of Fire

sheets and a pile of feather pillows. The bedroom was quite posh, decorated in dazzling white, which did not help my dizziness. I felt as if I were back in the home of the sky goddess Nut. At any moment, the room might dissolve into clouds.

My legs felt stiff, but I managed to get out of bed. I was wearing one of those hotel robes so massive and plush, I looked like an albino Muppet. I staggered to the doorway and found a lovely living room, also bright white. Sliding glass doors led to a veranda that overlooked the sea from quite a height—possibly fifteen or twenty stories. The sky and the water were gorgeous blue.

My eyes took a moment to adjust to the light. On a nearby table, Carter’s and my few possessions were carefully laid out —our old rumpled clothes, our magic bags, and the two scrolls from the Book of Ra, along with Bes’s bag from the Chocolate Museum.

Carter was wrapped in a white robe like mine. He lay on the couch with his eyes closed. His whole body shivered. Bes sat next to him, dabbing Carter’s forehead with a cool cloth.

“How—how is he?” I managed.

Bes glanced over. He looked like a miniature tourist in a loud Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, and flip-flops. The ugly American—size extra-small.

“About time,” he said. “I was beginning to think you’d never wake up.”

I took a step forward, but the room tilted back and forth.

“Careful.” Bes rushed over and took my arm. “You got a nasty bump on the head.”

“Never mind that,” I muttered. “I have to help Carter.”

“He’s bad, Sadie. I don’t know if—”

“I can help. My wand, and the wax figurine—”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll get them.”

With Bes’s assistance, I wobbled to Carter’s side. Bes fetched my things while I checked Carter’s forehead. His fever was worse than before. The veins in his neck had turned green from the poison, just like Ra’s had in my vision.

I frowned at Bes. “How long was I out?”

“It’s almost noon on Tuesday.” He spread my magic supplies at Carter’s feet. “So, roughly twelve hours.”

“Twelve hours? Bes, that’s the maximum time Set thought Carter could stay alive before the poison killed him! Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

His face turned as red as his Hawaiian shirt. “I tried! I pulled you both out of the Mediterranean and got you to the hotel, didn’t I? I used all the wake-up spells I know! You just kept muttering in your sleep about Walt, Anubis, secret names—”

“Fine!” I said. “Just help me—”

The doorbell rang.

Bes gestured for me to stay calm. He called out in another language—possibly Arabic—and a hotel waiter opened the door. He bowed low to Bes, as if the dwarf were a sultan, then brought in a room service cart loaded with tropical fruit, fresh-baked breads, and bottled sodas.

“Excellent,” Bes told me. “Be right back.”

“You’re wasting time!” I snapped.

Naturally, Bes ignored me. He retrieved his bag from the dining table and brought out the chocolate head of Vladimir Lenin. The waiter’s eyes widened. Bes put the head in the middle of the cart and nodded as if it made the perfect centerpiece.

Bes gave the waiter a few more orders in Arabic, then handed him some gold coins. The waiter groveled and generally looked terrified. He exited backward, still bowing.

“Where are we exactly?” I asked. “And why are you a king here?”

“Alexandria, Egypt,” Bes said. “Sorry about the rough arrival. It’s a tricky place to teleport to. Cleopatra’s old capital, you know, where the Egyptian Empire fell apart, so magic tends to get twisted around. The only working portals are in the old city, which is off the coast, under thirty feet of water.”

“And this place? Obviously a luxury hotel, but how did you—”

“Penthouse Suite, Four Seasons Alexandria.” He sounded slightly embarrassed. “People in Egypt still remember the old gods, even if they won’t admit it. I was popular back in the day, so I can usually call in favors when I need them. Sorry I didn’t have more time. I could’ve gotten us a private villa.”

“How dare you,” I said. “Making us settle for a five-star hotel. Now, why don’t you make sure we’re not interrupted while I heal Carter?”

I grabbed the wax figurine Jaz had given me and knelt next to my brother. The statue was deformed from getting knocked around in my bag. Then again, Carter looked worse for wear, too. Hopefully the magic connection would still work.

“Carter,” I said. “I’m going to heal you. But I need your help.”

I put my hand on his feverish forehead. Now I knew why Jaz had appeared to me as a ren, the part of the soul that represented her name. I knew why she’d shown me the vision of Isis and Ra.

You’re so close to understanding, Sadie, she’d said.

I’d never thought about it before, but the ren was the same as one’s secret name. It was more than just special word. The secret name is your darkest thoughts, your most embarrassing moments, your biggest dreams, your worst fears, all wrapped together. It’s the sum of your experiences, even those you’d never want to share. Your secret name makes you who you are.

That’s why a secret name has power. It’s also why you couldn’t simply hear someone repeat a secret name and know how to use it. You had to know that person and understand their life. The more you understood the person, the more power their name could yield. You could only learn a secret name from the person himself—or from the person closest to his heart.

And heaven help me, for me Carter was that person.

Carter, I thought. What is your secret name?

Even in sickness, his mind resisted me. You don’t just hand over your secret name. Every human had one, just as each god did; but most humans spent their whole lives not knowing that, not ever putting in words their most private identity. Understandable, really. Try summing up your entire existence in five words or less. Not exactly easy, is it?

“You can do this,” I murmured. “You’re my brother. I love you. All the embarrassing bits, all the annoying bits, which I imagine is most of you—a thousand Zias might run away from you if they knew the truth. But I won’t. I’ll still be here. Now, tell me your name, you big idiot, so I can save your life.”

My hand tingled against his forehead. His life passed through my fingers—ghostly memories of when we were children, living with our parents in Los Angeles. I saw my birthday party when I turned six and the cake exploded. I saw our mother reading bedtime stories to us from a college science textbook; our dad playing jazz and dancing me around the room while Carter covered his ears and yelled, “Dad!” I saw moments I hadn’t shared with my brother, as well: Carter and Dad caught in a riot in Paris; Carter and Zia talking by candlelight in the First Nome; Carter by himself in the library at Brooklyn House, staring at his Eye of Horus amulet and struggling against the temptation to reclaim the power of a god. He’d never told me about that, but it made me feel relieved. I’d thought I was the only one who’d been so tempted.

Slowly, Carter relaxed. His worst fears passed through me, his most embarrassing secrets. His strength was failing as the poison gripped his heart. With his last bit of willpower, he told me his name.

[Of course, I won’t tell you what it is. You couldn’t use it anyway, hearing it from a recording, but I won’t take chances.]

I raised the wax figurine and spoke Carter’s secret name. Immediately, the poison receded from his veins. The wax figure turned green and melted in my hands. Carter’s fever broke. He shuddered, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes.

“Right,” I said sternly. “Don’t ever ride another bloody snake monster again!”

“Sorry…” he croaked. “Did you just—”

“Yeah.”

“With my secret name—”