“Just follow my lead,” Dad told us. “When we meet the curator, act normal.”
I was thinking that Sadie never acted normal, but I decided not to say anything.
We climbed out of the cab. I got our luggage while Dad paid the driver with a big wad of cash. Then he did something strange. He threw a handful of small objects into the backseat—they looked like stones, but it was too dark for me to be sure. “Keep driving,” he told the cabbie. “Take us to Chelsea.”
That made no sense since we were already out of the cab, but the driver sped off. I glanced at Dad, then back at the cab, and before it turned the corner and disappeared in the dark, I caught a weird glimpse of three passengers in the backseat: a man and two kids.
I blinked. There was no way the cab could’ve picked up another fare so fast. “Dad—”
“London cabs don’t stay empty very long,” he said matter-of-factly. “Come along, kids.”
He marched off through the wrought iron gates. For a second, Sadie and I hesitated.
“Carter, what is going on?”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure I want to know.”
“Well, stay out here in the cold if you want, but I’m not leaving without an explanation.” She turned and marched after our dad.
Looking back on it, I should’ve run. I should’ve dragged Sadie out of there and gotten as far away as possible. Instead I followed her through the gates.
C A
R T E R
2. An Explosion for Christmas
I’D BEEN TO THE BRITISH MUSEM BEFORE. In fact I’ve been in more museums than I like to admit—it makes me sound like a total geek.
[That’s Sadie in the background, yelling that I am a total geek. Thanks, Sis.]
Anyway, the museum was closed and completely dark, but the curator and two security guards were waiting for us on the front steps.
“Dr. Kane!” The curator was a greasy little dude in a cheap suit. I’d seen mummies with more hair and better teeth. He shook my dad’s hand like he was meeting a rock star. “Your last paper on Imhotep—brilliant! I don’t know how you translated those spells!”
“Im-ho-who?” Sadie muttered to me.
“Imhotep,” I said. “High priest, architect. Some say he was a magician. Designed the first step pyramid. You know.”
“Don’t know,” Sadie said. “Don’t care. But thanks.”
Dad expressed his gratitude to the curator for hosting us on a holiday. Then he put his hand on my shoulder. “Dr. Martin, I’d like you to meet Carter and Sadie.”
“Ah! Your son, obviously, and—” The curator looked hesitantly at Sadie. “And this young lady?”
“My daughter,” Dad said.
Dr. Martin’s stare went temporarily blank. Doesn’t matter how open-minded or polite people think they are, there’s always that moment of confusion that flashes across their faces when they realize Sadie is part of our family. I hate it, but over the years I’ve come to expect it.
The curator regained his smile. “Yes, yes, of course. Right this way, Dr. Kane. We’re very honored!”
The security guards locked the doors behind us. They took our luggage, then one of them reached for Dad’s workbag.
“Ah, no,” Dad said with a tight smile. “I’ll keep this one.”
The guards stayed in the foyer as we followed the curator into the Great Court. It was ominous at night. Dim light from the glass-domed ceiling cast crosshatched shadows across the walls like a giant spiderweb. Our footsteps clicked on the white marble floor.
“So,” Dad said, “the stone.”