The Complete Kane Chronicles by Rick Riordan

eyed me. “And possibly also from other magicians reading their names.”
    “Oh, you’re mental,” I said. But I looked at the lines, and saw what he meant. All the other words were protected by cartouches, and I couldn’t make sense of them.

    “Sadie,” Carter said, his voice urgent. He pointed to a cartouche at the very end of the list—the last entry in what looked to be a catalogue of thousands.
    Inside the circle were two simple symbols, a basket and a wave.
    “KN,” Carter announced. “I know this one. It’s our name, KANE.”

    “Missing a few letters, isn’t it?”
    Carter shook his head. “Egyptians usually didn’t write vowels. Only consonants. You have to figure out the vowel sounds from context.”
    “They really were nutters. So that could be KON or IKON or KNEE or AKNE.”
    “It could be,” Carter agreed. “But it’s our name, Kane. I asked Dad to write it for me in hieroglyphs once, and that’s how he did it. But why are we in this list? And what is ‘blood of the pharaohs’?”
    That icy tingle started on the back of my neck. I remembered what Amos had said, about both sides of our family being very ancient. Carter’s eyes met mine, and judging from his expression, he was having the same thought.
    “There’s no way,” I protested.
    “Must be some kind of joke,” he agreed. “Nobody keeps family records that far back.”
    I swallowed, my throat suddenly very dry. So many odd things had happened to us in the last day, but it was only when I saw our name in that book that I finally began to believe all this mad Egyptian stuff was real. Gods, magicians, monsters…and our family was tied into it.
    Ever since breakfast, when it occurred to me that Dad had been trying to bring Mum back from the dead, a horrible emotion had been trying to take hold of me. And it wasn’t dread. Yes, the whole idea was creepy, much creepier than the shrine my grandparents kept in the hall cupboard to my dead mother. And yes, I told you I try not to live in the past and nothing could change the fact that my mum was gone. But I’m a liar. The truth was, I’d had one dream ever since I was six: to see my mum again. To actually get to know her, talk to her, go shopping, do anything. Just be with her once so I could have a better memory to hold on to. The feeling I was trying to shake was hope. I knew I was setting myself up for colossal hurt. But if it really were possible to bring her back, then I would’ve blown up any number of Rosetta Stones to make it happen.
    “Let’s keep looking,” I said.
    After a few more minutes, I found a picture of some of animal-headed gods, five in a row, with a starry woman figure arching over them protectively like an umbrella. Dad had released five gods. Hmm.
    “Carter,” I called. “What’s this, then?”
    He came to have a look and his eyes lit up.
    “That’s it!” he announced. “These five…and up here, their mother, Nut.”
    I laughed. “A goddess named Nut? Is her last name Case?”
    “Very funny,” Carter said. “She was the goddess of the sky.”
    He pointed to the painted ceiling—the lady with the blue star-spangled skin, same as in the scroll.
    “So what about her?” I asked.
    Carter knit his eyebrows. “Something about the Demon Days. It had to do with the birth of these five gods, but it’s been a long time since Dad told me the story. This whole scroll is written in hieratic, I think. That’s like hieroglyph cursive. Can you read it?”
    I shook my head. Apparently, my particular brand of insanity only applied to regular hieroglyphs.
    “I wish I could find the story in English,” Carter said.
    Just then there was a cracking noise behind us. The empty-handed clay statue hopped off his pedestal and marched towards us. Carter and I scrambled to get out of his way, but he walked straight past us, grabbed a cylinder from its cubbyhole and brought it to Carter.
    “It’s a retrieval shabti ,” I said. “A clay librarian!”
    Carter