basket’s narrow opening, but he drew it back sharply when he heard the hiss. Coiled in the bottom of the basket was a black asp, its scales glittering like polished jet. The serpent reared its triangular head and flicked a bifurcated tongue, tasting the air. Its lidless eye fixed on Devon.
Death was hungry for its next meal.
Devon dropped the silk and the vision melted away, like steam evaporating from a mirror. He was back in the familiar parlor with his family and the Farnsworths with neither a bit of wicker nor a single reptile in sight. His mother and sister “ooh-ed” and “ah-ed” over the artwork he’d exposed, but he didn’t want to even glance at the Tetisheri statue.
The stench of evil surrounding it was too strong.
C HAPTER 9
D evon blinked hard, wondering if the flash vision had lasted long enough for anyone to notice. Aside from Emmaline, who’d gravitated toward the fireplace and seemed to be fascinated by the tips of her own shoes, almost everyone’s attention was riveted on the Tetisheri statue. Only his mother, the lone other member of his immediate family who was occasionally afflicted with the gift of touch, cast him a questioning look.
He’d been Sent an odd vision. Usually his glimpses of the future were much more concrete. He’d even class them as hideously vivid in detail. Since he couldn’t imagine any situation in which he’d be called upon to reach into a basket that held an actual snake, this vision had the illusory feel of an allegory. It was a mere impression, not a factual representation, of what was to come.
The realization that he’d likely not be confronted by an asp in the next twelve hours gave him no comfort. In fact, given the hazy nature of the vision, he doubted the twelve-hour rule applied. The danger of which he’d been warned was likely of an extended duration. The moldering scent of a crypt still lingered in his nostrils.
“What did I tell you?” Ted enthused. “Isn’t the statue amazing?”
Devon forced himself to look at the cursed thing. At first glance the carving seemed typical of Egyptian art. The granite sculpture rested on a basalt base, the darker stone emphasizing the lighter coloration of the schist. The work depicted a young woman seated on a throne wearing a braided wig and serpent crown. Her arms were crossed over bared breasts and in her clenched fists she held the crook and flail that bespoke royal rule.
Devon wasn’t an aficionado of Egyptian relics, but he’d visited the British Museum often enough to be aware of some of the conventions of the ancient culture’s art. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary in the work until he observed her features closely.
Devon snorted in surprise. “She’s as European as a Botticelli angel.”
“Exactly!” Teddy slapped him on the back. “No flies on my brother, eh? I told you he’d see it straight away.”
Devon frowned at him. “All I can see is this must be a forgery of some sort. That girl is no more Egyptian than our Louisa.”
“I confess I thought so myself, milord,” Dr. Farnsworth said, “At first. But then I began working on the hieroglyphs along the base. They are absolutely genuine.”
“Based on what?”
“In this endeavor, I confess to standing on the shoulders of giants. It’s been more than sixty years since the discovery of the Rosetta Stone first unlocked the key to this ancient tongue and I relied heavily on an English translation of the work of Antoine-Jean Letronne.” Dr. Farnsworth smiled at Theodore. “However, may I add that your brother has been instrumental in assisting me with the translation?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Teddy said with a self-deprecating smile. “Dr. Farnsworth does the work. I merely take notes most of the time.”
“Nonsense, my boy.” Farnsworth patted Devon’s brother on the back. “You’re invaluable.”
Devon squinted at the squiggles and abstract beasts parading across the base of the statue. “What does
Death was hungry for its next meal.
Devon dropped the silk and the vision melted away, like steam evaporating from a mirror. He was back in the familiar parlor with his family and the Farnsworths with neither a bit of wicker nor a single reptile in sight. His mother and sister “ooh-ed” and “ah-ed” over the artwork he’d exposed, but he didn’t want to even glance at the Tetisheri statue.
The stench of evil surrounding it was too strong.
C HAPTER 9
D evon blinked hard, wondering if the flash vision had lasted long enough for anyone to notice. Aside from Emmaline, who’d gravitated toward the fireplace and seemed to be fascinated by the tips of her own shoes, almost everyone’s attention was riveted on the Tetisheri statue. Only his mother, the lone other member of his immediate family who was occasionally afflicted with the gift of touch, cast him a questioning look.
He’d been Sent an odd vision. Usually his glimpses of the future were much more concrete. He’d even class them as hideously vivid in detail. Since he couldn’t imagine any situation in which he’d be called upon to reach into a basket that held an actual snake, this vision had the illusory feel of an allegory. It was a mere impression, not a factual representation, of what was to come.
The realization that he’d likely not be confronted by an asp in the next twelve hours gave him no comfort. In fact, given the hazy nature of the vision, he doubted the twelve-hour rule applied. The danger of which he’d been warned was likely of an extended duration. The moldering scent of a crypt still lingered in his nostrils.
“What did I tell you?” Ted enthused. “Isn’t the statue amazing?”
Devon forced himself to look at the cursed thing. At first glance the carving seemed typical of Egyptian art. The granite sculpture rested on a basalt base, the darker stone emphasizing the lighter coloration of the schist. The work depicted a young woman seated on a throne wearing a braided wig and serpent crown. Her arms were crossed over bared breasts and in her clenched fists she held the crook and flail that bespoke royal rule.
Devon wasn’t an aficionado of Egyptian relics, but he’d visited the British Museum often enough to be aware of some of the conventions of the ancient culture’s art. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary in the work until he observed her features closely.
Devon snorted in surprise. “She’s as European as a Botticelli angel.”
“Exactly!” Teddy slapped him on the back. “No flies on my brother, eh? I told you he’d see it straight away.”
Devon frowned at him. “All I can see is this must be a forgery of some sort. That girl is no more Egyptian than our Louisa.”
“I confess I thought so myself, milord,” Dr. Farnsworth said, “At first. But then I began working on the hieroglyphs along the base. They are absolutely genuine.”
“Based on what?”
“In this endeavor, I confess to standing on the shoulders of giants. It’s been more than sixty years since the discovery of the Rosetta Stone first unlocked the key to this ancient tongue and I relied heavily on an English translation of the work of Antoine-Jean Letronne.” Dr. Farnsworth smiled at Theodore. “However, may I add that your brother has been instrumental in assisting me with the translation?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Teddy said with a self-deprecating smile. “Dr. Farnsworth does the work. I merely take notes most of the time.”
“Nonsense, my boy.” Farnsworth patted Devon’s brother on the back. “You’re invaluable.”
Devon squinted at the squiggles and abstract beasts parading across the base of the statue. “What does
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