Another Pan (20 page)

“Evidently,” said Peter, trying to sound bored. Then he added nonchalantly, “I would’ve had it a long time ago if the overworld didn’t keep changing. Every time that book gets moved, I have to jump on a plane and start all over.”

Wendy wondered how old this guy was. He didn’t look any more than nineteen. “So you got the RA job just to be near the exhibit?” she asked. Peter just looked at his nails. He took a second to think, then said, “It’s the
underworld
— not exactly a part-time gig.”

“But it feels so small,” Wendy muttered.

“Things aren’t always laid out for you to see,” said Peter. “Some things are much bigger than their visible parts.”

Then Peter said something that sent chills through Wendy. “This part of Marlowe — the dark side of it — it’s always been here, even if you didn’t see it. It’s what drew all the pieces together to begin with.”

Peter didn’t have to say it. Wendy already knew what the “pieces” were: the
Book of Gates;
Peter, who was forever chasing it; and the Dark Lady, who was ever conscious of the danger Peter presented. This place was predestined. There was an evil here. Maybe it would always be here — even if they closed the leak, found all the bonedust, and destroyed the book. The labyrinth might go away, but what scared Wendy was the idea that the devil that had attached itself to Marlowe was much harder to get rid of.

“Was that . . . woman with the hood . . . was that her?” Wendy asked. “The Dark Lady . . . um . . . the death goddess?”

“You saw the eye,” said Peter, “the broken one. I’ve seen that on only one other person . . . years ago.” Wendy thought he would tell her more, but he trailed off.

“OK, let’s do this, then,” said John. “Let’s force her back in . . . or whatever.”

“Guys.” Peter turned to Tina and the boys. “Go back to the dorms.”

“What?”
said Tina, not bothering to hide her anger.

“Do it,” he said. “This is
my
thing.” This time, Tina and the boys obeyed.

Peter went to the basement door. “So the book’s in here?”

Wendy hesitated. Then she nodded.

Peter’s lips curled incredulously. “I can’t believe you left it next to the last open door.” Then he whispered something to himself and said, “Let’s move. I have an idea.”

“So what’s your plan?” Wendy asked Peter as she unlocked the door at the top of the basement stairs and watched him take the steps two at a time.

“Relax,” said Peter. “I have it under control.”

“How, exactly?” Wendy asked in her most rational tone. “Tell me.”

Peter ignored her, which made John glare at him through razor-thin eyes and mumble curses. He ran down the steps after Peter, as always looking for every opportunity to hassle the arrogant RA. “I bet he doesn’t actually know what he’s doing,” John said, as if Peter weren’t right there within earshot, “but we’re
still
walking down to the creepy basement, chasing after some undead thing that’s trying to kill us.”

“Give him a chance,” whispered Wendy.

John, who was losing all patience, turned and yelled at his sister, “We’re going to die, Wendy! Do you get it? Game over? Brutally shredded corpses?
Tú no more está alive-o
?”

“Look, Peter knows way more about this stuff than we do,” Wendy whispered. “And he says he has it under control.” John hated her mature act.

“And how, exactly?” asked John. “Is Peter one of the X-Men? Excuse me, Peter, did you by any chance train at Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters? Do you have a field degree in kicking superevil ass that we don’t know about?”

“You’re such a colossal dork,” said Peter. “Stop freaking out like some old lady.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” John shot back. “I should stop freaking out now. Because valuing your life is
so
lame. . . . Stop acting like you’re not freaked out, too.”

Peter didn’t seem fazed by any of this. He was acting like it was all a game. John swore he was doing it just for effect — another guy trying to get next to Wendy. He wanted to whip out his phone right now and scream all his frustrations into his Facebook status update.

“She’ll follow us when we open the gate,” said Peter. “John, take this and dial 1 if anything goes wrong.” Peter pulled out a sleek new cell phone. John was impressed. It was the most expensive phone on the market.
He probably stole it
.

“No way,” said John, crossing his arms and staring at Peter. “I’m not your secretary.”

Suddenly Wendy, who’d been looking more and more nervous as they descended the stairs, took Peter’s phone, marched up to John, grabbed him by the arm (this was probably the last year she’d be stronger than him, John swore to himself almost every day), and pulled him to one corner. “John, stop this
right now
! You’re acting like a brat, and we’re in real danger, and if you don’t get a grip, I swear I’ll —”

John glanced at Peter, who was watching them with a sneer. He couldn’t believe his own sister was humiliating him like this. “You’ll what?” John shot back.

“Just stay here,” said Wendy, tightening her grip on his arm. “Take the phone and do what you’re asked, or I’ll show Connor your
Battlestar Galactica
collection. I swear I will.”

“Traitor,” John whispered, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, his glasses fogging up, his voice full of resentment. He grabbed the phone from his sister.

Wendy and Peter rushed to find the
Book of Gates
while John fumed and killed time by fiddling with Peter’s phone. At first, John cast only cursory glances at the phone and watched with fury as Wendy hurried across the basement, winding around the set pieces of the exhibit, straight to the ancient book. Peter’s eyes almost welled up in excitement. When he put his hands on the book, it was with familiarity. He brushed his hands across the surface, lifted it, and bounced it on his palms a few times, as though he was weighing it. But then, just as John was about to throw a spiteful comment about the RA’s creepy interest in all this, he stumbled across Peter’s contacts list and his attention was diverted.

“Five twenty,” said Peter, glancing at his watch. He closed his eyes and held the book up to his mouth. Wendy didn’t think you had to do that for the magic to work, but it looked like he was breathing in the smell of the pages. Then Peter whispered the name of the sixth hour of night in ancient Egyptian.
Does he have all the hours memorized?
Wendy also noticed that he pronounced the word differently from the way John or her dad had on the many occasions she had heard them practice ancient Egyptian.

Peter opened his eyes and opened the book to a random page. The message began to appear just as it had done for Wendy and John. Wendy leaned over his shoulder to get a better look.

You speak truly: this sixth hour of Egypt’s night

Open the gates and enter here

As she bent over Peter’s shoulder, Wendy heard him whisper the words and then mumble something in a language she assumed was ancient Egyptian. It sounded like a prolonged sigh of relief or a prayer of thanks. Wendy knew she was geeking out a little, but she couldn’t help finding it attractive. The way his lips spoke the words in a hushed breathy tone made her quiver. She imagined the damp contact of those lips barely brushing against her face as he whispered little temptations in her ear. Then Wendy remembered Connor and all the promises to herself, and she pushed the thoughts of Peter out of her head.

Wendy was busy admiring all of Peter’s less academic qualities when suddenly he looked over and caught her staring. Wendy flushed and looked up at him. Peter just smirked. “Well,” he said, “do you see the door?”

“Oh,” said Wendy, her tone a little squeaky, her hand instinctively fixing her hair. She glanced around, hoping to spot it first. But a moment later, Peter pointed to a door nearby.

Wendy turned to see the Eye of Ra slowly appearing over the door frame.

“Now we wait for her to come,” said Peter.

John had only managed to get through the
D
s in Peter’s contacts list when they finished opening the gate. Apparently, this Peter guy was the most connected jerk on the face of the planet. He had contacts all over: a guy named Agro in the Canary Islands, someone named Behamut Iron-Arm, who lived in Bhutan, the Kingdom of the Dragon. There were almost a hundred contacts in Cairo.

In the time it took for Wendy and Peter to open the gate, Peter’s phone had gotten thirty-five texts and seven calls that left voice mail. After a while, someone answered a group text. The response was signed
LB53
. John figured out that it stood for Lost Boy 53. Apparently, Peter was even lamer at remembering names in cyberspace, where there were no physical clues to provide easy nicknames. Soon, more texts started getting responses.