How do I know when it’s time to serve you?
What’s the timeframe for serving you? It is...um, forever?
Do I get vacation days?
What gifts did you give me? And what am I supposed to do with them?
Are there perks involved with service to an immortal god? Such as free chocolate, a day pass away from my sister or getting out of school early?
Will there be homework?
* * *
Feel free to personalize these questions as they suit your birthday dream conversation with Anubis. Meeting Anubis is usually a time-sensitive matter, so keep your questions precise and be prepared for answers that will totally bum you out. If you don’t have time to ask him about homework...the answer is yes.
There is always homework.
One more FYI...
You will be afraid. That fear will sit like a cold, dark lump in your stomach, and it will grow tentacles and clutch at your heart and your brain, and choke your thoughts and emotions until all that exists is pain and exhaustion and terror.
My advice?
Embrace it.
Chapter 4
“The Oracle predicted Set’s return, and that the god of chaos would ruin the world. Even though humans had reaper powers, they would not be enough to defeat Set. Anubis refused to abandon his human children again, and began to choose the worthy to receive more of his gifts. Throughout centuries, a secret sect of warriors with the strength, abilities, magic and skills trained, every generation, to go into battle against Set. Among them was the Chosen—a singular warrior who would channel Anubis’s powers to defeat Set. This champion was known as the kebechet.”
~The Champion and Other Tales of Anubis, Author Unknown
I spent most of my birthday day worrying about the Anubis dream. And getting ready for the party. Gena and Becks came over early to help me decorate and get the furniture all situated. They were appropriately horrified by my Dad’s ancient stereo equipment, but Becks took over the task of burning cool music onto CDs.
We had fun, especially when Nonna started bringing out the food. We had to taste test, you know? And the closer party time got, the more excited I got and the less I worried about Anubis and dreams and Oracles.
I said less, all right? No matter what conversation I was having or what food I was eating or what music I was listening to or whatever...the Anubis dream and what it could mean stuck in my brain like a tiny, sharp thorn.
I didn’t want to be worried about it. I didn’t want it to mean anything. But somewhere deep inside, where my fears and ghosts lay hidden, was the truth.
Anubis had chosen me.
* * *
It was just after 7:00 p.m. We’d strung up paper lanterns across the eaves of the porch. Cans of soda and water bottles were crammed into a couple of ice-filled coolers, and Nonna had outdone herself with the food. A long table outside was filled with appetizers and mini desserts, and we had trays set up around the living room and kitchen with similar treats. The partygoers spilled out through the open patio doors.
Ally was hanging out with her Citizens for Zombies friends, probably painting signs and writing speeches. Uncle Vinnie was with Dad. Even though my uncle was a zombie, Dad still treated him like a human. They watched TV together every night. I could hear Daddy’s television turned way up, probably to drown out the noise of the party. Nonna Gina was out with her quilting club. I’d never seen her quilt, but she always came home from her “meetings” in a really good grappa-induced mood.
The CDs that Becks had burned were playing and so far I’d kept Dad away from the sound system. He’d been bummed that he’d been unable to sneak in the soundtrack to The Breakfast Club (which, BTW, has only one good song on it...well, one good song if you’re old and like that kind of thing).
Presents were piled on a table near the fireplace. Everyone seemed to have ponied up a gift and I couldn’t wait to plow through those babies. I wondered if Rick would bring me something (oops...my shallowness was showing again) and what it might be?
He hadn’t arrived yet, though a lot of kids were already in the living room. Some were dancing; others were rambling out the open sliding glass doors and down into the yard. I saw several kids light up cigarettes near the back fence.
I turned around and headed into the house. I prayed my Dad wouldn’t come down to snoop, because I would die if he got all parental.
When I came back inside, Becks grabbed my arm and dragged me into the kitchen. Rebecca “Becks” Fortwith had been my friend since seventh grade, when we had the same English class and bonded over our mutual horror about The Grapes of Wrath. I mean, John Steinbeck is all right, I guess, but reading about the dust bowl and farmers in Oklahoma was kinda boring. And he didn’t mention zombies at all. Not like Zombie-cide 1932 by Hayden Smith. He went into ugly detail about starving farmers cooking and eating their zombies. And the families who ate zombies went crazy, or died, because hel-lo you can’t eat zombies. Even though necro magic arrests decomposition (well, mostly), zombies are still corpses and so, are yucky. Anyway, that’s why Oklahoma banned zombification. If you already had a zombie, then you could keep it. And even now, zombies accompanying visitors to the state had to get special passes and couldn’t stay longer than thirty days. Oklahoma is so weird.
“This. Is. Awesome,” said Becks.
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, offering me a brace-filled smile. Becks was the tallest girl in school and her height made her self-conscious. She was always slouching. She had gorgeous blond hair and these big blue eyes, and creamy pale skin. Her parents let her wear makeup, but she hardly needed any.
“Where’s Gena?” I asked.
“Talking to Mason.” She waggled her brows, but I could see the flicker of envy. When you’re taller than most boys, they don’t really talk to you much. But there was also the matter of Becks being completely gorgeous, and that was probably extra intimidating to guys. At least, that’s what Nonna said. “Beautiful girls need confident boys,” she’d said. “Not so many of those around, bella.”
“He doesn’t really seem like her type,” I said. Mason was a little too angst-driven for Gena, who was the perkiest non-cheerleader you’d ever meet. Mason was in the drama club and took it way too seriously. If I had to hear one more of his lectures about “the craft of acting,” I would kick him in the shins.
“She’s attracted to the damaged ones,” said Becks. “She thinks she can fix them.”
“Mason isn’t broken,” I said. “He’s just serious. He never smiles. It’s strange.”
Becks smiled. “Says the girl who makes zombies.”
“Ha.” I took her by the shoulders and looked up into her eyes. “Truth. How does the party rate on the Mina scale?”
“Hmm,” said Becks. “Too early to tell, but the arrival of football players, the cool music and the to-die-for food...yeah. It’s heading toward a solid six.”
I nodded. The Mina birthday scale was hardcore. Here’s the deal:
Last May, Mina Hamilton had had a blowout for her Sweet Sixteen. Not only had she gotten a snazzy Corvette, but her parents had allowed alcohol. Sorta. They left the house for the whole night and let Mina and her friends do whatever they wanted. That’s the gossip, anyway. I wasn’t invited, so I don’t know what really happened. I just lapped up the rumors along with everyone else.
“You can let go of me.”
I was still clutching Becks, so I let her go. “Sorry.”
“It’s cool. I know you’re dying to see if Rick