They turned to where George had been tied up—but he was gone. Francis’s eyes widened. George was now standing next to Cleo, a knife in his hand, ropes cut. He raced toward them, arm pulled back, and slugged Roy in the face.
“I’d rethink that if I were you.” George’s voice was low, deadly.
“Want to get shot too, tough guy?” Clyde raised his weapon, his hands shaking a little. He tilted it to the little boy, still standing eerily still. “Or better yet, your son?”
The little boy quirked his head. “That’s not my father,” he said softly. “My father is… Yes, Father. We could.”
“Caspian, no!” Anya snapped her eyes open, panic crossing her face for the first time. “I’m alright. See? I’m alright.”
But the boy—Caspian—wasn’t looking at her. He’d closed his eyes, muttering to himself.
“Caspian!” Anya screamed and sprang up. She moved her hand away from her side. The wound didn’t look as bad as Francis had first thought.
“I said to stay down, woman,” Clyde roared, grabbing her by the shoulders.
“And I said to get away from her,” Caspian said. He opened his eyes. They weren’t that violet sunset anymore. They were green.
And, by grace, they were glowing.
Clyde screamed, stumbling from Anya as green flame erupted across his hands and surged up his arm. Flesh blistered and peeled away, revealing stark white bone. His screams turned ragged. He dropped to his knees, the fire devouring him. He threw his head back, his silhouette flashing white-hot before the flames vanished, leaving only a heap of bones and ash.
Francis hadn’t even had time to blink.
“W-what is this?” Roy stammered, wiping his nose from where George had slugged him. “A curse? The mummy’s curse? Please help me, God, I?—”
Caspian stepped forward, eyes still glowing. “Your gods can’t help you now.”
More of those flames sprouted at Roy’s feet.
Francis had never seen that color of fire before. He stumbled back, head shifting from side to side, but there was nowhere to go, nothing but an empty desert.
But surely that would be better than here.
Roy’s scream, choked and broken, sounded almost worse than Clyde’s. Francis was closer to Roy than he had been to Clyde. Close enough to see how Roy’s flesh bubbled and burst as the flames crawled up his arm.
Crawled so slowly.
He’s making sure he suffers, Francis realized. Confirmed it when he saw the cruel, satisfied smile on the boy’s face.
“Caspian, stop! This isn’t you,” Anya snarled. She faced the archaeologist. “Hurry. Get Cleo.”
The boy ignored her, focused on Roy. Francis had to get out of here before the kid finished off Roy and turned to Francis for his next plaything.
“Enough!” Anya roared. Something broke out of the sand around the boy. Giant snakes. No, not snakes. Vines, beautiful vines, blooming with golden roses. They shot toward the boy.
He raised a hand. Flames leapt from them, spitting onto the briars, wilting the roses and turning the vines to dust in an instant. “This doesn’t concern you.”
Francis started to run, but the first step he took, his leg sank knee-deep in the sand. He attempted to scream but inhaled a mouthful of dust, then he couldn’t see.
The sand around him wasmoving. He tried to quell his panic. Away. He had to get away.
He fought his way through the storm, but the sand swallowed his steps, dragging him deeper. His footing gave, and he slid, sliding back down to the center.
A flash lit up his vision. Probably not a good sign. But like a moth drawn to candle flame, his eyes were drawn to the light. He came upon Roy, just as the flames were devouring his face.
Francis threw up in his mouth. He was next, no doubt about it.
There was so much sand swirling about, he couldn’t find a path. He ran, smacked into a pillar. His head ached, vision swimming.
