Alex wasn’t dead. Not yet, anyway.

The bizarre figure before him was toying with him, as a cat would a mouse. “I founded The Order long ago, when civilization itself was still young and Egypt was new.”

The founder paused, his rasping voice winding down like a buzz saw. Alex stared at him, horrified and transfixed. A churning swirl of purple and black enveloped him like a thick, liquid suit. Now and then an insect’s eye or a translucent wing appeared in the mix, only to be sucked back into the maelstrom. Large, wasp-like bodies bubbled up and disappeared. Sometimes a gap appeared and Alex caught a glimpse of the founder’s desiccated body beneath. Alex understood now that this was the very first Death Walker.

“I see you have met my friends,” said the founder. He plunged one bony, clawlike hand into his own swirling chest and plucked one of the ghostly wasps. Free from the teeming mix, it grew from the size of a sparrow to the size of an eagle and snapped at the air with jagged needle-sharp teeth. Without even looking at it, the founder plunged it back in. “They started as spirits — human souls. They were drawn to me, because my spirit was stronger. But over the centuries, I have taken over those spirits. We have become a sort of hive. Now they hunger for other souls to consume.” He paused. “As you will see in a moment.”

Alex knew that the founder would soon devour him, body and soul. He knew he should fight, but the idea seemed absurd. What could I possibly do to this ancient creature? Right now it was one being, more or less. Blasting it with wind or launching some object at it would just scatter the hive — which would pick him clean in seconds.

Alex’s heart raced with fear and sank with despair at the same time. Because the real pity of it was that he had come so close to his goal. So very close.

On a raised stone platform directly beside the founder lay the Lost Spells of the ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead. They were covered over with the thin linen of the concealment spells, but he knew they were there. They had given him a second life, and he could feel them in his blood.

“Yes, the Spells,” said the founder, following his eyes. “For so long we searched for them: a power far greater than our own, a power beyond imagination. And now they are ours. Perhaps I should thank you, but you have caused us trouble as well. So instead, you will die.”

Alex searched his mind desperately for some escape. He was too far into the room to sprint for the door. There was nothing substantial to hide behind. Even if fighting was futile, he would have to try.

Alex heard heavy footsteps at the door behind him. He didn’t dare turn around, but he knew that the other Walkers had returned.

The founder smiled. Vain in the way powerful men have always been, he’d simply been waiting for an audience. He raised one hand, and the hive began to grow there, like a grotesque, inflating fist. Wings sprouted, buzzing loudly; eyes appeared.

But Alex clung tightly to something the Death Walker had just said: A power far greater than our own.

The founder was more powerful than him. Ta-mesah was more powerful than him. Even the Stung Man, whom he’d defeated before, was beyond harm here. But none of them were the most powerful thing in this room.

As the leader lowered his churning arm toward him, Alex used the power of the scarab for the smallest of tasks.

He flipped aside the light, age-yellowed linen of the concealment spells.

A wave of power spread through the room like a ripple on smooth water. It was barely visible — just a brief wink and bend to the firelight — but the effect was profound.

The founder held his vengeful spirits as he turned to look at the powerful ancient text. The other two Death Walkers, who’d been hovering near the door to avoid being caught in the carnage, took a step back.

Alex was barely aware of any of it. His head swam and his knees nearly buckled. All he could do was stare at the Spells that had brought him back. As he did, the ancient scroll’s ink-black text began to glow a soft gold.

This is your chance, he told himself. Your last chance.

For a moment, no one moved. Even the swarming spirits fell nearly still. And then, his legs wobbly and his vision lit by stars and phantom symbols, Alex teetered forward.

The founder took a step to block him, but Alex willed his dazzled eyes to focus and his breathless lungs to speak. “Get back!” he managed. “I have activated the Spells!”

“You can’t wield this power,” said the founder. He punctuated his words with a dismissive snort. But he didn’t take another step.

Alex wobbled forward like a baby deer on ice. “Of course I can,” he said, his voice little more than a pained gasp.

“He’s used the Book of the Dead before,” said the Stung Man. “He banished me here before the doors were fully opened.”

The founder looked at the Stung Man carefully. “The Book is one thing,” he said. “The Lost Spells are another.” He turned back to Alex and repeated himself: “You can’t wield this power!”

Alex stumbled past him, passing mere feet from the deadly swarm. “Why not?” he mumbled. With the Spells so close, he felt like he was speaking underwater, but he poured everything he had left into his next words. “My mother used them … And my father.”

The founder glared at him. “Enough. I will destroy you.”

The words formed clearly in Alex’s troubled mind: The gods are stronger …

“No!” he shouted. “With a word, I can summon the Devourer! Her ancient name glows at the top of this page. Don’t you see it?”

It was a bluff. A total bluff. The top line could have said Cheez Whiz for all he knew. He could barely see the walls with all the stars swirling in his eyes, much less read a scroll. With one last lurch, he stumbled toward the stone platform. Just inches from the Spells, his blood ran hot and his head went blank. He flung his free hand up gracelessly, but it worked. The concealment spells flapped upward like a wing and then fell across the face of the scroll.

Alex’s head cleared slightly, and he scooped the ancient texts up against his chest: the thin, gauzy concealment spells and the heavy old scroll they guarded. It felt like hugging an electric eel, but he held on tight.

“One word!” he blurted, doubling down on his bluff.

Then he turned unsteadily and lurched out of the room.

With hate in their eyes, his stunned enemies let him pass.

Out in the hallway, he pulled the linen veil tight over the old scroll and took off running.