Dr. Alshuff had had it rough.

The old academic stood and greeted them with a forced smile and a black eye. “It is good to see you again, my old friend,” Alshuff said to Todtman, but he sounded more nervous than happy.

Alex stared at the ugly purple bruise on the loose skin around the old man’s left eye. “And you!” said the doctor, turning and catching him looking. “You look just like —” Alex’s ears perked up. He knew he didn’t look much like his mom, and he had never seen so much as a picture of his father — but had this man? “Um, just like I imagined,” Alshuff added after an awkward pause.

Alshuff extended his hand and Alex shook it. He’d trusted Safa immediately, almost despite himself, but trust was still in short supply in Alex’s world. And he didn’t trust this nervous, shifty-eyed guy at all. “What happened to your eye?” he said bluntly.

Alshuff immediately launched into an elaborate story involving a heavy book, a top shelf, and some dust. Alex couldn’t help thinking about his cousin. During the time they’d spent together in London and Egypt, Luke had fooled Alex completely. Alex had fallen for his act, thinking they were allies — even friends — all while Luke was spying on him and Ren. But he wasn’t so naive anymore. Alex’s expression hardened. He was more alert now, more wary — and he was sure Alshuff’s story was a lie.

Meanwhile, Alshuff had turned toward Ren. “And who is this?” he said.

“I’m Renata Duran,” she said. “Is this school hard to get in to?”

The old professor released a dry, clucking laugh. “Not for an Amulet Keeper,” he said, eyeing her ibis. Ren nodded, making a mental note.

Alshuff took a seat behind his big wooden desk and the others pulled out the three chairs arrayed in front of it. “So,” he said. “How can I help you today?”

A smile formed above Todtman’s sloping chin as he considered the man. Alex could tell he’d picked up their host’s phony vibe, too, and he was glad. “As I mentioned on the phone,” said Todtman, “we are looking for information about Maggie.”

Alshuff shooed a fly away from his face with a wave of one sweaty palm. “Of course,” he said. “And what is it you would like to know about her?”

“Ah,” said Todtman. “That is the question. We are looking for anything that might help us understand where she is now, where she would go. We believe she’s in Egypt, and we know she has history in Alexandria. Beyond that …” Todtman let his words trail off, but Alshuff was quick to offer his own.

“You are trying to find her,” he offered. “And she does not want to be found.”

“Exactly,” said Todtman.

Alex looked from one man to the other. There was something going on between them, something extra being communicated in their looks. Alshuff swatted at the fly again, harder this time. Todtman watched him closely.

“Well,” said Alshuff, leaning back in his chair, “as you know, Maggie was primarily interested in the Ptolemaic period, when the Greeks ruled Egypt.”

He raised his voice as he said this, and Alex got the annoying impression that it was for his benefit. He knew what the Ptolemaic period was! It was funny, though: He didn’t really remember his mom being particularly interested in it. She rarely even ventured over to the Greek section at the Met.

“You might want to take a closer look at some of the major Ptolemaic sites,” Alshuff continued. “The Temple of Philae, perhaps. She would be quite at home in that area, I think.”

Alshuff’s voice was loud but shaky, dotted with little pauses as if making it up as he went along. His eyes were on the ceiling, his desk — anywhere but on the people he was talking to. Alex had heard enough of his lies. “But my mom never —” he began.

Alshuff cut him off immediately. “Well!” said the old professor, filling his voice with false confidence. “I wish I had more time to talk, but it is a busy day here, and we have a departmental meeting in a few minutes.” He pushed his chair back and stood up. “One of our mummies was apparently burned to ashes downtown, and they will want to remind us again to lock our doors.”

Todtman pushed back his own chair and stood. Alex and Ren followed suit. Alshuff came around the desk and put his hand on Alex’s shoulder. Alex flinched. The gesture seemed friendly enough, but he was also gently but firmly guiding him toward the door. Alex looked up and saw Alshuff looking down at the scarab beneath his collar.

“It has been a very long time since I have seen the Returner,” he said, his voice suddenly quite steady. This, thought Alex, is what the man really sounds like. “Your mother’s most significant discovery. Until recently, of course.”

Alex looked up at him. “You mean the Lost Spells?”

Alshuff gave him a look he couldn’t interpret: Sad? Patient?

A buzzing grew in Alex’s right ear, and he reached up and swatted at the fly. Missed it. They were almost to the door now.

“Oh, one more thing,” said Alshuff, his voice soft and casual. “You might take a look at her dissertation. I doubt it will offer any more than I have already told you, but you might find it interesting. It should be in the main library, along with her notes. Tell them I sent you.”

He took one last look at the scarab as the three guests filed out of the office. “With such an impressive pedigree,” he said quietly to Alex, forcing a smile, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you found a space already set aside for you in there.” Then he turned to Todtman. “Danke, Doktor.”

And with that, Alshuff swung the door shut.

Todtman stopped it with his good foot. “One more question,” he said. “Do you still host the department’s poker night?”

Alshuff gave a quick grin, this one somehow more genuine than the others. “Every Friday,” he said. Todtman nodded and removed his foot, and Alshuff slammed the door for good.

The friends headed down the hallway toward the nearest exit. The fly, Alex couldn’t help but notice, came with them.

“That dude was lying through his teeth,” said Alex once they’d put some distance between themselves and Alshuff’s office.

“Definitely shady,” agreed Ren.

“And what was all that Ptolemaic stuff?” said Alex. “My mom was always going on about the Middle Kingdom, the Early Kingdom — the Egypt part of ancient Egypt. I mean, I seriously doubt the Lost Spells were written in Greek!”

Alex looked up to see if Todtman would weigh in on his “old friend,” but the German seemed lost in thought. So Alex pushed open the big exit door and squinted into the bright sunlight.

“And he was just so bad at it,” continued Ren as they headed across a wide courtyard. “He was practically sweating bullets, wouldn’t make eye contact. That guy is a horrible liar.”

“But that’s the thing,” said Todtman, his cane thumping softly beside him as he walked. “He is a terrific liar.”

“Uh, are we talking about the same guy?” said Alex.

“Yes,” said Todtman. “I have lost many games of poker to that man. He is notorious. You can never tell what he is thinking. His expression never betrays him. He is well known for it in … certain circles.”

“Wait,” said Ren. “Is he a member of your, what do you call it, book club?”

“That is what you call it,” Todtman pointed out. “We consider ourselves more of an international association of scholars.”

Alex tried to wrap his brain around that. How could that shifty old dude be a member of the same secret group as Todtman?

His mom had been a member, too, but now she seemed to be playing a dangerous game all her own. He didn’t know what the objective of that game was, but he knew that, just like in poker, deception was key.

“So, should we check out that temple he mentioned, or what?” said Alex, trying to figure out if this whole thing had been a waste of time.

“No,” said Todtman. “You are right, he was lying about that. Maggie was never very interested in the Ptolemaic Dynasty — she doesn’t even speak Greek.”

“Do most Egyptologists speak Greek?” said Ren.

“The ones who are interested in that period do,” said Todtman. “As they say in Athens, Mía glóssa then íne poté arketí.”

“Uh, sure,” said Ren. “So, he was lying and, what? He wanted us to know he was lying? Why?”

“I don’t think he was speaking entirely for our benefit,” said Todtman.

Alex remembered the black eye. “Maybe The Order has already been here,” he said. He remembered Alshuff’s raised voice, practically shouting “Temple of Philae.” “Maybe they still are. Maybe he thought they were listening in somehow.”

Alex swung his head all around as they reached the edge of a large courtyard. No one behind them. Todtman led them down a narrow walk between two old redbrick buildings. “This way,” he said.

“Where are we going?” said Alex.

“I think perhaps it was the other place he mentioned that we are meant to go,” said Todtman.

“The one he mentioned quietly,” added Ren.

Now Alex got it, too: “The one he said wasn’t very important.”

Todtman nodded: “Her old dissertation, in the library.”

“Gah!” blurted Ren, slapping down hard on her neck. “This fly is driving me crazy!”

That thing is persistent, thought Alex. They turned the corner and he saw a large, six-story building rising into view. This place had library written all over it.

“Let’s see what she was really studying — and, more importantly, where,” said Todtman, eyeing the impressive structure. “Whatever is in these files represents her roots in this country — a paper trail of her first years here. But keep your eyes open and your amulets ready.” And on that note, they entered the cool, hushed world of the central library. The swirl of air as the doors opened caused the persistent little fly to tumble end over end, and the doors closed before it could recover. It landed on the glass and peered in with its many-sectioned eyes. Then, finally, it buzzed off.