Alex and Ren stumbled up the Jetway on wobbly knees. As soon as they arrived in the terminal, they saw Luke up ahead amid the scrum of passengers and airline personnel. Alex looked out the big glass windows at the rain coming down. Just regular rain now. It had turned over during the plane’s slow taxi to the gate. Outside, the last pinkish reminders of their ordeal were washing away.

His head was buzzing and his nerves were shot. He jumped slightly as the loudspeaker came on above him. A crisp female voice: “Flight 768 from New York, now arriving.” The shaken passengers stopped to listen. Perhaps there’d be some explanation? “Welcome to London!” the voice concluded brightly.

Alex turned to Ren and they just shook their heads. Even after weeks of widespread weirdness, the world of the living was still firmly in the denial stage. Ren looked away first, and Alex wondered if part of her was still in that stage, too.

They caught up with Luke, but a man in an airline uniform was already talking to him. “And of course we are particularly concerned that our first-class passengers not be alarmed by this fluke occurrence,” the man purred in a posh British accent.

“It’s cool, bro,” said Luke. “I slept through most of it anyway.”

The man smiled politely, slightly baffled. “You … slept …”

“What was that stuff?” asked Ren, busting in.

The man looked over, straightening his red blazer.

“It was blood, wasn’t it?” said Alex.

The man looked over at Luke as if to say: You know these two?

Luke shrugged. “He’s my cousin. They were in coach.”

The man gave a quick nod. That explains it. “We think it was algae,” he said without much conviction.

“Algae?” said Alex. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” sniffed the man, “an aerial bloom of red algae. It’s quite common at sea.”

“It’s quite common in the sea,” corrected Ren.

The man looked down at her but quickly looked away, as shifty as a dog caught pulling food off the counter. A large Australian standing nearby broke in: “That was no bloomin’ algae!”

“Come on, let’s go,” said Alex. He knew they weren’t going to get any real information out of this tall red mouthpiece.

Ren nodded and Luke loped along with them as they left the two men to argue over aerial bloom versus aerial blood.

Alex looked over at his cousin. Luke was a year and a half older, half a foot taller, and infinitely more muscled. “Did you really sleep through all that?”

“Most of it.” Luke shrugged. “Killer workout yesterday. Totally wiped. Sorry I missed the algae, though.”

Alex’s jaw dropped open. “Do you seriously think that was red algae?”

“That’s what the man said,” said Luke.

Alex looked over at Ren, expecting her to mirror his disappointment.

“Well,” she said. “I heard that sometimes, like, frogs and things get sucked up in funnel clouds and then fall back to earth. Maybe …”

Alex just shook his head. He expected the airline to be in denial, not his friends. They headed for the passport control room. A big sign near the entrance read: UK BORDER.

“It’s cool that you can have a border in a building,” said Luke. “But I guess you can have a building on a border so …”

He trailed off and a quick smile flickered across Alex’s face. Family spy or not, he sometimes got a kick out of his cousin.

“Look at the lines,” said Ren.

Alex sized them up. “Not too bad.”

“Exactly,” said Ren, flapping a London guidebook toward him. “The book says they’re usually huge: ‘Pack one snack for the international flight, and another for the passport control lines.’ ”

“That’s because we’re the only ones daft enough to come here now,” said a voice behind them.

The three friends turned around and saw an older couple. The man who’d spoken was wearing a sweater vest and a friendly smile. “No offense,” he added.

“Because of the algae?” said Luke.

The man and woman both gave him patient looks, trying not to look pitying. “Not just that,” said the man. “Graves been robbed, people gone missing …”

“Yeah, we heard about some of that,” Alex began, pointing between Ren and himself with one thumb and leaving Luke out of it.

He was going to say more, but the man’s face clouded over and the smile fell away. “Our little …” he began. “Our little nephew, Robbie …”

The woman patted her husband on the back and took over. “Our nephew up and vanished. Lives with my sister on Swain’s Lane. We don’t think he’s … like the others … He’s an energetic boy, you know, probably just off on some adventure.”

Now Alex was the one trying not to look pitying. Before his mom had used the spells, he’d spent most of his life deathly ill. He knew better than almost anyone what it was like to put on a brave face, to pretend things were better than they were.

“So you’re here to help?”

“Help look for him!” said the man, stuffing some cheer back into his voice. “Get out there and beat the bushes!”

Alex hadn’t heard the phrase before, but he liked it. That’s what he was there for, too.

“Where are your parents, by the way?” said the woman, scanning what was left of the line in front of them. She had her hair up in a bun, wore a floral dress, and looked like everyone’s aunt ever.

Luke began to say something, but Ren cut him off. “I’m supposed to call them!”

“Oh, that’s good,” said the woman. “They’ll pick you up?”

Alex and Ren just smiled. The woman took a quick look at the group: three different shades of hair, three different tones of skin. Alex was half-Egyptian with shaggy black hair and tan skin; Luke looked like a mini Viking; and Ren fell somewhere in between, brown-haired, brown-eyed, and pint-sized.

“Well,” said the lady, pulling something from her handbag. “If you happen to see our Robbie, at a playground or a McDonald’s or the like …”

Even before she unfolded the paper, Alex knew it would be a Missing Person flyer. His heart sank when he saw it. In the color photo in the center, the boy’s face was flushed and smiling, and he was holding up a third-place trophy with a soccer ball on top. Alex noticed the blue eyes and light brown hair first. Then he noticed that one of the boy’s eyebrows was a little higher than the other, giving his face a slightly off-kilter look. He looked like the kind of healthy, normal kid Alex had always wanted to be.

He looked up at the woman, sure of two things: that he would recognize this boy if he saw him, and that he never would see him. Not alive anyway. She pressed the paper toward him, and he couldn’t help but take a step back.

Ren stepped forward and took it. “We’ll keep an eye out!” she said. She shot Alex a look as she turned to put the paper in her carry-on bag.

Alex looked down at the tile floor, trying to pull it together. Death, magic, evil … All the things they thought they’d put to rest in New York were here waiting for them in London. The missing boy gave a face to a familiar thought: Is this all my fault, just like New York? Does me being here help — or make things worse?

He turned to Ren, but she was busy getting her passport and customs form ready. They were at the front of the line.

He handed the border control agent his passport. The man leaned forward in his chair and looked behind Alex. “You here by yourself, then?” he said, sitting back and eyeballing the passport.

“With her,” said Alex, pointing to Ren in the next line.

The man frowned. “Purpose of visit?”

Alex rattled off the answer he’d prepared: that Dr. Ernst Todtman at the Met had sent them to intern with Dr. Priya Aditi at the British Museum.

“What kind of doctors?” said the official.

“Egyptologists,” said Alex.

The man looked at him carefully, paused, then broke into a broad smile. “Who on earth would make up a story like that?” he said, handing him his passport. “Welcome to the United Kingdom.”

The last one through, Alex joined the other two.

“We just crossed the border,” said Luke, still amused by the concept.

“You’re an international athlete now,” said Alex.

“Oh yeah!” said Luke, puffing out his broad chest a bit more as the three walked straight into an airport in crisis.

The long lines they’d expected entering the country were on the other side, desperately trying to leave London. Security lines snaked back and forth, threatening to stretch out the sliding doors. Electronic boards flashed delays and cancellations after the mysterious squall. Raised voices and wailing infants echoed off the terminal’s high ceilings.

Ren took a modest clump of British bills from her pocket and stopped by an airport kiosk. Alex surveyed the unfamiliar candy choices — Aero, Wispa, Double Decker — as Ren bought a newspaper that had caught her eye.

She handed it over and Alex read the huge front-page headline for himself: “ROYAL ROBBERY: Crown Jewels Stolen!” Below that, in type only slightly smaller: “A Dozen Priceless Pieces Taken from Tower of London.” Next to it, there was a picture of a massive, jewel-encrusted crown.

The familiar phrases popped out at Alex as he skimmed the story: “time locks disabled … alarms failed to sound … cameras turned toward the wall.” It was just like the day the Lost Spells had been stolen from the Met. The day the Spells had been stolen and his mom had disappeared.

He flipped to the next page, and the picture stopped him cold. It was a hand, in extreme close-up, reaching up to disable one last camera. The hand was wrapped tightly in linen. He understood immediately that it was a mummy. But he’d never seen ancient linen look so clean before …

He held the paper open for Ren to see. She nodded. Was she thinking the same thing he was? He wanted to ask but …

“Got to hand it to that guy, huh?” said Luke, leaning in for a look of his own. “Won’t be getting any fingerprints off him!”

They ignored his joke and exchanged questions with their eyes. Luke noticed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you two didn’t always want me around,” he said.

“That’s crazy,” said Alex as Ren took the paper and stuffed it into her carry-on bag.

“Well, don’t sweat it, cuz,” said Luke. “I’ll be out of your hair in no time.” He pointed up at a sign that read UNDERGROUND, with a stylized train logo next to it. “Taking the train to the training.”

They swung by baggage claim on the way out. Ren wrestled her perfectly packed wheelie bag off the carousel, Alex fished a heavy leather suitcase off the belt and grunted as he thunked it to the floor, and Luke plucked a large duffel bag free as if he were lifting a candy bar. Not that he ate candy bars.

Then the three wheeled, walked, and lugged their way out of the airport. For a while the signs for the trains and ground transport were right next to each other, but eventually the arrows pointed in opposite directions.

“Where are you two staying, again?” said Luke, holding up his phone, ready to punch in the info. “I’m supposed to ch — I mean, it would be cool to hang out.”

Alex and Ren exchanged quick glances.

“Umm, well,” said Alex.

“Umwell?” said Luke. “Is that, like, a hotel?”

Alex couldn’t tell if he was joking.

“Alex Sennefer?” came a gruff voice. “Renata Duran?”

The friends turned around and saw a very large man with a surprisingly small flat cap pulled down tightly on his large shaved head.

“Uh, yeah?” said Alex. “That’s us.”

“Thought it looked like you,” said the man, holding up a piece of paper and looking from it to Alex and Ren. “ ’At’s you, all right.”

Alex was having a hard time understanding.

“ ’Pologize fer me accent,” said the man. “Must sound a bit like I’ve got marbles in me mouf.”

Alex searched his brain: What’s a mouf?

“Fing is, Dr. Aditi couldn’t make it, see? Sent me to pick you up an’ all ’at, right?”

Alex watched the man closely. He could understand a dozen different ancient Egyptian dialects with the help of his amulet. He hadn’t missed one word of the Stung Man’s Middle Kingdom bluster. But this giant gent had him baffled.

Ren stepped up: “ ’E says — excuse me, he says that Dr. Aditi can’t make it.”

The man nodded. “In a meeting, she is.”

“She’s in a meeting, and she sent him to pick us up.”

“Bring you to the museum.”

“And bring us —”

“I got that part,” said Alex. He sized the man up. Size: XXL. He knew who they were, and he knew Dr. Aditi was supposed to meet them — but who was he?

“Are you, like, her assistant?” asked Ren skeptically.

“Aw, nuffin’ like ’at,” said the man, who definitely didn’t seem the scholarly type. “I’m a driver. Fer the museum, like.”

Alex nodded. That made more sense.

“Look at you two, with your own driver,” said Luke. “I’m just gonna head to the train.”

“Who’s this, then?” said the man — Ooze iss den? — looking down at his sheet of paper again.

“Luke Bauer, big guy, remember the name.” He turned to Alex and added, “Got your digits, cuz. I’ll send you a text — or look you up at the Umwell.”

He slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and headed off toward the airport train station.

“ ’Is way, den,” said the man. “Got a van out front.”

“Come on,” Ren said to Alex. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I can ’elp you wiv ’at bag, any’ow,” offered the man, stepping forward and plucking Alex’s heavy suitcase from the ground with one massive bear paw.

Alex nodded. He wasn’t about to argue with that. He decided he was probably just being paranoid. Ren seemed to trust the guy. She was a few steps ahead, chatting away with him. She understood him just fine. Had she studied that in preparation for the trip, too? He picked up the pace and caught up with them.

“What’s your name, anyway?” he said to the man.

“Me name?”

“Yeah, you name.”

“It’s Liam, innit?” he said.

Alex was confused again. Is he asking me?

Ren read his expression. “It’s Liam, Alex.”

“Okay, cool. Nice to meet you.”

The man reached up and touched the tip of his undersized cap with his free hand. “Just up a’ead ’ere,” he said, pointing to a pair of large sliding doors.

Alex nodded. He was beginning to understand the man’s accent. Rule #1: No h’s. The automatic doors shooshed open, and Alex took one last look at the chaotic airport as they left it behind. They’d flown thousands of miles: out of trouble and chaos and danger in one city and into a fresh batch of it in another. It would be worth it if his mom was here. She had to be, and once he found her, she’d know what to do. She always had …

On the other side of the doors was a dim lower level, two narrow lanes of pavement with a curb on one side and a low concrete wall on the other. There was a beat-up cargo van directly in front of them — the kind with a sliding door and no windows in the back — and that was it.

“Where are all the cars?” said Alex. “The airport’s so busy inside …”

“Bit of a dustup,” said Liam, pointing vaguely to the top of the ramp. “I was d’last one got frew.”

Alex looked up to the top of the ramp. There was a car sideways across both lanes. A man standing nearby had both arms in the air and another man was shouting something at him. Alex looked the other way. Another ramp led up and away, merging with the traffic leaving the airport. “Did they crash or —”

But before he could finish his question, his own heavy suitcase crashed into him. Liam swung the thing like a Ping-Pong paddle, clocking Alex hard on the shoulder and sending him sprawling to the pavement.

“Kuhhh!” he said as the air escaped his lungs. The pavement dug into his palms as he landed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Liam bring the suitcase down toward Ren, trying to swat her like a fly. She leapt nimbly to the side, but the heavy case just clipped her leg and sent her to the ground, too.

This guy is a fake! he thought. He began to scramble to his feet, but the suitcase came down on his head, knocking him senseless.

Through half-closed eyes he saw Ren rushing back toward the airport — and then knocked flat by the swinging suitcase. No!

Liam dropped the suitcase and crouched down over Alex. He fastened one plastic zip tie around his wrists and another around his hands, tying them together in prayer position. Alex pulled against them helplessly. He rolled onto his back and brought the first plastic band up to his teeth: useless, like trying to bite through a Coke bottle.

He had one last hope. Alex tried to grasp his amulet, but with his hands bound together he could only press his thumbs to the thing. Not enough: The scarab remained cold and inert. This man knew exactly what to do, thought Alex, and that means one thing: The Order.

He flopped onto his side and looked across the pavement toward Ren. His friend was splayed out ten feet away. Her hands weren’t tied, but she wasn’t moving. A fresh wave of panic rolled through him, and then he heard the van’s side door slide open.

Alex tried to stand. Even with his head still ringing from the blow, he knew that if this man got them in that van, they would never be seen again.

All Alex managed to do was sit up.

“There y’are, ya little biter,” said Liam, looking down at him. “I ’ope y’understand me now.”

As he reached down for Alex, a shoulder slammed hard into Liam’s gut and a pair of arms wrapped up the tops of his thick legs. It was a textbook tackle, with the blond head off to one side of Liam’s hip. Luke.

Flawless technique allowed him to take the much larger man down. Liam’s mouth formed a perfect round O as he fell backward and his head slammed into the side of the van. The two bodies went down in a heap, but Luke was up a half-second later, springing to his feet like a jungle cat.

“My hands!” Alex called, holding the plastic-tied appendages up for his cousin.

“Right,” said Luke. He took one more look over at Liam, still motionless on the ground, and then rushed over to try to loosen the ties.

“You came back,” said Alex, stating the obvious. He knew he still wasn’t thinking as clearly as he needed to.

Luke gave him a sly smile. “Didn’t trust that guy for a second.”

The ties wouldn’t budge. Once fastened, they had to be cut free. Both boys looked over at Ren. She’d trusted this big ham hock of a man — and paid the price.

The good news: She was starting to sit up now.

The bad news: So was the ham hock!