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My parents were gone forever, but I brought them with me wherever I went. This was why I would fight to find out what my uncle had done. I wouldn’t be able to move on if I didn’t. And there was a part of me that wanted to finish what they began, and to help find Cleopatra. They might not have wanted me to be involved, but now that I was here… I wanted to make them proud.

“Do you want to see the headquarters?” Whit asked, jarring me from my thoughts.

I blinked. “Sure.”

He spun around and took two enormous steps to the left of our campsite, spreading his arms wide.

Another structure stood close by, a partial wall made of golden stone. Somehow, I’d missed it entirely, too preoccupied by where I was supposed to sleep. Pressed against the wall was a long wooden table covered by various supplies: brushes and scalpels, candles, handheld mirrors, and bundles of rope. Several crates littered the floor, overflowing with what appeared to be junk. Broken handheld mirrors, mismatched and worn shoes, fraying ribbons. Nothing worth saving at first glance, but something told me that each item held the remnants of old magic. Energy pulsed through the air, like someone drawing a finger across still water, making ripples. I felt the soft vibrations against my skin.

“We try to find objects that haven’t been handled much. Forgottenitems stored away in attics and the like,” Whit said. “That’s why you can feel the old magic in the air. It will fade in time the longer the items are used around the campsite.”

TheElephantinecrew also served as the digging crew, and they situated themselves in a cluster some fifty feet away from the dormitories, surrounding a large fire pit. The campsite was an easy distance from the archaeological site, only a fifteen-minute walk or thereabouts, and nestled in a palm grove.

Whit rummaged through several large maps littering the table, and then he handed one to me. “Here, this is a map of Philae, if you wanted to see it.”

I studied it, noting the size of the island. It appeared to be on the smaller side and I decided to include it in my journal. I went back to my room, Whit trailing behind me.

“What are you doing?”

“I wanted to copy the map for my sketchbook,” I explained. “It won’t take but a moment.”

He waited as I quickly gathered my things together and then as I sat on one of the campsite’s mats to draw the island. After I finished, he came to stand behind me, observing my work.

I walked inside my room, surprised to find it was more spacious than I first realized. I could comfortably stand at my full height and stretch both of my arms wide and still not reach either end.

Whit poked his head in. “Well?”

I glanced over my shoulder. “I have an idea.”

He eyed me warily. “Have I told you how much I live in terror of your ideas?”

“That’s rude.”

But the errand turned out to be successful. Whit carried back one rolled-up rug for my room, a handful of books that would serve as a small nightstand, and a single bowl for washing.

“After you’re done decorating, I’ll show you around the temple,” Whit said as he balanced all of the items across the sandy terrain.

Decoratingmeant unrolling the rug; it covered the entire floor of my room, one end curling up the wall because it was wider than the space allowed. I’d already brought over the extra bedroll and linens, and one of the crew had carried my belongings inside. Whit handed me the stack of books, his hand brushing against mine, and I startled from the electrifying zip that ran up my arm. He flexed his fingers as I placed the books next to the bedding. The bowl went on top of the literature. While the space felt dark, I had plenty of candles and matches should I need them.

All put together, the effect turned out to be cozy.

I stepped outside to where Whit waited. “Where are you sleeping?”

He pointed at the room directly next to mine.

My body flooded with heat. “Oh.”

Whit grinned. “I hope you don’t snore.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I muttered.

He took mercy on me. “Are you ready to see the temple?”

I set off after him, mimicking every step as he crossed the packed dirt of the island. The temple looked large and solid to the left of us, casting us in cool shadow. We were mere ants to its size and grandeur. On the right stood a roofless structure on a platform. Fourteen massive columns resembling palm trees created a rectangular shape.

“Trajan’s Kiosk; he was a Roman emperor. Probably constructed two thousand years ago,” Whit said. “The locals call it Pharaoh’s Bed.”

“It’s beautiful.”