The Sea of Monsters

grandparents blamed my dad. But no one would ever tell us the details. I’d given up asking my dad, partly because it made him so sad, partly because he absolutely refused to tell me anything. “When you’re older” was all he would say, which was the most frustrating response ever.
    “You’re telling us she died here,” I said. “At Cleopatra’s Needle? What happened?”
    He lowered his head.
    “Dad!” Sadie protested. “I go past this every day, and you mean to say—all this time—and I didn’t even know ?”
    “Do you still have your cat?” Dad asked her, which seemed like a really stupid question.
    “Of course I’ve still got the cat!” she said. “What does that have to do with anything?”
    “And your amulet?”
    Sadie’s hand went to her neck. When we were little, right before Sadie went to live with our grandparents, Dad had given us both Egyptian amulets. Mine was an Eye of Horus, which was a popular protection symbol in Ancient Egypt.

    In fact my dad says the modern pharmacist’s symbol, Rx, is a simplified version of the Eye of Horus, because medicine is supposed to protect you.
    Anyway, I always wore my amulet under my shirt, but I figured Sadie would’ve lost hers or thrown it away.
    To my surprise, she nodded. “’Course I have it, Dad, but don’t change the subject. Gran’s always going on about how you caused Mum’s death. That’s not true, is it?”
    We waited. For once, Sadie and I wanted exactly the same thing—the truth.
    “The night your mother died,” my father started, “here at the Needle—”
    A sudden flash illuminated the embankment. I turned, half blind, and just for a moment I glimpsed two figures: a tall pale man with a forked beard and wearing cream-colored robes, and a coppery-skinned girl in dark blue robes and a headscarf—the kind of clothes I’d seen hundreds of times in Egypt. They were just standing there side by side, not twenty feet away, watching us. Then the light faded. The figures melted into a fuzzy afterimage. When my eyes readjusted to the darkness, they were gone.
    “Um...” Sadie said nervously. “Did you just see that?”
    “Get in the cab,” my dad said, pushing us toward the curb. “We’re out of time.”
    From that point on, Dad clammed up.
    “This isn’t the place to talk,” he said, glancing behind us. He’d promised the cabbie an extra ten pounds if he got us to the museum in under five minutes, and the cabbie was doing his best.
    “Dad,” I tried, “those people at the river—”
    “And the other bloke, Amos,” Sadie said. “Are they Egyptian police or something?”
    “Look, both of you,” Dad said, “I’m going to need your help tonight. I know it’s hard, but you have to be patient. I’ll explain everything, I promise, after we get to the museum. I’m going to make everything right again.”
    “What do you mean?” Sadie insisted. “Make what right?”
    Dad’s expression was more than sad. It was almost guilty. With a chill, I thought about what Sadie had said: about our grandparents blaming him for Mom’s death. That couldn’t be what he was talking about, could it?
    The cabbie swerved onto Great Russell Street and screeched to a halt in front of the museum’s main gates.
    “Just follow my lead,” Dad told us. “When we meet the curator, act normal.”
    I was thinking that Sadie never acted normal, but I decided not to say that.
    We climbed out of the cab. I got our luggage while Dad paid the driver with a big wad of cash. Then he did something strange. He threw a handful of small objects into the backseat—they looked like stones, but it was too dark for me to be sure. “Keep driving,” he told the cabbie. “Take us to Chelsea.”
    That made no sense since we were already out of the cab, but the driver sped off. I glanced at Dad, then back at the cab, and before it turned the corner and disappeared in the dark, I caught a weird glimpse of three passengers in the backseat: a man and two kids.
    I blinked. There was no way the cab could’ve picked up another fare so fast. “Dad—”
    “London cabs don’t stay empty very long,” he said matter-of-factly. “Come along, kids.”
    He marched off through the wrought iron gates. For a second, Sadie and I hesitated.
    “Carter, what is going on?”
    I shook my head. “I’m not sure I want to know.”
    “Well, stay out here in the cold if you want, but I’m not leaving without an explanation.” She turned and marched after our