PREVIEW OF THE SON OF SOBEK!!!

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The surace o the river churned with bubbles. The croco-dile was gone, but standing in the marsh about twenty eetaway was a teenage guy in jeans and a aded orange T-shirtthat said CAMP something. I couldn’t read the rest. He lookeda little older than me—maybe seventeen—with tousled blackhair and sea-green eyes. What really caught my attention washis sword—a straight double-edged blade glowing with aintbronze light.I’m not sure which o us was more surprised.For a second, Camper Boy just stared at me. He notedmykhopeshand wand, and I got the eeling that he actuallysawthese things as they were. Normal mortals have troubleseeing magic. Their brains can’t interpret it, so they might lookat my sword, or instance, and see a baseball bat or a walkingstick.But this kid . . . he was dierent. I fgured he must be amagician. The only problem was, I’d met most o the magiciansin the North American nomes, and I’d never seen this guybeore. I’d also never seen a sword like that. Everything abouthim seemed . . .un-Egyptian.“The crocodile,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm andeven. “Where did it go?”Camper Boy rowned. “You’re welcome.”“What?”“I stuck that croc in the rump.” He mimicked the actionwith his sword. “That’s why it vomited you up. So, you’rewelcome. What were you doing in there?”I’ll admit I wasn’t in the best mood. I smelled. I hurt. And,  
418THE SON OF SOBEKyeah, I was a little embarrassed: the mighty Carter Kane, heado Brooklyn House, had been disgorged rom a croc’s mouthlike a giant hairball.“I was resting,” I snapped. “What do youthinkI was doing? Now, who are you, and why are you fghting my monster?”“Yourmonster?” The guy trudged toward me through thewater. He didn’t seem to have any trouble with the mud. “Look,man, I don’t know who you are, but that crocodile has beenterrorizing Long Island or weeks. I take that kind o personal,as this is my home tur. A ew days ago, it ate one o our pegasi.”A jolt went up my spine like I’d backed into an electric fence.“Did you say pegasi?”He waved the question aside. “Is it your monster or not?”“I don’t own it!” I growled. “I’m trying to stop it! Now,where—”“The croc headed that way.” He pointed his sword to thesouth. “I would already be chasing it, but you surprised me.”He sized me up, which was disconcerting since he washal a oot taller. I still couldn’t read his T-shirt except or thewordCAMP. Around his neck hung a leather strap with somecolorful clay beads, like a kid’s arts and crafts project. He wasn’tcarrying a magician’s pack or a wand. Maybe he kept them inthe Duat? Or maybe he was just a delusional mortal who’d acci-dentally ound a magic sword and thought he was a superhero.Ancient relics can really mess with your mind.Finally he shook his head. “I give up. Son o Ares? You’vegot to be a hal-blood, but what happened to your sword? It’sall bent.”  
“It’s akhopesh.” My shock was rapidly turning to anger. “It’ssupposed to be curved.”But I wasn’t thinking about the sword.Camper Boy had just called me ahalf-blood? Maybe I hadn’theard him right. Maybe he meant something else. But my dadwas Arican American. My mom was white.Half-bloodwasn’ta word I liked.“Just get out o here,” I said, gritting my teeth. “I’ve got acrocodile to catch.”“Dude,Ihave a crocodile to catch,” he insisted. “Last timeyou tried, it ate you. Remember?”My fngers tightened around my sword hilt. “I had every-thing under control. I was about to summon a fst—”For what happened next, I take ull responsibility.I didn’t mean it. Honestly. But I was angry. And as I mayhave mentioned, I’m not always good at channeling words o power. While I was in the crocodile’s belly, I’d been preparingto summon the Fist o Horus, a giant glowing blue hand thatcan pulverize doors, walls, and pretty much anything else thatgets in your way. My plan had been to punch my way out o themonster. Gross, yes; but hopeully eective.I guess that spell was still in my head, ready to be triggeredlike a loaded gun. Facing Camper Boy, I was urious, not tomentioned dazed and conused; so when I meant to say theEnglish word fst, it came out in Ancient Egyptian instead:khefa.Such a simple hieroglyph. You wouldn’t think it could cause so much trouble.