Free Day of the Djinn Warriors by P. B. Kerr Page A

Nimrod. “Very likely there will be a record of a police report upstairs in the office. Let’s go and see, shall we?”
    Up in the museum office, Philippa tried to see what she could discover using the office computer while Nimrod andGroanin searched through the filing cabinets. It didn’t take long for them to find the clues they were looking for.
    “Here’s something,” said Nimrod. “It would seem that a disgruntled employee named Cristina Buonaserra was dismissed on suspicion of theft three months ago.”
    Nimrod brandished a sheet of paper in front of Groanin, who made a note of the name and then began a search of another cabinet.
    “She was suspected of having stolen three wax dummies,” continued Nimrod. “It doesn’t say who the dummies were. But one of them must have been Faustina. The dummies were never recovered. Soon after being dismissed, Miss Buonaserra left the country and went to live in Italy.
Italy
. Oh, Lord. We’ll never find her in time now. She could be anywhere.”
    “Ahem. Not necessarily, sir,” announced Groanin. “This is Miss Buonaserra’s file, sir. Her next of kin is listed as living in Italy. It seems she has a brother who is a priest. Or more precisely, the abbot of the Carthusian Monastery in Malpensa, just outside the town of Eboli.”
    “Malpensa,” said Philippa, typing a search word on the computer keyboard.
    “Malpensa’s a town in the south,” said Nimrod.
    “I’ll bet she went to see him,” said Groanin.
    “Eureka,” said Philippa, sitting back from the computer screen. “I’ve found it. The Convento di Carthusi in Malpensa. Oh, gross! This has to be the place where she went. Look!”
    On the screen was a picture of what looked like an underground cemetery consisting of tunnels and rooms with platforms and shelves for coffins and sarcophagi. But what was really strange was that all of the dead people were mummified and laid out like exhibits in a museum. Some of the corpses had long ago lost all their flesh and were little better than skeletons, while others looked as if they were only asleep.
    “Gross,” repeated Philippa.
    “They’re catacombs,” said Nimrod, looking over Philippa’s shoulder. “Underneath the monastery. Where people are preserved and put when they die instead of being buried. It’s an old Italian tradition.”
    The pride of the catacombs, as shown on the Web site, was the corpse of a still perfectly preserved girl of about twelve years old who had died in 1920 and whom the local people called “the Sleeping Beauty.” The girl was displayed in an open glass case, and with the pink ribbons in her still-lustrous hair, she did indeed look like something from a fairy tale. But there was something about this young girl that seemed vaguely familiar to Philippa. For a moment she was struck by the odd resemblance to Dybbuk, of all people. And then Philippa remembered the portrait on the wall of the house on Bannermann’s Island — the same island where John and Mr. Rakshasas were now heading. That was where she’d seen this girl before. It was the girl in the portrait. This young girl wasn’t dead at all.
It was Faustina
.

CHAPTER 7

MEN IN BLACK
    I t’s strange,” said Leo Politi, the Ka servant of the Temple of Dendur. “But you two ghosts aren’t like any dead people I’ve ever had to guide through the spirit world before.”
    “Really?” said John. “Why do you say that?”
    “Most people are very confused about what has happened to them,” said Leo. “So confused that they don’t suspect the great change they have undergone.”
    “How do you mean?” asked John.
    “I mean they don’t have any idea that they are dead,” said Leo. “No sooner are they out of their earthly form than they try to live their lives along the old familiar lines. And then they get angry when living people ignore them. The Egyptians knew that. It’s why they created their temples and the institution of the Ka servant. So that there would