Free Horus and the Curse of Everlasting Regret by Hannah Voskuil Page A

village and followed my brother and his soldiers northeast, along the seacoast. Eventually, Turtanu talked us into looting and burning the homes of Assyrians for fun. I knew I shouldn’t, but it was hard to resist Turtanu and his crowd. I spent many weeks ruining people’s homes with Turtanu. He would crush their most precious belongings in front of them, for the sheer joy of destruction, and I would join in.”
    “Oh,” said Peter.
    Horus looked up at him, a tea-colored shine to his eyes.
    “I regret it all,” Horus said hoarsely. “I wish I’d followed my conscience, instead of Turtanu. I knew in my heart what we were doing was wrong. If just one person had said as much to me, maybe I would have…” Horus trailed off.
    Tunie had been listening closely. She looked contemplative.
    “I’d bet there’s not a person on this earth who doesn’t regret something they’ve done,” she said with such conviction that Peter wondered what it was Tunie regretted.
    The mummy turned to Peter. “There is a chance your stepbrother Randall feels the same way I did, but he’s allowing his brother to lead him in his bullying. Talking to both of them might help, Peter.”
    Peter nodded. “I’ll try.”
    Horus attempted to say something but appeared overwhelmed by emotion. He wiped a tear dripping down his bandages. Then he cleared his throat and glanced at the clock. “I know I’m keeping you. Don’t stay out too late. I look forward to seeing you again.”
    “For sure,” said Peter. “We’ll be back tomorrow.” He shouldered his pack. “Bye, Horus.”
    Tunie gave the little mummy a hug and headed for the door. She turned back to wave at Horus. “Don’t worry. We’ll come to talk to you!”
    None of them knew that on Tunie’s next visit, she wouldn’t be talking.
    She’d be screaming.

“All the way up there?” Tunie said.
    Perch squeaked an affirmative.
    Peter tilted his head back.
    “Maybe there’s another entrance?” he said.
    Tunie wiped a drip of sweat off her cheek with the back of her hand. “The building is locked from the inside.”
    They were eyeing a rickety ladder that ran up the side of an abandoned cinder-block building. Apparently, Perch had found the light blue ribbon headband somewhere on the roof. As luck would have it, this former factory stood a block and a half down from the three-story brick police station. The building was in bad repair. Even by the weak light of the moon, Peter could see the cinder blocks were crumbling, and the ladder rungs were patchy with rust. It didn’t look sturdy.
    Peter had been feeling uneasy ever since they left the museum. This neighborhood beyond the police station had a neglected appearance. They’d passed a couple of abandoned buildings like this one, shops that had closed down when customers had no money to spend. Through the open doorways of vacant stores, he’d seen homeless folks huddled in the shadows. He knew loads of people were out of work; the poor economy had displaced whole families. Still, it was spooky to hear voices murmuring in the dark. Every now and then, a police car would drive by them, siren wailing. Peter couldn’t shake the sense they were being watched, and the idea that Perch was leading them to where he’d found the headband—to the place Dorothy’s kidnapper might have dragged her—only made the night creepier.
    “I’ll go first,” Tunie offered, and started climbing up the ladder before Peter could object, testing each rung with her foot before putting her weight on it. He saw her silhouetted form move quickly up the ladder and disappear over the roof ledge. Peter squinted. The evening was so warm and muggy, it seemed the thick atmosphere was dimming the stars.
    “Made it!” Tunie called down in a stage whisper.
    Peter followed, the rusty metal flaking beneath his damp fingers. He was breathing hard by the time he reached the roof. Tunie gave him a relieved smile when he appeared.
    “Phew!” Peter said, wiping