Free The Pyramid of Souls by Erica Kirov

it like? The outside?"
       "I never knew anything different until I came here. I skateboarded. Played video games."
       "What are video games?" Atsu asked.
       "Well, it's like playing with magic, in a way. You have this controller, and you go through worlds, and…" Nick furrowed his brow. "It's hard to explain. Besides, real magic is a lot cooler. Though outsider food is better." He grinned. "At least American food. Las Vegas-style."
       "Maybe someday I will try it!" Atsu exclaimed.
       "So what's Egypt like? I've always wanted to go there. Have you seen the pyramids?"
       "I have. Siti has, too, but she doesn't ever go there anymore. My sister—it's too painful for her."
       "When I touch the walls of the pyramids," Siti said, "I can feel the horrific lives of the slaves that built them. Their sacrifices remain in the energy of the stone. So many people lost in death through suffering. So I no longer visit."
       Before Nick could reply, there was a tink-tink-tink
    tink sound.
       Damian stood at the head banquet table and tapped an ornate, sterling silver spoon against his crystal water glass. Soon, others picked up their glasses.
        Tink-tink-tink-tink. Tink-tink-tink-tink.
       The chatter in the ballroom ceased, and everyone gazed expectantly at Nick's older cousin. Nick, as always, marveled at the way he stood: confident and completely in control. Damian never felt a bit nervous performing in front of thousands of people—or standing in front of all these magicians. Even Nick had to admit it: Damian was a leader.
       "Welcome, Magickeepers from around the world. Welcome! It is a joy and an honor to have you all gathered in our humble little hotel for our convention."
       At the word humble , people in the crowd chuckled.
       Damian surveyed the room. "We are an example for all of humankind, gathered peacefully to learn from each other, honor each other, and share in our united history tracing back to ancient Egypt. These are dangerous times," he continued, his face darkening. "Shadowkeepers would gladly disrupt us, steal our artifacts, and try to bring harm to us. But are we afraid?"
       The crowd murmured, "No," in unison.
       "Our history has been one of persecution, of immense danger, yet we have never strayed from what we know is right. Magic can be a force for good. Or it can be a force for evil. Our choice, my dear friends, is to stand by and allow the Shadowkeepers to grow in strength and power, or to boldly fight them where they strike."
       Across the large hall, Magickeepers clapped. Nick felt an excited surge run up his spine. Yes, his older cousin could be arrogant and difficult, but he was also inspiring.
       "Our choice was always and remains…to be united. To lift each other up. To live in solidarity. I tell you, my fellow Magickeepers, we shall live our lives by the words of that great and illustrious Magickeeper, Sir Isaac Newton." Damian raised his glass in a toast. "If I have seen further than others, i t is by standing on the shoulders of giants. To magic!"
       "To magic!" repeated the crowd.
       "And now, tonight, we host you Russian-style." Damian clapped his hands, and silver trays floated into the dining room with bowls full of the red beet soup Nick loathed.
       A bowl placed itself in front of Nick. He stared down into its deep red ickiness. "I was hoping for pizza," he said to Isabella.
       She laughed. "Perhaps we can play Magic Eights with Siti and Atsu later and order some from Sergei."
       "Done and done." He lifted his spoon as strolling bandur a players plucked their instruments, playing folk songs of courage and Mother Russia. Nick often wished he'd been blessed with the gift of song; the voices of the bandura player s were haunting, and he felt his throat tighten. Yet he couldn't help but wonder why they were not allowed to sing modern songs. He knew he'd never see Kalinka on MTV.
       "This is it," Nick heard