scimitar a saber with a curved blade

shuriken a ninja throwing star; a flat, bladed weapon used as a dagger or to distract

Sibyl a prophetess

situla Latin for bucket

Spartan a citizen of Sparta, or something belonging to Sparta, a city-state in ancient Greece with military dominance

strix (strixes, pl.) a large blood-drinking owl-like bird of ill omen

Stygian iron a rare magical metal capable of killing monsters

Styx a powerful water nymph; the eldest daughter of the sea Titan, Oceanus; goddess of the Underworld’s most important river; goddess of hatred; the River Styx is named after her

Tarquin Lucius Tarquinius Superbus was the seventh and final king of Rome, reigning from 535 BCE until 509, when, after a popular uprising, the Roman Republic was established

Temple of Castor and Pollux an ancient temple in the Roman Forum in Rome, erected in honor of the twin demigod children of Jupiter and Leda and dedicated by the Roman general Aulus Postumius, who won a great victory at the Battle of Lake Regillus

Terpsichore Greek goddess of dance; one of the Nine Muses

Thermopylae a mountain pass near the sea in northern Greece that was the site of several battles, the most famous being between the Persians and the Greeks during the Persian invasion of 480–479 BCE

Tiber River the third-longest river in Italy; Rome was founded on its banks; in ancient Rome, criminals were thrown into the river

Titans a race of powerful Greek deities, descendants of Gaea and Ouranos, that ruled during the Golden Age and were overthrown by a race of younger gods, the Olympians

tragus (tragi, pl.) a fleshy prominence at the front of the external opening of the ear

trireme a Greek warship, having three tiers of oars on each side

triumvirate a political alliance formed by three parties

Trojan War According to legend, the Trojan War was waged against the city of Troy by the Achaeans (Greeks) after Paris of Troy took Helen from her husband, Menelaus, king of Sparta

Trophonius demigod son of Apollo, designer of Apollo’s temple at Delphi, and spirit of the Dark Oracle; he decapitated his half brother Agamethus to avoid discovery after their raid on King Hyrieus’s treasury

Troy a pre-Roman city situated in modern-day Turkey; site of the Trojan War

Underworld the kingdom of the dead, where souls go for eternity; ruled by Hades

ventus (venti, pl.) storm spirits

Vulcan the Roman god of fire, including volcanic, and of blacksmithing; Greek form: Hephaestus

Waystation a place of refuge for demigods, peaceful monsters, and Hunters of Artemis, located above Union Station in Indianapolis, Indiana

Zeus the Greek god of the sky and the king of the gods; Roman form: Jupiter

The problem with growing up around highly dangerous things is that after a while you just get used to them.

For as long as she could remember, Aru had lived in the Museum of Ancient Indian Art and Culture. And she knew full well that the lamp at the end of the Hall of the Gods was not to be touched.

She could mention “the lamp of destruction” the way a pirate who had tamed a sea monster could casually say, Oh, you mean ole Ralph here? But even though she was used to the lamp, she had never once lit it. That would be against the rules. The rules she went over every Saturday, when she led the afternoon visitors’ tour.

Some folks may not like the idea of working on a weekend, but it never felt like work to Aru.

It felt like a ceremony.

Like a secret.

She would don her crisp scarlet vest with its three honeybee buttons. She would imitate her mother’s museum-curator voice, and people—this was the best part of all—would listen. Their eyes never left her face. Especially when she talked about the cursed lamp.

Sometimes she thought it was the most fascinating thing she ever discussed. A cursed lamp is a much more interesting topic than, say, a visit to the dentist. Although one could argue that both are cursed.

Aru had lived at the museum for so long, it kept no secrets from her. She had grown up reading and doing her homework beneath the giant stone elephant at the entrance. Often she’d fall asleep in the theater and wake up just before the crackling self-guided tour recording announced that India became independent from the British in 1947. She even regularly hid a stash of candy in the mouth of a four-hundred-year-old sea dragon statue (she’d named it Steve) in the west wing. Aru knew everything about everything in the museum. Except one thing…

The lamp. For the most part, it remained a mystery.

“It’s not quite a lamp,” her mother, renowned curator and archaeologist Dr. K. P. Shah, had told her the first time she showed it to Aru. “We call it a diya.”

Aru remembered pressing her nose against the glass case, staring at the lump of clay. As far as cursed objects went, this was by far the most boring. It was shaped like a pinched hockey puck. Small markings, like bite marks, crimped the edges. And yet, for all its normal-ness, even the statues filling the Hall of the Gods seemed to lean away from the lamp, giving it a wide berth.

“Why can’t we light it?” she had asked her mother.

Her mother hadn’t met her gaze. “Sometimes light illuminates things that are better left in the dark. Besides, you never know who is watching.”

Well, Aru had watched. She’d been watching her entire life.

Every day after school she would come home, hang her backpack from the stone elephant’s trunk, and creep toward the Hall of the Gods.

It was the museum’s most popular exhibit, filled with a hundred statues of various Hindu gods. Her mother had lined the walls with tall mirrors so visitors could see the artifacts from all angles. The mirrors were “vintage” (a word Aru had used when she traded Burton Prater a greenish penny for a whopping two dollars and half a Twix bar). Because of the tall crape myrtles and elms standing outside the windows, the light that filtered into the Hall of the Gods always looked a little muted. Feathered, almost. As if the statues were wearing crowns of light.

Aru would stand at the entrance, her gaze resting on her favorite statues—Lord Indra, the king of the heavens, wielding a thunderbolt; Lord Krishna, playing his flutes; the Buddha, sitting with his spine straight and legs folded in meditation—before her eyes would inevitably be drawn to the diya in its glass case.

She would stand there for minutes, waiting for something…anything that would make the next day at school more interesting, or make people notice that she, Aru Shah, wasn’t just another seventh grader slouching through middle school, but someone extraordinary….

Aru was waiting for magic.

And every day she was disappointed.

“Do something,” she whispered to the god statues. It was a Monday morning, and she was still in her pajamas. “You’ve got plenty of time to do something awesome, because I’m on autumn break.”

The statues did nothing.

Aru shrugged and looked out the window. The trees of Atlanta, Georgia, hadn’t yet realized it was October. Only their top halves had taken on a scarlet-and-golden hue, as if someone had dunked them halfway in a bucket of fire and then plopped them back on the lawn.

As Aru had expected, the day was on its way to being uneventful. That should have been her first warning. The world has a tendency to trick people. It likes to make a day feel as bright and lazy as sun-warmed honey dripping down a jar as it waits until your guard is down….