And there’s another shudder. My mother, here. Talk about a nightmare. “No, Mother, listen.” I weave through the wooden crates and men coming in and out of the room until I get out into the hall to a quiet corner. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About a lot of things. And . . . it’s good for me to be here. I’m not ready to come home yet.”
“I thought you said you were never coming home again,” she says, her voice edged with both anger and sorrow.
“I know. And to be honest, I meant it. But now . . . I don’t know. I’m still figuring it out, and I need time. Plus I have worked my freaking butt off on your exhibit and I am not leaving before I finish. Besides which, no one from Egypt knows where I am—only Sirus does, and you know I’m safe with him. I think I’d be in more of this mysterious danger if we were together. So”—I take a deep breath—“I’m asking you. Please. Let me stay.”
She’s quiet on the other end for a long time. Too long. “I think that’s the first time you’ve sincerely asked me for anything in years.” She sounds like she’s on the verge of tears, and suddenly it hits me how much the last few years must have hurt her, too.
This is stupid, and hard, and I hate it. I hate Sirus and I hate Ry and I hate having to change and realize that I was wrong. Being wrong sucks. “I know, Mom.”
“Okay. You can stay to open up the exhibit. But I want you back as soon as I have this baby. Then I won’t be vulnerable anymore, and we can get to the bottom of this together.”
“I’m . . . I’m really happy here, though. I’d like to come back again.”
“We’ll talk about it—Isadora! There’s a boy, isn’t there?”
“What? I—no—I didn’t—no, there is no boy!”
I can feel her smug smile through the phone. “Is he kind? Does he come from a good family? Does he treat you well?”
“Mother. I have to go. They’re bringing in your bust and I’d hate them to damage it.” Actually maybe I can convince them to accidentally knock off one of her ni**les. Preferably both. “We’ll talk later.”
“Very well. Be safe, Little Heart.”
I almost hang up, but I pause. “You, too.”
A crash and a litany of swearing from the movers saves me from the helpless feelings welling up in me. Work now. Emotions later.
The next morning Ry texts me at six a.m. to come down and let him in. I’ve been at the museum all night, touching up paint where it got dinged, adjusting placement, and so on and so forth. It’s not easy working with this junk, either, because even though I know we’ve got a ton exactly like it at home, here it’s all invaluable, priceless junk. So everything had to be done in gloves and with the utmost care, under the watchful eyes of two security guards.
I push open the back door and Ry’s there, illuminated by the pale morning light and the overhead lamp that hasn’t turned off yet. He’s wearing a blue sweatshirt jacket with the hood up, and it makes his eyes an impossible color. If I were an artist, I’d spend all day mixing paints trying to capture it. If I were a normal girl, I’d want to lean forward and trace my finger down his face and get lost in that blue.
Oh, idiot gods, this is what lust feels like. I guess I finally understand.
“I thought you’d need this,” he says, holding up a bottle of Coke.
Now I really want to jump on him. I am in so much trouble, and, honestly, I don’t know if I care anymore. I’m feeling braver by the hour. “Thank you,” I say, taking it and not minding that my fingers trace against his as he passes it to me.
“I also have the tape. Tyler said she’ll be here later because she has to stay after and set up the hospitality tables, so she won’t have time to go back home and change.”
“Ah. Well. Bad news is that we now only have until ten a.m. to make any adjustments. We have to be out by then so they can finish connecting all the alarms and go through a few test runs of the system.”
“Chug that Coke and let’s get to work, then.”
We spend the next four hours in a flurry of activity. Fortunately we’re both tall enough that we can use a smaller ladder to seal the line between ceiling and wall, but even that takes a lot of creative stretching since several of the pieces are flush against the wall. It takes us longer than it should to get the tape exactly right since we have to work together instead of at opposite ends of the room like I’d planned.
For the last corner, I have to stand on the top of the ladder and stretch, without putting any weight on the false walls. Ry puts his hands on my waist, steadying me, and I realize I am not afraid of falling.
Maybe he was on to something with those decorating metaphors, after all.
I smooth the last piece of tape, and luck is finally with us. The room is dimly lit enough at the top that by the time we finish taping, it’s almost unnoticeable. You’d have to be looking for it, with the setup drawing eyes to the display pieces, I doubt anyone will.
“We don’t need to paint,” I say, laughing and giddy with relief and exhaustion.
“Should we turn off the extra lights and flick the stars on? See how it looks?”
We’ve got floodlights in while we’re working, which will be out of here in a few hours, and we haven’t seen the full effect yet. But . . . I don’t want to.
“Let’s wait. I’d rather see it for the first time tonight. Besides which, if there’s something wrong, I can’t fix it. I’d rather not know.”
He laughs. “It’s going to be perfect. It’s amazing.”
I smile and nod, examining the room one last time, envisioning what it will look like when the drop cloths are taken off the exhibits and all of the effect lighting is on. It’ll work. It has to.
“Now I’m taking you home so you can sleep and get ready before your big debut.”
I don’t argue. Every part of me aches, and if I don’t get a nap before tonight, I’ll be dead on my feet. I want to enjoy this. We walk out, closing the door behind us and nodding at the security guards.
“Hey!” Tyler waves, coming up the stairs and meeting us halfway. She’s wearing sleek black pants with red heels and a white button-up shirt, her hair pulled into a tight, high ponytail. She nods toward the guards. “Tweedledee and Tweedledeelicious up there permanent fixtures?”
“Yup.”
“Wait, are you done?”
I nod, the prospect of my bed calling and making my brain heavy and slow. “Done.”
She squeals and throws her arms around me. “I didn’t think you’d do it.”
“And I appreciate your confidence.”
“Well, okay, I’m stuck for the day. I’ll see you tonight?”
I hug her tighter. “I needed you, and you were here for me every step of the way. You are amazing. Thank you.”
“Hush. Don’t make me get all weepy when I put on makeup for once.” She pushes me away.
I wave and turn to finish going down the stairs.
“Oh! Also, there was some guy asking for you at the front desk when I walked in, but he left when they said you weren’t available.”
“He was asking for me me? By name?”
“Yeah.”
“Sirus?”
“Uh, I know what your brother looks like. It wasn’t him. Dark guy, like Sirus I guess, really tall, handsome in kind of an intimidating way.”
I frown. “Doesn’t ring any bells.” It’s odd, and I get that sensation that I can’t quite swallow again. After tonight, I actually might go home like my mother wants me to. Something is wrong, and I don’t know what, but I know that my mother will be able to figure it out.
Until then, I’ll try not to worry. There are a lot of people in and out of the museum today who would know who I am or need to talk to me—delivery people, security guards, and so on and so forth. Still, walking out I’m glad Ry is next to me.
I walk into the exhibit. Everything is dark, not even the stars are lit. All the pieces are gone save one: a statue of my mother in the middle of the room, lit from within.
I don’t remember that statue. It’s not supposed to be here. Where are the murals? Where are the stars? Everything is wrong! The whole thing will be a fiasco, and I’m going to be so humiliated. I’ve ruined it all.
Then I realize it’s not a statue. It’s actually Isis.
“Mother?”
She smiles, holding one hand out to me. “Hello, Isadora.”
“You came for the opening?” I feel a brief burst of pride and happiness, then embarrassment. “The room isn’t supposed to look like this. I did a better job—I did—I don’t know what happened.”
“You changed something,” she says, her voice soft and sad.
My hand flits self-consciously to my hair. “Oh, I, umm . . .”
“In the dreams. In the darkness. You changed something.”
“I couldn’t let it—I can’t just watch anymore.”
“You know I would rather you be safe,” she says.
I open my mouth to argue, but . . . I do know. She would rather be undone a thousand times than let something happen to me. This is her truth, my truth, the truth I pushed away and buried under all those years of anger and misunderstanding.
“I love you,” she says, a single tear tracing down her skin.
“Mom, I’m so sorry, I—”
But it’s too late. I was right all along. She’s nothing but a statue, and as I watch, she crumbles into dust. I’m left alone in the dark.
14
Isis became what she needed to be. She used magic, and cunning, and sheer brute force of will to protect her own. She survived. She evolved, usurped other gods’ roles, took worship wherever she could get it, and made it sustain her.
She transcended generations, transcended cultures, spread her influence and worship past the borders of the plot of earth and sky that gave birth to her. She carved a huge sphere of worship and power, and then she carved a tiny, deeply protected bubble to feed herself and those she loved. She would change, she would diminish. Still, she would last forever.
But if we learn anything from my family, it’s that sometimes even things that last forever don’t last forever.
DON’T PANIC. DON’T PANIC. IT’S GOING TO BE OKAY.
I emailed Mother before we left, finally giving her the actual details of my dreams. It’s close. Too close. I take deep breaths, looking at myself in the sun-visor mirror of the car. I manage not to look terrified, which is good. “Sirus, can you help me book a flight home?”
He stops at a light, glancing at me incredulously. “Really?”
“I want to come back here. I mean, if it’s okay. But something bad is coming, and . . . is it weird that I’m worried about Mother?”
He smiles. “It’s a little weird, yeah. Mom can take care of herself. But I know she’ll appreciate it. And of course you can come back. We can book a round-trip ticket, if it’ll make you feel better.”
I smile. It does make me feel better. Everything will work out.
As Sirus’s car goes over a speed bump, I put in my other earring, the beaten gold discs hanging down and tickling my neck. The earrings match my belt, square pieces of linked gold resting along my hips, and my trusty gold sandals complete the accessories. I wanted something for my wrists, but nothing felt right.
And . . . I’m wearing white. It’s a sleeveless dress with a draped cowl-neck. The hem sweeps the floor, but with a slit that traces up to my midthigh. My mother gave it to me for my last birthday, and I’ve never worn it. I threw it into the suitcase on a whim when I was leaving; I never wanted to put it on because I thought I’d look like Isis. With my jewelry and kohl-rimmed cat-eye makeup, I do look like an Egyptian goddess. But I look like myself as an Egyptian goddess, which feels fitting tonight.
“I’ll be back in an hour with Deena,” Sirus says, pulling to an illegal stop in front of the museum. Deena hasn’t been feeling well; she took today off work, which apparently never happens. “We can’t wait to see what you did.” He smiles proudly, and I smile back. “It’d better be good, though, considering you’ve been so busy that you haven’t done a thing on the nursery.”
“Last time I checked, I still have a month.” I cringe. Not if I go back to Egypt. “Well, I have good help. We’ll get it done.”
I get out of the car and take a deep breath. Throwing my shoulders back, I march up the stairs and knock on the blue doors, locked until the invitation-only opening gala starts. One of the security guys opens it, and his eyes go wide before he steps to the side to let me through.
I walk past the open entry and up the red stairs. Tyler squeals when she sees me—she’s putting the finishing touches on the tables lining the walls. They’re covered with white tablecloths, and several have bartenders behind them lining up bottles of wine. The nitpicky part of my brain thinks they really ought to have rich, dark beer if they want to celebrate ancient Egypt, but I suppose it’s not as classy.
“So . . .” Tyler waves her hands at the tables. Each one has a tall stone vase of reeds on either end.
“Perfect! You nailed it.”
“Have you seen the room yet?”
“No! Have you?” My stomach twists with nerves.
“No one has.”
I take a deep breath, then scrunch up my nose. “We should wait for Ry. We couldn’t have done this without him.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that, or he’ll never let you live it down,” she says, her eyes twinkling as she looks over my shoulder.