“You should study current events,” he says, standing tall again. “Then you will know why the god of chaos still walks the earth and never needs fear oblivion.” He smiles again, and it frightens me.
I turn to run down the hall to where my mother is, but it’s blank, an empty black space, and I know she won’t be there. I back slowly away, past Set, past the mural, where my mother’s image has been erased.
Everything is wrong. This is all wrong.
Chapter 4
Set was not well pleased with his brother’s ascension to god-king of Egypt.
“A game,” Set declared, bringing out a beautiful chest. “We will see who fits the best.”
Osiris was a perfect fit. Unsurprising, because it was a coffin specially made for him. Set seized it, sealed it, and condemned Osiris to a slow death. He dumped the coffin into the Nile, surrendering it to the depths and denying Osiris a proper burial and entry into the afterlife.
Isis would not allow this. She searched the river and the sea until she found the coffin and brought it back to Egypt to prepare for burial. But clever, vengeful Set found where she had hidden it and chopped his brother’s body into fourteen pieces.
Ever faithful, Isis and her sister Nephthys searched all of Egypt and found . . . thirteen pieces. The fourteenth, Osiris’s penis, had been eaten by a fish. Industrious and undeterred, Isis just made him a new one. That magical penis went on to sire Horus, who carried on the good fight against Set and chaos. It also made Anubis.
It also made me, but let’s not think about that.
SIRUS DRIVES UP THE MIDDLE OF THE CITY, which is built on a series of hills looking out over the harbor. Most of the skyscrapers are farther south, but I love the mixture of tall buildings and turn-of-the-century homes preserved in the middle. Everything is bright, and there’s so much metal and so many signs. I wonder how anyone finds anything here. Yesterday I went into a grocery store and was so overwhelmed I turned around and walked right back out. They have everything there in the same place. Once you started, how would you ever leave?
I thought watching the occasional American film and television series would prepare me to live here. I was wrong. And it sucks. But I refuse to be homesick. I will make wherever I am my home. Or I’ll have no home at all. Either is better than living in a past and future where I don’t belong.
“How did you keep Deena a secret from Mother?” I ask as we wait at a light.
“Hmm? Oh, Mom knows about her. She wasn’t thrilled about me starting my family here instead of Egypt, but we’ve had that fight so many times over the years, I think I’ve finally worn her down.”
I frown. This doesn’t make any sense. I was under the impression that Sirus didn’t have any contact with Isis at all. Maybe his lack of video chatting has more to do with his painful tech unsavviness than actually avoiding talking to her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “I thought it was more important that you talk to me about the things you needed to when you called. I just kind of never got around to it.”
That’s a crap excuse if I’ve ever heard one. What he’s saying is he’s been pretending to understand me all these years, while secretly talking to our mother even though he doesn’t have to, and sneaking around behind my back, getting married and starting a family. Parenthood is selfish. There’s no reason to bring a child into the world other than that you want one for your own self-centered reasons. His can’t be as bad as our parents’, but still.
“And Mother’s okay with Deena? Even with the whole working thing?”
“Yeah, of course. I mean, she’s a little concerned that Deena isn’t going to quit after the baby comes, but she trusts us to figure it out.”
“Are we talking about the same woman?”
Sirus laughs. “You know, she’s not nearly as crazy and controlling as you act like she is.”
“You say, driving me to a job I didn’t ask for and don’t want but am being forced to do.” I scowl out the window. Whose side is he on?
We cross an intersection into a grassy park area and then over a bridge to another world. It’s as though they’ve built a city within the city—the buildings aren’t tall, but they’re all beautiful, things from another time and place. Elaborate sculptures are carved right into the walls, and we drive through onto a cobbled street, the buildings themselves arching over the entrance.
“That’s your museum,” Sirus says, pointing to the first building. I have time to see huge, blue doors, intricately carved and surrounded by concrete stairs, before we’re through another underpass and into a roundabout. “I have a bit of an emergency this morning—not enough drivers—so is it okay if I drop you off here?” He pulls over into a handicapped parking area.
Suddenly I’m nervous, which I hate. I have nothing to be nervous about. I didn’t ask for this, and I don’t care what they think of me. I have half a mind to “accidentally” knock over a bust of my mother.
And then dance on the shards.
Still, my stomach flutters. “They’re expe
cting me, right?”
Sirus grins. “Like Mom would forget to follow up. I’ll be back at four. Chin up, kiddo. It’ll be fun.”
“Party,” I mutter, and climb out. The road weaves away past an outdoor amphitheater in the same pale stonework as most of the buildings. Everything is surrounded by green, bright explosions of flowers, and the odd fountain. There doesn’t appear to be much sense to the buildings, but a broad, pedestrian-only street leads the opposite direction of my museum. I’ll have to explore later. I like how this place is sheltered from the crush of cars and the endless rows of houses and buildings.