She lets go of my hair, nods like she’s come to a decision. “I won’t have you in danger. Which is why I’m sending you away.”
“Wait, you’re—what? You’re sending me away? That’s not fair! That’s—” That’s exactly what I want. Hope rises, lumping in my throat and threatening to choke me. “Okay,” I manage to squeak out.
“Nephthys mentioned it just now when I confided my worries. She thinks it would be for the best.”
I want to pump my fist in the air, to jump up and down on my bed. Nephthys, silent slouching Nephthys, actually came through for me!
“You should be safe at Horus’s.”
“No. No way. I will not go live with Whore-us!”
“I need to know you’re safe and that I don’t have to worry about you.”
“Well, I’m certainly not going to be safe with Whore-us! He can’t even remember my name; what makes you think he’s going to watch out for me? And besides, you want me to spend all my time with Hathor?”
“I don’t know,” she says, her voice drifting off, worry clipping its edges.
I am winning. Idiot gods, I am going to win. This is the first time in my entire life I have been able to push my mother on an issue and actually get her to budge. I take a deep breath, determined not to blow it.
“If you’re going to send me away to keep me safe, you should really send me away. Somewhere far away, away from the gods, away from Egypt. If no one knows where I am except for you, I couldn’t be any safer, could I?”
“It’s out of the question. You are too young to go anywhere on your own.”
No, I can still make this happen. I have to. “You’re absolutely right.” I try to sound nervous, hesitant about leaving her. “If only we knew someone who lived outside of Egypt and was out of contact with everyone here.”
I gag on the thickness of my own hint. Please come to the same conclusion, Mother. Please.
“Hmm. There is Sirus.”
“Sirus?” I should win some sort of an award for the delicate inflection of surprise I weave through my voice.
“You remember Sirus, don’t you? He hasn’t been to visit since you were small.”
Of course I remember Sirus. He’s my favorite brother, the closest in age to me and the only nonweirdo. Sirus did it right. When he turned eighteen and was set free, he cut ties completely, moving to San Diego.
“Yeah, I remember him. I guess that’d work, right? All the other gods have forgotten he even exists. And he’s really responsible.”
She frowns. “He drives cars for a living.” My mother thinks cars are distasteful. All that metal and plastic without personality or intelligence. Not much money in the chariot business, though.
I don’t answer. I hold my breath, keeping it caught in my chest with my hopes.
Finally she sighs. “I think it might be for the best. Only for the next two months, until the baby comes.”
I exhale so loudly she jumps, startled. On the inside I am screaming, spinning in dizzy circles, bidding my Egyptian prison farewell forever, because one thing is certain: Once I make it out of here, I am never, ever coming back. I will no longer be a temporary guest checked into the Hotel of the Gods.
My voice is utterly calm when I finally speak. “Okay. If you think it’s best.”
“I hope it’s best. But you should go ask your father first, just in ca
se.”
And the part of my brain that is still jumping on the bed screaming in triumph trips and face-plants into the floor. Because now the only thing standing between me and the freedom I’ve been dreaming of for the last three years is a quick trip to the underworld.
I nearly bump into old Thoth in the hallway. He’s here often, in a quiet, slightly senile old geezer capacity, and he’s always been my favorite. “You look sad,” Thoth says, his wobbly voice soft. His neck is cricked in the middle, bringing to mind the ibis he was often drawn as. He winks one small, deep-set eye at me, bringing a hand up and turning it into a bird head, which also winks at me. He used to do puppet shows with his hands, having the “birdies” tell me the stories of my heritage, like the time the Earth knocked up the Sky and my parents were born. I loved it. When I was eight. I roll my eyes but try to force a halfhearted smile for his effort.
“Gotta go see Osiris,” I say, and Thoth steps aside with a quiet shuffle. I hesitate at the top of the worn stone steps. I haven’t been here for so long. There’s a special scent to this place—not terrible, not even unpleasant, but distinct. No rotting, just age. Weight. The passage of centuries and millennia marches unmeasured beneath the earth. The Sun comes and goes in his eternal cycle, but the dust and air and stones here take no notice.
I reach up a hand to trail along the rough stone at the bottom of the stairs. It shocks me how . . . small it feels. Now I’m less than half a meter beneath the ceiling.