“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.”