And then I’m done, and everyone is applauding and breaking off into groups to look at the exhibits, and I watch it all with glowing pride, knowing that I made this room, but my parents made the stories that filled it. Even if I won’t last forever, I’m still a part of this because it’s a part of me.

Sirus and Deena walk up. “It’s like you really know them!” Deena says.

Sirus and I laugh. She gives us a strange look, then sways on her feet.

“You look pale. Go home. Ry can give me a ride when everything’s done.” I hug them both and send them on their way.

Speaking of Ry . . . I look around the room, grateful yet again that being tall gives me a good vantage point. How do short people ever find anyone in a crowd?

I see him in the corner, talking with a couple. The man is hard-looking, all blocky features like he was clumsily and carelessly carved out of rough limestone. It isn’t until he walks toward me and I see his limp that I realize he’s Ry’s father. Which makes the woman his mother. She turns and I stare, slack-jawed. Scott and Tyler weren’t kidding—she is the single most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She has Ry’s same dark hair; it trails down her back in thick, luxurious curls. All the parts of her that should be curvy are soft and perfect, and the parts that should be small are almost exaggeratedly so. Her bust in their entryway couldn’t even begin to do her features justice.

I feel ragingly inadequate being in the same room as her. But then she takes her husband’s arm in her own and smiles at him, and it’s so obvious that she loves him—completely—and somehow that makes me feel better. They walk up to me and I have no idea what to say to them. What do I say to them?

“This is lovely,” Ry’s mom says, smiling. She is why the Greeks wrote poetry.

“I couldn’t have done it without Ry. Thanks for letting me steal his time this last week.”

She laughs, and Ry’s dad twists his features into a smile. He’s not handsome, but he’s so solid, and there’s something about his face that is both powerful and kind. I like him already. There’s something familiar, comforting about both of them. Maybe just because I’ve been in their home and now it makes more sense.

“He’s never been happier,” she says.

“Oh, hey.” Ry stands to the side of us, fidgeting, like he doesn’t want me to be talking to his parents. “Umm, Mom, Dad, didn’t you have that thing to get to?”

They laugh, then hug Ry, and we exchange good-byes. As they leave, his mom turns and makes eye contact with me, giving me a secret smile. That must be where he gets it. Curse those secretive dimpled genes!

Everyone gradually filters out, with many handshakes and congratulations, and even a business card from a real estate agent and an offer to dress houses she’s trying to sell. Tyler and Scott head into the hall with Michelle to supervise the table cleanup, and I look across the starry eternity room to see Ry there, beaming at me.

We walk toward each other, meeting in the middle. Screw it all. I want this. I want him.

“You did it,” he says.

“We did it,” I answer.

I throw my arms around his neck and press my lips against his, and they are warm and soft and answer mine immediately. A thousand feelings burst through me, feelings I never wanted or even knew existed, and I am floating in the stars with Orion, my Orion, and I want more more more of him, I want to map out a new chart of stars in my soul, stars that let him in.

I kiss him, and I am reborn.

Finally we pull apart, arms wrapped around each other. “Orion,” I whisper, his name a love song and a hopeful prayer.

“Isadora,” he says, “I have been waiting to do that for years.”

“What do you mean, years? We just barely—,” I start, and it’s only then that I realize he said every word of that sentence in a different, obscure language. Languages he couldn’t possibly know, languages that no normal person would even know existed, much less be able to speak. Unless . . .

Chaos take us all.

15

Osiris was murdered. Horus was poisoned by a scorpion. Amun-Re was fatally bit by a snake. The gods could die. The gods did die.

But Isis, the Great Lady of Magic, was always around to fix it.

Without Isis, even a god could die forever.

“NO,” I WHISPER, BACKING A STEP AWAY FROM Ry.

“I’ve wanted to tell you! And now—well, here. I have something to read to you.” He pulls out a thin sheaf of folded paper from his pocket, face flush with excitement. And he’s saying all of this, everything, in ancient Egyptian. The language my mother used to sing me to sleep. The language no one knows how to speak.

Floods. My family aren’t the only gods. The world has shifted, tilting on its axis. This changes everything I thought I knew. And if he can speak in tongues . . .

Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no. Ry is a god. He’s a god. It can’t be possible. There aren’t any others. My mother would have told me. She always said the other mythologies, the other stories . . . she said they were cheap copies. Does she know there are other gods out there?

Not out there. Right here. And he knows who I am.

“How long?” I whisper.

He looks up from his papers. “What?”

“How long have you known? Did you find me on purpose?” I remember with icy clarity what he said to me after I got my hair cut—that he recognized me. He was looking for me.

His smile finally drops off as he notices my expression. “No, I—”