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.
Chapter 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.