Horus used that power to defeat Set and become pharaoh-god of Egypt.

Nephthys wanted a child. Set was unable or unwilling to give her one, so she disguised herself as the more beautiful Isis and seduced Osiris.

Set and Osiris get together once a week to play board games.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” I STARE AT SIRUS IN horror. He’s sitting at the table, eyes closed, mouth moving as he whispers to himself. And in front of him, in a notebook, he’s writing glyphs for the names of our parents.

He finishes, then looks at me and shrugs. “Remembering.”

“You still pray? You pray to our parents?” I can’t keep the disgust out of my voice. “You actually worship them. Floods, Sirus, what is wrong with you?”

“I’m not worshipping. I’m remembering.”

“The way Isis forced you to!”

“You would rather I pretend like I have no heritage? Pretend like I came from nowhere, from nothing? A lot of cultures revere their ancestors, Isadora. It’s not worship. It’s respect, and gratitude.”

“It’s sick! It’s the only reason they had us! You’re giving them exactly what they want.”

He stands, picking up the notebook. “You have the relationship with Mom and Dad that you choose to. Please don’t criticize mine.”

My jaw hangs open as he walks past me out of the room. I thought coming here would mean leaving all of that behind, but apparently Sirus brought it right along with him. I turn and startle at movement, until I realize it’s just my reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall.

For a moment I thought it was my mother, here.

My reflection smiles as an idea takes root. I pull at my hair, thick and long like Isis’s. She loves my hair.

My smiles grows.

“Are you sure?” Amberlyn looks at me dubiously. A massive cloth flower clip takes up half of her head. It’s magenta and leopard print, with a plastic eyeball in the middle. I knew she was the right girl for the job the second I laid eyes on that.

“Absolutely.”

“Okay. Because I think we can rock this, I really do, but I want you to be sure. I hate it when girls tell me they want this and then cry.”

“Hack it off.” I glare at myself in the mirror. No more “Gosh, you look like you could be on a mural!” comments at the museum. Ever. One week of them was enough for a lifetime. I’m not part of that exhibit, and I never will be.

I hate today. Last night I broke down and emailed Isis, just to make sure she was doing okay, even though I swore to myself I wouldn’t. Of course she emailed back, and I got it right after the weird fight thing with Sirus.

Little Heart,

I miss you, too. Try to make some friends. Stop eating so much sugar.

I caught Hathor in my workroom during their last visit; we were right not to send you to Horus. The dreams have continued unabated, though you are no longer threatened in them, which is a great comfort and relief. Are you still having them?

Nephthys is here to help me prepare for the baby and assist on charms to combat the dark forces at work. Your father sends his love. Don’t worry about us.

Love,

Your Mother

P.S. I mean it about the sugar.

I pop a sucker back into my mouth, making sure to trace the sugar-on-a-stick around all of my teeth. Just remembering her email makes me seethe. “I miss you, too.” I didn’t say I missed her, and I’m sure she doesn’t miss me. And that part about my father sending his love? What love? I doubt he’s even noticed I’m gone.

And any bad dreams I’ve had are no doubt a result of my brain trying to process my stupid childhood. Once things settle down and I really feel like I have a life outside of all of that, I’m sure my brain will quit rehashing weird childhood memories.

I take a deep breath and narrow my eyes at the mirror. I should send Isis a picture when it’s finished. She’ll have a heart attack. A grin spreads across my face as Amberlyn grabs a section near the front and spreads the goop on it, then wraps it in foil.

An hour and a half later Amberlyn spins me around, looking nervous.

I laugh. My black hair is shorter than it’s been since I was a baby, a pixie cut styled in a feminine version of the fauxhawk. And near the front is a chunk dyed hunter green.

“It’s perfect!” With my black-lined eyes, deep-purple tank top, and dark jeans, I look tough. I look interesting. And I look nothing like my mother.

Amberlyn lets out a relieved breath and gives me detailed instructions on how to take care of it so the color lasts longer. I happily pay her; before I came I looked up the customs for paying stylists, so I leave an eighty-percent tip. The fact that my mother paid for what she will consider an absolute butchery is icing on the cake. Who misses who now?

I grab Deena’s bike and walk it down the sidewalk, the day warm in spite of the clouds that won’t go away. San Diego’s hills have quickly made me repent of my initial excitement over this form of transportation. Who designed this city? It’s a good thing Sirus is around to take me to work and bring me home. I’d probably die if I had to pedal everywhere.

I pause, watching someone use an ATM. Interesting. The card goes in, but instead of magically paying for something, actual money comes out. . . . Looks like I have something new to research when I get home.

A smoothie shop on the corner of a brown, tired-looking strip mall calls to me, and I ditch my bike against a lamppost. It smells heavenly inside, all citrus and sugar. I order some strawberry-mango-banana concoction that’s heavy on the sherbet. As I walk outside, I sincerely hope it will give me a cavity. I’ve never had dental problems before, and even though I can’t quit flossing and brushing three times a day (I’ve tried, but the residual Isis guilt gives me a headache), maybe a massive influx of sugar will do the trick.