Isis
Sadie can't sleep. I don't blame her, the First Nome dormitories have always been incredibly uncomfortable. Pictures of Egyptian monsters dance eerily across the ceiling in the torchlight. The floating coat has the worst matres in the history of the world. The initiates are all so young, that when the dorm matron tells them to go to sleep straightaway, the actually obey. The matron waves her hand and the torches go out. She shuts the door behind her. The locks click, two of them.
Sadie stares into the dark. She tries to fall asleep, letting the sound of girls snoring silence her thoughts, but there is something I have to show her. Something, that maybe I, too, need to see. Finally, Sadie creeps out of bed and puts on her boots.
She feels her way to the door. Tugs at the handle. Locked. Obviously. Before she's done something as stupid as kicking the door, Sadie remembers what Zia had done in the Cairo Airport. She presses her palm against the door and whispers "Sahad."
Good, she's learning. Locks click. The door swings open.
Handy trick.
I'm tempted to answer: "Wait to see the ones I have up my sleeve." Not yet. She'll know about me soon enough. Now it's time for the first hint. Outside, the corridors are dark and empty. It's sad. First Nome used to have such a wild nightlife. Sadie sneaks through the city back the way we'd come. There is no one around, aside from the occasional cobra.
Her thoughts slide towards finding Carter, but it's too much of a risk to try and find him. Plus, I need her to do this alone.
Carter and Sadie's last argument resurfaces in her brain, finally ready to be processed.
No, I want to this on my own. I'm not even sure how I feel about Carter.
Oh?
How can he be jealous of my life while he gets to travel the world with Dad? And he has the nerve to call my life normal? Please! All right,, I have a few mates at school, but my life is hardly easy. If Carter makes a social faux pas or meets people he doesn't like, he can just move on! I have to stay put. I can't even answer simple questions like "Where are your parents?" or "What does your family do?" or even "Where are you from?" without letting on how odd my situation is. I will always be the different girl. The mixed-race girl. The American who isn't American, the girl with the dead mother and the absent father, the girl who makes trouble in class and can't concentrate on her lessons. After a while you learn that blending in simply doesn't work. If people are going to single me out, I might as well give them something to stare at. Red stripes in my hair? Why not! Combat boots with the school uniform? Absolutely. Headmaster says, "I'll have to call your parents, young lady." I say, "Good luck." Carter doesn't know anything about my life.
After the third wrong turn, Sadie decides to let her thoughts dissolve in the background and concentrates on the task at hand. Every moment spent aimlessly wondering around is another chance to bump into the Chef Lector. That's the last thing I ever want to deal with. I have to show her the memories, however. I need her fully on my side when this all escalates.
Finally, Sadie finds her way back to the Hall of Ages. She pushes open the bronze doors. The hall seems deserted. No balls of fire. No hieroglyphs. That's good. That means no Chief Lector. The memories shimmer between the columns, bathing the hall in a strange, multicolored light.
Sadie takes a few nervous steps, slowly walking towards the Age of the Gods. This may prove to be stupid and reckless. But chances are to be taken. She can feel it. The pull. As if all her questions will be answered. So, she steps off the carpet and approaches the curtain of golden light. Sand dunes shift in the wind, storm clouds brew, crocodiles slide down the Nile. Finally, a vast hall full of revelers. She touches the memory and-