“Will you come with me, Lily?”
Not “You will come,” or “Come with me,” but “Will you come?”
Amon was giving me a choice. Which I wasn’t sure was exactly the case, but it was a nice gesture. This was the moment. I had, if not all the facts, enough details to make an informed decision. Amon still had the power to control me and he was desperate enough to force me to do his bidding, but at the same time, he was offering me a precious taste of free agency.
I knew I was a coward—a privileged, self-deluded, spineless coward who preferred sitting in her pretty little mansion, in her prim little room, placating her preppy fake friends, and all the while fooling herself into believing that she was as free-spirited as the people she drew in her notebook.
But, I wasn’t. And right now, looking into Amon’s eyes, I was panicked. Not only because what he was asking me to do was way, way beyond my comfort zone, but also because I was deathly frightened that this adventure might be my one and only opportunity to break out. To choose something different. To be someone different. It was all too easy to picture my life five years in the future.
A gritty determination filled me. I wasn’t sure if it was Amon’s influence or if a switch in my mind had finally been flipped, but suddenly I wanted to go. I wanted to jump off a cliff. Leap from a plane. Grab the opportunity, as crazy as it was, to do and see things nobody else could.
Though my hand shook, I slid it into Amon’s and said, “Let’s go.” Taking a deep breath, I released all my reservations, feeling a sense of pride that I’d had the courage to say yes. Now I just had to get into the cab before my second thoughts became overwhelming.
Gifting me with a sunshine smile, Amon pulled me close and whispered in my ear, “You are braver than you think. Truly, you do have the heart of a sphinx.”
“What does that mean, exactly?” I asked as I climbed into the cab and scooted over to make room for Amon.
“In my country a sphinx is often depicted as a man, but the Greeks believed the sphinx to be female: half lioness, half human. I appreciate their version more. You see, a lioness is brave and smart. She is a huntress who provides food for her cubs. Each animal she hunts has the potential to end her life, but she still hunts just the same, for there are others who rely on her. To have the heart of a sphinx is to have the heart of a lioness. But the sphinx is also a protector, a defender. As she raises her great wings, she creates a powerful wind that wards off evil.”
“So are there real sphinxes? I mean, if Anubis is real and mummies are real, then it’s a possibility, right?”
Amon finally turned to me and rubbed his jaw. “I have never seen one, but there is a legend told among warriors that a woman brave of heart who proves herself in battle will be embraced by the spirit of the sphinx.”
“Right. All things considered, I’m not sure that’s something I’d want to aspire to. Battling isn’t really on my list of things to do, and I’m also not too fond of the idea of having a tail.”
Amon glanced at my body with interest as if considering the possibility.
“What?” I sputtered as my face turned red.
“Nothing,” he answered, unable to hide his grin.
I sank my elbow into his side and said, “Quit it. And while I’m thinking of it, stop reading my mind, too.”
“Believe it or not, I try to avoid it, but sometimes your feelings are so overwhelming, even I, with all my powers, do not have the ability to defend myself from the onslaught.”
I peered at the driver, wondering what he thought of this conversation, but he didn’t seem to be paying much attention. In fact, his expression was almost…giddy.
Quietly, I asked Amon, “What did you do to him?”
“Are you controlling him?”
“I am manipulating his vision,” Amon said as he leaned closer.
“What do you mean?”
“What he sees are the two most important people he will ever drive.”
When we arrived at JFK, I pulled out my credit card to pay, but the driver was insulted that I’d even suggest such a thing. He even dusted off my backpack and offered to carry it in for me. When we were finally able to break away from him, he shook hands with Amon, offered him a business card, said he was a big fan, and added that if Amon was ever in New York again to please not hesitate to call upon him for any reason.
As he drove away, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Who did he think you were?”
“I am not sure of the name, but the image of a young male singer with lots of hair came to my mind.”
The idea that a NYC taxi driver’s dream client was a member of a boy band kept me smiling all the way into the airport terminal.
We entered the airport without any trouble, and Amon watched the other travelers with an expression of deep fascination. How different and strange we must have seemed to him, what with our gleaming windows, spacious, airy buildings of chrome and metal, and everyone bustling from place to place with their wheeled luggage.
“Now, you have to be careful about what you do in here. You have a knack for drawing too much attention to yourself. Try to blend in. There are cameras everywhere.” At his confused look, I explained, “A camera takes pictures. You know, like the carvings on the walls of temples and pyramids? They’re like that, only much, much more accurate. See?”
I took a picture of myself with my phone and showed it to him. With fascination, he traced the image with his finger.
Turning my phone around, I clicked a picture of Amon, but the screen was blurred. “Hold on. Let me try again.”
I shut off the flash and touched the button again and again, but each shot was the same. In the spot where Amon should be, there was a burst of light.
“Your technology cannot carve my image. It is likely because I am a walking shadow.”
Staring at the bright blur on my phone, I mumbled, “More like a walking supernova.”
Amon continued to study the other travelers and then asked suddenly, “How do you see me, Young Lily?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I have no way to classify you. Are you an Egyptian god? A mummy? Are you human? A ghost? Immortal obviously, but really there’s just no frame of reference.”
“No. I mean to ask you, what is wrong with my appearance?”
“Um…nothing, really.” At least, no girl I know would have a problem.
Amon frowned. “Do you know if this…airport has a room for baths?”
“You want to take a bath right now?” I asked, confused.
“No.”
And then it hit me. “Oh, a restroom. Sure.”
“I do not wish to rest, either.”
“No, I know. That’s just what it’s called—a bathroom, a restroom, or a men’s room.” I looked around and spied one not too far away. “Do you see where that man is going? That’s the restroom for men.”
“Will you wait for me here?”
“Yes.”
As I watched him walk away, an idea popped into my head. On a whim, I headed over to a cart that sold earbuds. I knew Amon would find them very interesting and was buying him a pair when I felt a tug in my gut.
Signing the receipt quickly, I gave in to the pull and was drawn back in the general direction of where we’d been sitting. The chairs were now occupied by other travelers, and Amon was nowhere to be seen. Turning in a circle, I tucked my hair behind my ears and looked for him.
The tugging sensation was gone. I assumed it had been generated by Amon, so its abrupt absence worried me.
A familiar voice called my name quietly and I spun around. “Amon? What…what have you done?” He’d changed out of my father’s baggy workout clothes, and as I glanced around I realized how he’d gotten a different outfit. Three young men stumbled from the bathroom wearing articles of clothing that had once been my father’s. Each had a confused look on his face and one of them plucked at the old T-shirt as he walked away.
The fact that Amon had switched clothes with them was the least startlin
g part of his transformation. The young man with the devastatingly gorgeous smile had somehow added hair to his head. “Is that a wig?” Reaching up, I tugged on the hair and found it solidly stuck to his head.
“It is my own hair. Is the style correct?”
If I thought Amon was handsome before, he was handsome to the nth degree now. His hair was dark brown, short in the back and on the sides, and a little longer on top. It was thick, layered, voluminous, and a little messy. The sort of hair a girl could bury her fingers in as she kissed him. Stop it, Lily!
“It’s…not bad,” I finally said. “How did you do it?”
“I just accelerated the natural growth.”
“I thought you were bald because you couldn’t grow hair.”
“No. Egyptian princes shave their heads.”
“I see. So…why did you change clothes and grow your hair?”
Amon shrugged. “It has not escaped my attention that I do not look like other men my age. It will be easier for me to move about if I’m less…noticeable. There is not much I can do to alter my behavior except to follow your example, but I can attempt to at least look like I am from your world. I have not seen any men my age with shaven heads.”
“Right, but—”
“Do I look better?”
“You look great,” I said, and he did. He now wore a pair of dark, straight-leg jeans, a fitted blue blazer, a white henley shirt, and gray Converse sneakers.
“I have a new belt, too. See?”
He lifted his shirt to show me, but I was too distracted by the tight muscles of his abdomen to notice the belt. “That’s…that’s nice,” I murmured, and turned away to hide the red warming my cheeks.
Dropping his shirt, he asked, “Does it not meet your expectations?”
I waved a hand. “Believe me…you are above and beyond my expectations.” I cleared my throat uncomfortably, realizing what I’d just said. He didn’t seem to notice anything abnormal. “Well. Now that you are attired comfortably, shall we figure out which plane will take us to Egypt?”
Leaving behind a trail of dreamy-eyed airline employees entranced by Amon’s power, his GQ looks, or a combination of the two, and, clutching two tickets to Cairo that we had neither paid for nor showed passports to attain, we made our way through the airport. It wasn’t long before I noticed the effect Amon had, not just on employees but on almost every person of the female gender he met.
Amon had an aura of power, and, at least to me, he radiated all things warm and sunny. I suspected this was either a natural part of him or a reflection of the gifts of the sun god. We were all like sunflowers turning our heads toward a very handsome sun. The idea irritated me and I realized it was because I selfishly wanted to keep all of Amon’s warmth for myself.
Once we were on board, the flight attendants began showering us with a little too much attention. Amon basked in it.
The first hour passed and the flight attendants had become a constant annoyance. By the time the fourth attendant came by just to check on Amon a second time, I was fed up and interrupted her before she said anything. “We’re fine, thanks.” I hissed at Amon, “I liked you better bald.”
Amon thought my reaction was hilarious. In response, I grabbed the pillow off his armrest and jammed it behind my head, folding my arms across my chest and closing my eyes so I didn’t have to watch the never-ending parade of Amon devotees.
Still chuckling, Amon grabbed the blanket given to him by one of the attendants—whose perfume he’d declared rivaled an Egyptian queen’s—tucked it around me, and leaned over to whisper, “A desert lily need not turn jealous eyes toward the common violet.”
I didn’t respond and was soon lulled to sleep by the drone of the engines.
The clattering of silverware and the soft murmur of voices woke me. Opening my eyes, I saw a large man across the aisle digging into his dinner and was jolted back to reality. Bringing my palms to my eyes, I rubbed and wondered if I had just dreamed these past two days.
“Excuse me,” the flight attendant said as she practically shoved her ample bosom in my face so she could have better access to my traveling companion. Obviously, it wasn’t a dream. I was alert enough to hear Amon exclaim over the dinner she was going to be bringing him. Rolling my eyes, I tapped her on the shoulder.
“I’d like to use the restroom, please.”
“Oh, of course.”
Once in there, I locked the door and wet a towel to press against my cheeks. I didn’t look like myself. My normally confident, shoulders-back stance and healthy frame looked hunched and sickly. There was a definite gray tinge to my skin, made worse by a sheen of sweat. My chestnut-brown hair hung in limp, fettucine-like strands, the shine long gone. My carefully applied makeup was smeared, and the circles under my eyes looked like wrung-out tea bags.
Taking out the small makeup case I’d fortunately brought with me, I fixed my face the best I could and pulled my hair up into a loose ponytail. What have you gotten yourself into? I allowed myself a brief moment of hysteria for agreeing to go to—I could barely even think it—Egypt, with a who-knows-how-many-thousands-of-years-old mummy prince who was too hot to handle in more ways than one.
When I had repeated the mantra “It is what it is” to myself a dozen times, I was ready to return to my seat.
I found a middle-aged woman sitting next to Amon, asking him all kinds of questions about his homeland. When he saw me, he said to her kindly, “My Lily has returned and it is time for us to dine. Perhaps we can speak of Egypt some more at a later time.”
“Oh, yes, I’d like that,” the woman said, grinning from ear to ear before she returned to her row.
Scowling, I dropped back into my seat and tucked my makeup bag on the floor under me. Amon leaned over to buckle my seat belt. “You must wear this at all times until the captain says it is safe to walk about the cabin.”
I pushed his hands away. “Yeah, I got it. And I’m not your Lily, by the way.”
Cheerfully ignoring my comment, he asked, “Do you know how to lower your table?”
“Yes. I was born in this century.”
He seemed both fascinated and a bit confused by my sarcasm. I wasn’t sure why I suddenly felt so prickly. Once again, my emotions were running amok. When my table was arranged, the flight attendant brought our meals. I saw the special smile she gave to Amon and I narrowed my eyes, and then froze, realizing why I’d been so irritable. I was feeling…possessive of Amon. After I cleared my throat loudly, the flight attendant set down the trays with heavy clunks and asked Amon if he needed anything else. When he said he would let her know, she left us alone. Not one, not two, but three dinners sat before each of us. “What is this?” I sputtered.
“A feast. Or at least, the best that Gloria could provide under the circumstances.”
Apparently he’d ordered the vegetarian lasagna, the chicken dinner, a chef’s salad, and a fruit and cheese platter for each of us.
“She said she will bring our desserts later,” Amon said as he picked up a bunch of grapes and started pulling them off, one by one, with his teeth.
I shook my head. My dark mood lifted at seeing him eat grapes like an ancient god, which I suppose he was, and my lips curved into a smile despite my attempt to remain irked. “Like this,” I whispered, and picked off a few grapes from the bunch and then placed them in my mouth. Amon lowered the bunch and watched me, focusing his attention on my lips. I’d just begun to feel awkward, embarrassed, and a little warm, when he pointed to the lasagna.
He copied my every move, from using the knife and fork, to opening the little packages of salt and pepper, to using the napkin, to drizzling the dressing over the salad. He soon noticed that I’d placed my napkin over my tray and was immediately concerned.
Brushing his fingers across my cheek, his Egyptian-god version of a diagnostic tool, he asked, “Are you ill?”
“No. Just a little tired,” I answered as he studied me with his hazel eyes.
“Then why haven�
��t you finished eating?”
I shrugged. “I don’t usually eat this much. I told you before, remember?”
“I remember.”
Amon turned back to his food but soon pushed the remainder of his meal away as well. When I asked him why, he answered, “Feasting is not meant to be done alone. It is a time for celebration, renewal. If you will not indulge with me, then I will also abstain.”
“What exactly are you celebrating?”
“Life,” he said simply.
“I don’t understand.”
The attendant took away our unfinished meals and refilled our drinks. After trying every noncarbonated beverage available, Amon declared orange juice to be his drink of choice, which made sense for a sun god. He watched my drink warily as I sipped from my recently refilled diet ginger ale. I repeated, “Why are you celebrating life?”
“When I…wake, I find I have a great hunger for life. During the weeks before the ceremony, I feast. I dance. I surround myself”—as he continued, he touched his fingertips to a loose lock of my hair and trailed his fingers down the length of it until the wisps fell against my cheek—“with beauty. I relish every moment of being alive. Then I have something to reflect upon, to warm me during the long years of darkness.
“Where do you go after the ceremony?”
His expression changed from peaceful to grim, and he turned away as he replied, “I do not wish to speak of it.”
“All right.” It was so strange to look at Amon and not see the warmth I’d come to know so well. “Well, how about a movie?”
“What is that again?”
“Would you like to see the modern interpretation of mummies?”
“Yes.”
We stayed awake late into the night watching film after film, pausing only for restroom breaks. I started with old school: Boris Karloff’s The Mummy. Amon’s only response when it was over was “Another.” I found myself watching his expressions more than the movies as we saw the 1999 version of The Mummy and the 2001 sequel, The Mummy Returns.
Reawakened (The Reawakened Series) Page 9
