“And this is what you seek? A life with me and not Lily?”
He grinned. “Usually, it’s the man that does the pursuing.”
“Ah.” I put an arm on the stone by his leg and moved closer, pushing against his chest until his back was pressed up against a rock behind us. When both of my hands had trapped him, making his escape impossible, I angled my head until it was even with his. “But I am the huntress.”
Asten lifted his head, slightly baring his neck, a sign of submission. I stared hungrily at his throbbing pulse, but the hunger I felt was not for the kill. It was for something else. With the stars reflecting in his eyes, he lifted his hand to cup my neck and pull me closer. “In this instance,” he said, “I don’t mind being chased.”
He drew me down and kissed me with the kind of passion I craved. His arms cradled me tenderly, in such a way that I knew he wanted me as I did him. My worries that he might not feel about me the same way he felt about Lily flowed away like flotsam in a fast-moving river.
When I lifted my head, he brushed my hair fondly away from my face. “I like this body,” he said. “I hope you can keep it.” I raised an eyebrow and pushed away from him.
“You tease me, Asten, by speaking of something that isn’t possible for us. Why do you waste the few moments we have together by dreaming of something unattainable?”
He sat up. “Tia, you can believe in things that are proven or you can believe in dreams. One of them is the key to power. It’s how miracles are made. The other one is the easy road. I didn’t take you for the kind of girl who sticks to the easy path.”
“You…you called me a girl.”
“And so you are…a lady lioness.” He ran his thumb up my jaw. “And the prettiest girl I’ve ever kissed.”
A tear did slip from my eye then. Asten wrapped his arms around me and stroked my back, only to pause a moment later. “Ahmose,” he said softly.
Ahmose stood quietly below us looking up. The scrub grass shifted slowly around his ankles. I frowned, thinking I’d missed the signs of an intruder again. The insects that had serenaded the night with their sweet, familiar song had suddenly gone quiet. I’d been so enraptured by Asten that I hadn’t noticed.
Ahmose’s arms were crossed over his chest, and he stared at Asten with an I-want-to-kill-you-very-slowly kind of look. When I unwrapped myself from Asten’s arms and leapt from the tall rock, falling through the air easily and landing in a crouch as nimbly and as quietly as a cat, Ahmose turned his gaze on me. My appearance obviously shocked him.
“Tia?” he asked.
“Yes. Are you ready, Ahmose? Is Ashleigh well?”
“Ashleigh’s fine.”
He took hold of my hand in what I thought was a slightly possessive manner, and I looked from Ahmose up to Asten, who now stood upon the rock. The starlight dusted his hair and made every part of him shine as if he were lit from within. I’d never seen anything so beautiful before. I hoped he was right. That a place for us existed somewhere in the stars. But if it didn’t, at least I’d gotten a last tender moment with him.
I lifted a hand in farewell and caught the soft murmur of his voice on the wind. It could have been a trick of my imagination or wishful thinking, but I thought I heard him say, I love you. I would have responded, but before I could, I was pulled into a vortex.
Around and around I spun, and when my feet finally met the ground, I knew exactly where I was. Manhattan.
The street I stood on was as familiar to me as my bedroom. I knew each business, each building, even the names of the horses who pulled the carriages across the street in Central Park. But the vibrant city I called my home stood empty. The towering edifices that stretched high into the sky swayed slightly and stared down on me with dark-eyed windows.
For the first time in this new second life I’d experienced since I’d woken on Nana’s farm, I was alone. Ashleigh was gone. Tia was gone. I shivered and rubbed my hands over my arms as a wintry wind swept through the gloomy city. I wondered why my dreamscape in particular would be so horrible, so dim, so lifeless.
Tia’s and Ashleigh’s dreams had made sense. They were void of people, too, but they were peaceful. This landscape was anything but peaceful. In fact, it was downright creepy, apocalyptic even. As I walked down the block, looking for someone, anyone, I noticed the gray snow that lay pushed up against the sides of the buildings. It clung to the shadows as if fearing the sunlight that would be its demise.
With snow on the ground, I would expect the city to feel happy and hopeful like it did around Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s. But if Christmas was coming, there was no sign of it. No lights graced shop windows. There were none of the usual gift displays, glitter, or garlands. In fact, the shops that did showcase their wares looked like no one had been inside them in more than a decade. Dust covered everything.
When I tried the door to the opulent hotel where I lived, I found it locked. I rang the buzzer repeatedly but no one answered. I blew out a breath, fogging the window, and stared at my reflection in the murky glass. The visage of the girl reflected there was familiar. It was the girl my mother had molded, a young woman who was precise and perfect in every way she could be. My long brown hair hung smooth and glossy, so tamed it barely shifted in the wind. My posture was straight and sure, much like my father’s.
My clothes were designer—fitted slacks, a thin leather belt, a silk button-down shirt—right down to my high-heeled sandals, where perfectly painted toes peeped out. Though I was dressed like me, I wasn’t dressed for the weather. My poor toes were turning blue in the cold. Shifting uncomfortably, I stamped my feet partly in frustration, and partly to bring some feeling back into them. I blew a puff of air at my reflection.
The confident, unshakeable New York City socialite on the verge of making a name for herself was in this dream. The person everyone expected me to be. The kind of girl who would belong in this city. A perky, privileged young woman ready to head off to college and begin her life.
But nothing I felt fit this mold. The thin veneer cloaking my outside hid something much different on the inside; I frowned at the girl who stared back at me and decided it was time to move on and leave her behind.
Figuring I’d try the next block, I walked briskly through the uninhabited landscape and came across an abandoned newspaper stand tilted precariously, one wheel over the curb. It swayed in the breeze like a drunken man had heaved up its contents all over the road. Rubbish littered the street and sidewalk.
Newspapers and a torn canopy clung to its sides as if blanketing the display to protect it from more damage, while ads and bits and pieces of refuse caught between it. The road fluttered wildly, trying desperately to escape. I picked up a wind-torn sheet of newspaper and looked at the date. Where the date should have been, the paper was curiously blank. The words on the articles were just jumbles of letters and symbols that didn’t make sense.
Was I going crazy? Could I have fabricated everything in my mind? Egypt? Mummies? My powers?
The idea that I was not in a dreamscape after all, but was sitting in a mental institution somewhere going slowly out of my mind, didn’t sit well with me. I tossed the newspaper aside and continued on, passing hot dog carts, the sausages spilled onto the sidewalk, the meat as cold and gray as intestines, and an outdoor market full of rotten fruits and vegetables. One vacant store after another.
Each block looked eerily similar to the last one. No people. Not even vacant cars. The big, unoccupied buildings felt haunted. As the wind whistled through them, I imagined each fluttering curtain or shifting blind harbored something evil.
Garbage was piled up in great mounds, the bags ripped open with their contents flung everywhere, as if a wild pack of dogs had gotten into them. And more unnatural than anything else was the absence of the sounds of New York. The only thing moving in my nightmare city was strewn litter. It tumbled and shifted from place to place as if it, too, sought to escape.
Thinking the park might provide me a safe
haven, or at least a change of scenery, I headed across the street and entered the trees. At first, I felt safer. The park felt clean. It was supposed to be peaceful, so the fact that there was no one around didn’t make my nerves tingle as much as it had in the city.
Snow covered the ground and foliage, but the paths were clear. I took one and headed deeper into the park until the sidewalk abruptly stopped. A large crack ran across it, and snow covered the ground in front of it. Steam came from the depths of the crack. It only took a moment for me to decide I didn’t want to investigate further. I spied another path and trudged through the snow, my feet stinging with cold, until I set foot upon it and immediately felt better once again.
When that one ended after a few dozen steps in a crumbled block of cement, too, I stopped and looked around me. Stretched out as far as I could see were paths. They were jagged and broken, and some were…shifting. When they were connected, they held their shape for a brief time, and then, if I listened carefully, I’d hear a groaning and a popping noise as they moved and settled into a new place.
I suddenly realized I was back at the street again. Somehow the path had returned me to the place where I’d begun. It was like being stuck in an M. C. Escher painting. If I hadn’t been freaked out before, I definitely was now.
Turning around, I started running, leaping one crack after another, navigating the labyrinth walkway and knowing that I needed to keep going no matter what. Someone was playing with me. I felt eyes on me no matter which way I turned. Shadows lurked behind the trees, but when I looked directly at them, I couldn’t see anything.
My breath heaved in my lungs. I was frozen and exhausted. Tears filled my eyes, and I sank down, wrapping my arms around my knees, when I came upon the end of another path. How could I be expected to move forward when I didn’t even know where I was going? I was like a bridge built without supports. One tiny quake and I’d topple, carrying everything down into the river with me.
Then I heard the laugh of a woman. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. There was nothing warm or sweet, cinnamon or sugar, about that voice. It was cold and full of spite, saucy hand-on-a-hip and glaring hatred, wrapped in a smooth dark-chocolate coating. What’s worse? I recognized it, and the sound of her voice triggered a tremor in my body that couldn’t be stilled.
I didn’t know her name and wasn’t sure where I’d met her before, but I did know that she represented everything I hated. She was the one who belonged in a place like this. It suited her perfectly. I felt the press of an arctic hand on my shoulder, heard the click of slick-painted nails tapping on a glass and the crunch of a high-heeled shoe as it stabbed the ice-covered sidewalk. When I stood abruptly and turned, I saw nothing. I might have screamed if I thought there was anyone around to hear it.
I attempted to summon my power, but nothing happened.
Then I heard the voice. Run, Young Lily, it said. Run to the center of the park. You can find me there. The voice was warm and familiar, different from the woman’s. I trusted it.
I ran.
When the path broke and shifted beneath me, I stumbled and fell, scraping my palms and knees. The injuries stung, but I got up and kept going. The barren trees around me shifted, blocking my way, and hundreds of dark birds lifted into the sky. I hadn’t seen them in the trees before. They circled and then headed toward me, chasing me as if I were an enemy scarecrow and they wanted revenge.
I tore my way through the trees though the branches clutched at my hair and clothing. My shirt came untucked and fluttered behind me as I ran. The broken paths soon disappeared altogether, and the trees were wrenched from the ground. They ripped in half before vanishing from the landscape in dark holes in the sky that opened up to swallow them. I cringed waiting for the tree-devouring monster to seek out a taste of my flesh.
Soon the gray skyscrapers faded away, too, as if they’d been covered by a dense fog. The trees were all gone now. With the snow-covered field broken up only by fallen pinecones and ripped branches that littered the ground like bones, the wind shrieking around them, I knew my dreamscape had turned into my worst nightmare. On and on I ran, the light from a thin moon chasing me from behind a veil of clouds until it finally set.
After the moon disappeared, the skyline grew dark and ominous. Freezing rain mixed with snow fell, stabbing me like sharp needles. I coughed and wiped the icy droplets from my face. I swept back my sodden hair. My legs burned and my breath clouded the air in front of me as I ran and slipped over the terrain. I couldn’t feel my feet, nose, ears, or fingers anymore, but I did feel the pounding of my heart in my chest.
I’d never been so terrified. My heart was in a grip so tight that I gasped and clutched at my chest. The woman’s laugh returned. A green glow filled my vision, eclipsing the predawn light of the snow packed ground, and the breath was stolen from my body. I struggled, but I could not escape the grip of whatever invisible beast held me in place.
Then a light pierced the storm, and the hold on my heart disappeared. A single ray of dawn sunshine settled on both me and a golden temple that had suddenly appeared in the white landscape. The sunlight lit a path directly to its door. To my knowledge there was no such temple in the middle of Central Park, but nonetheless I was grateful to see something, anything, that would provide shelter from the storm and protection from the demon who sought to consume me. With all the remaining energy I had, I pushed toward it.
At my approach, golden doors burst open, and when I entered, they shut with a resounding boom. The storm outside was immediately silenced. Leaning over, I panted and wiped a shaking hand over my face clearing the rain from my eyes. When I recovered my breath, I moved forward through the wide hall, leaving slushy footprints in my wake. I marveled at the beautiful carved reliefs on the marble walls. They showed pyramids and gods, battles and monsters and warriors.
I came upon another set of doors, this one with a golden carving of the sun. After tracing my fingers over its face, I pushed on the door and stepped into a room with a domed ceiling and columned arches. A dais with a marble statue of three women was the focal point in the room. They stretched their arms upward, fingertips touching, and they were bathed in a pure white light that shone down on them from the ceiling.
Walking around the statue, I studied it from different angles. The faces of the women were lifted, like they looked up at the sky and reached toward something. They seemed familiar to me.
“It is the birth of Wasret,” said a voice from behind me.
Spinning around, I saw an alcove hidden by a curtain of opulent fabric. A light stirred behind it.
“Who are you?” I asked, moving closer. I could tell the voice was the same as the one that guided me when I was lost. “Why are you hiding?”
“I’m not hiding from you, Young Lily,” the voice said. A gleaming hand pushed aside the curtain and a man that glowed so brightly I could barely look at him stepped through and approached me. “And you already know who I am.”
“No, I don’t,” I said, taking a step back, my leg hitting the statue.
“You do.”
The man came closer. Looking at him was like staring into the heart of the sun. My body warmed as he approached, and I leaned toward him without thinking. Steam rose from my dripping-wet clothing. I wondered if I would burn my hand if I touched his vibrant skin. Despite my inner reservations, I knew it was safe. That touching him would be a sort of healing. That his light would dispel all the darkness.
Reaching out, I placed my cold palm on his chest. I was surprised to find not only that feeling quickly returned to my fingers, but that a sense of warmth shot through my entire body. No, it wasn’t just warmth. It was peace, happiness, belonging.
“You’re cold and hurt,” the man said, stretching his glowing fingertips to my hair. “Let me help you, Nehabet.” He whispered some words, a spell of some kind, and light bathed my body. When it receded back into him, I was wrapped in a sumptuous robe of silk and soft slippers. The stinging cuts on my palms and knees had vanished.
My body and hair were dry, but strands of my hair, now gold, were still wrapped around his fingers.
Slowly, he dropped his hand and stepped away. Though I couldn’t see his face, there was something sad in his stature, the slump of his shoulders. I tightened the belt at my waist and relished the feeling of being warm and safe, though I would have preferred to be wearing a bit more clothing.
“You…you’re Amon. Aren’t you?” I asked the man.
“Yes,” he replied softly.
“Why can’t I see you? Why don’t I remember you?” I turned in a circle, looking around me. “Where are we? How can you be here? Why aren’t I in a dream, and where’s Ahmose?”
He laughed. “You still ask too many questions. At least that hasn’t changed.” The glowing man held out an arm, indicating his alcove. “Would you like to sit and make yourself comfortable while we wait? Ahmose will come, perhaps too soon for me and not soon enough for you.”
“Th-thank you,” I said stiffly, not knowing how to feel. I followed him to a plush couch layered with plump pillows in rich jewel tones.
Delicately, I perched on the far edge of the couch. He seemed to consider me for a moment before choosing a seat in the middle. Though I tried to be discreet as I shifted my body away from him, I got the sense that he not only noticed, but was wounded by it. The robe slid up around my smooth thighs, and I hurried to adjust it, embarrassment coloring my cheeks. Since I couldn’t make out his features, I couldn’t tell if he’d seen it or not. If he had, he didn’t say anything.
“I suppose most of your questions can be answered by telling you a secret,” he began.
“A secret?”