Hathor's Mirror

NINE | YOU ARE VERY BEAUTIFUL, AFTER ALL

Of all the things I could ever have imagined happening to me, being bathed and dressed in one of the gold-embroidered gowns and jewels of the daughter of pharaoh Hatshepsut was not one of them.

Of course, there are no mirrors in the apartment. I learned after I was tossed into the scorpion cell (something everyone is suddenly extra grateful I survived now Hathor has plans for the prince that necessitates my being alive), all the mirrors were removed from the apartment and locked away so there would be no more disappearing people replaced by rude soul-stealers like me.

What I do have is wine. And I'm drinking it. Because the dragons in my mind are banging around inside its confines freaking right the fuck out.

If we go back to my time together, I'm one hundred percent sure I am going to fade away like Marty McFly in Back to the Future. I don't want to fade away and I definitely do not want to be responsible for billions of lives being erased all because Avril just had to show me a stupid mirror no one had catalogued that had some weird swirling light inside it. Side note, I never saw any swirling light.

I'm not up on the mechanics of time travel but I'm pretty sure that all the movies are correct when they talk about not changing the past because it will totally change the future. I mean, just think about how it all played out in Back to the Future 2 when Biff had all the money from knowing all the sports results. It was grim. My poor brain can't even comprehend the magnitude of removing one of the most famous and powerful pharaohs of history from the lineup.

"This is terrible," I say eyeing the contents of my nearly empty cup. "Worse than terrible. Apocalyptic."

Lady Wesemkhet steps back from adjusting the heavy, itchy wig that I already hate to the depths of my soul. She suggested shaving my head to make it more comfortable to wear. I told her I preferred to be uncomfortable.

She brings the pitcher of wine and pours more into my cup. She's quick, I'll give her that. I don't have to say anything. She anticipates what I want. And what I want is wine. If I am going to disappear as soon as I hit modern-day London, I'm going to do it blitzed on ancient wine.

"So," I say, thinking to distract myself from the imminent destruction of three and half thousand years of history, "does the prince have a girlfriend?"

She pauses in applying kohl to a thin, pointed stick and blinks. "Girlfriend?"

"Like, you know, someone he fancies?"

Her brows draw together. "Your words," she says, returning to her task with a diligence that would put most brain surgeons to shame, "they are most strange."

"I'm hearing that a lot," I mutter. I decide to try again. I don't know if it's the wine or what, but I'm suddenly possessed with a need to know if I have any competition in the prince's bae category.

"What I mean is, is there anyone that the prince favours, you know, romantically?" I take a slow sip of the wine, playing it cool.

"The prince is to marry Princess Neferu-re," Wesemkhet says as she leans forward holding the kohl-laden stick pinched between her forefinger and thumb. "Please close your eyes."

I do, but not until after I have taken another hearty sip of the wine. The dragons are finally feeling the effects of the wine and chilling out a bit. I want to keep it that way.

"I guessed as much, things being as they are around here," I say as Wesemkhet traces an elegant line along my eyelid. Her touch is calming. I hope this part of decorating me takes her awhile. "But what I mean is, beyond duty, does he have any court favourites?"

A pause in kohl application. Then, another soft touch on my other eyelid. "There is no one. Only Princess Neferu-re."

"But she is his half-sister. You can't be in love with your blood." I know I shouldn't say it, but the wine has smashed my boundary to restraint. "That's a bit, you know, incestuous." I make a gagging sound. "Gross."