Then I twisted back to the gods. “When the Hell Hounds come, do not give them the Pullet. It did only as it was commanded, and you have taken enough innocent souls today.”
Its heart must be judged like all creatures, the jackal said as the Pullet, still trembling, walked slowly down the dock and out of sight. If the heart is pure, the soul will live on for a time.
I licked my raw lips. Daniel’s heart was pure. I hoped his soul would live on.
“What of my brother?” I asked. “Or Clarence? Do their souls live on? Were they ever really here?”
As before, I received no response. But both gods blinked. It was as if they were leaving that truth up to me.
So I chose to believe it had been Elijah and Clarence. I chose to believe they had helped me on my path. And I chose to believe they could hear my final whisper of good-bye.
Then I locked eyes with Anubis. With Thoth. And I drew back my shoulders. “You think your bright souls and endless lives make you better than us. Wiser. And perhaps you are right. Perhaps your cold detachment from our mortal world makes you stronger. But you make mistakes just as mortals do. Hathor made one—for love.
“So I will tell you something, Annunaki.” I spat the word. “Mistakes make you strong. Love does too, and that is why I am stronger than any of you. Never forget it. I am not your pawn, and I never will be.
“I will see the world alone. I will start Daniel’s school alone. And I will make a home without him. But I will never, ever stop loving him.”
I curled my left fingers inward. “I can still make a fist, and breath still burns in my chest. So look at my face. Look at my mortal soul, and remember it. You did not crush me, and you will have the rest of eternity to think on it.”
I did not wait for an acknowledgment—I did not need one.
I pivoted around and stepped back to the spirit curtain.
My choice. My life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The easy chatter of happy families bubbled around me as I wandered past a statue with its nose eroded off. Almost three months since leaving Paris, and I was already back again. But this time I was simply a tourist seeing all the places Daniel had wanted to see.
I had saved the Louvre for last—and the Egyptian wing of the Louvre for the very last. After spending almost eight hours in this old palace, I had seen every item there was to see, and my brain was a jumble of brushstrokes and weathered statues. Yet now that the Parisian sun was slinking down, I had reached my final destination.
As I strode into the tiny room, there was only one other person there: a girl with unruly brown hair and a furrowed brow. She did not pause her careful inspection of a weathered statue, and I bustled right past before stopping at a chest-high glass case.
Inside was a small, black statuette of a jackal. He was surrounded by shards of pottery and bits of broken jewelry.
I arched an eyebrow. “They did not even give you your own case. How that must annoy your inflated sense of self-worth.”
The girl nearby turned wide eyes on me. Clearly she was curious as to why a sunburned young woman felt the need to speak to display cases.
Or perhaps she was merely fascinated by my mechanical prosthesis. I did not blame her—it was impressive.
I tapped the glass with a wooden finger so she could get the full effect of Daniel’s genius. Gears whirred within the mechanical palm—almost silent, yet not quite. And as the grease spot shimmered in the sunset’s glow, a fond smile tugged at my lips. It was, I thought, the best part of my new hand.
I cleared my throat, my eyes returning to Anubis. “Do not think that because I am speaking to you that I have forgiven you. I have not, and I never will. Yet I once saw my father at the spirit curtain—and I feel quite certain he was able to hear and feel what I said. As such, I would like to think pieces of Daniel may still exist and that he too can hear me.”
Reaching into my dress pocket, I withdrew Daniel’s tarnished spyglass. Clack-clack-clack. It opened and I began to speak.
We miss you, Daniel. Obviously, we do. The flight from Saqqara was . . . brutal. Grief filled every space of your airship. It sat where you sat. It lay in your bed. It held my hand . . . and it would not let us forget what we had lost.
Not that we want to forget. You are . . . no, were. No—are. You are the only one for me.
Joseph and Jie took a steamer back to America. In their last letter, they told me they had found the perfect location for a school. It is an old estate in North Carolina, and they have already begun calling it The Institute.’