Nakia Takes A Ride

Nakia wanted to clear her head. So much human interaction in one day made her bones feel jittery. And if she didn't get her powers under control, autumn in Southern California was going to look like monsoon season in Nepal.

She decided break in Phantom. Her unicycle was an electric-solar hybrid prototype that could get up to two hundred miles per hour, and the hybrid electric-solar battery meant that she could go for days without stopping. Between the shock pump and high pedals, it was made for off-roading, but was too dangerous for actual production. 

Nakia'd had to pretend to be a set designer for a sci-fi movie in order to get it made. Even then, they'd sent her the damn thing without any phase wires, and a few other mechanical booby traps to make sure it wasn't operational. Their commitment to safety didn't keep them from building a bike that could kill a human who looked at it too long, let alone stepped foot on a pedal. Nakia was in love.

The biggest problem she had with Los Angeles was that no matter the time, the streets were always busy. Not deadlock traffic at ten in the evening, but busy enough that an opalized skeleton riding a unicycle would be caught on more than one phone camera. So, she plopped Phantom into the back of the sparkly turquoise Jeep Wrangler 4xe that Kim had arranged for Sunny to drive around. The vehicle had been Nakia's choice. The color had been a fun surprise. So had the bubble gum pink interior. Kim had wanted to name it Twinkle. Stupid name for a car.

Bubbles purred down quiet Beverlee Hills streets, her glittering surface catching the faint glow of motion-sensor lights. Nakia eased past manicured hedges and silent gates, the world of polished lawns and curved driveways shrinking behind her. Sunset Boulevard stretched ahead, empty but for the occasional streetlight, painting long, soft rectangles across the asphalt.

As she turned north onto Coldwater Canyon Drive, the city’s carefully curated stillness began to fracture. Houses thinned, then disappeared, swallowed by shadows and eucalyptus trees. The road narrowed, twisting upward into the hills, the Jeep’s engine sounding louder—not because she accelerated, but because the silence around it made every vibration resonate.

By the time she reached Mulholland Drive, the lights of Los Angeles glimmered far below, a constellation of warmth and distance. Here, the world felt different: darker, quieter, edged with scrub brush and steep drop-offs. Nakia drove a short stretch along the ridge, searching for her spot, until the Mulholland Scenic Overlook emerged—a small patch of asphalt wedged against the hillside, empty except for the whisper of wind.

She pulled in, killing the engine. Bubbles ticked as she cooled, and for a moment there was only the distant hum of the city beneath the hills. She tugged Phantom from his spot in the back seat, letting him swing loosely in her hand as she stepped off the asphalt.

Ahead, the pavement broke and dirt took over, a narrow trail curling into shadow. She mounted the unicycle, leaned forward, and felt the terrain shift beneath her. Asphalt became gravel, gravel became dust. A mile from the Jeep, she took off her clothes, shoes, and bandages, and left them all folded neatly on the ground. 

She stacked her clothes into a small bundle, tucking each corner beneath a flat stone she found nearby, pressing them gently into the dirt to keep them from scattering.

A few low branches offered natural shelter, and she nudged the bundle into their shadow. From the trail’s angle, the pile disappeared entirely—hidden behind rocks, leaves, and scrub. She stepped back, scanning the path she’d ridden, satisfied that nothing would catch the wind or attract curious wildlife.

Then, with a quick glance at the city lights far below, she mounted the unicycle again. The trail ahead was empty, dark, and inviting. She leaned forward, and the wheel hummed softly beneath her as she melted back into the canyon.

She didn't feel the need to push Phantom to his limits, so she cruised along at fifty miles per hour, the unicycle’s single wheel rolling over loose gravel and a scattering of fallen leaves. Every crunch beneath her tire echoed in the quiet night. The trail narrowed, twisted around scrubby bushes, and dipped into a shallow ravine. She adjusted her balance with a subtle shift of her hips, and the electric motor hummed in perfect harmony with her movement.

A gentle breeze carried the scent of dry brush and sun-warmed earth, the hills still holding onto the day’s heat. Rocks jutted from the path; she leaned forward, letting her strength guide her.

The trail steepened. Loose dirt threatened to skid under her wheel, but she tilted just enough, the unicycle’s power compensating for friction, propelling her forward. Every twist of the path felt like a rhythm: up, down, lean, pivot. She climbed slopes that seemed impossibly steep, descended sharply without faltering.

The trail split. One fork led toward a ridge with a view of the city, the other into a darker, narrower canyon path. Nakia chose the latter. Darkness swallowed her, leaving only the soft whir of her unicycle and the crunch of leaves beneath. Tiny dust motes glinted faintly in the unicycle’s light, like miniature stars along the path. Nakia's opalized bones, a souvenir of that one time she'd been sacrificed to a volcano in Atlantis, glimmered faintly.

She floated briefly over a bed of loose stones, landing smoothly, perfectly balanced. The hills rose and fell in a rhythm, and Nakia moved with them, effortless, unstoppable. By the time the trail began to widen into an old service road, the Jeep far behind, the city’s glittering lights seemed almost unreal. She let the canyon swallow her completely, Phantom whispering beneath her, the early autumn night wrapping around her like a cloak.

Nakia Meets Kim

Nakia tried to wrangle her fury as she stared at Kim, but the rain pounded down, thunder and lighting fighting for dominance in the mottled purple sky. She'd never met Kim in person, never video chatted with her, never even asked for a photo. Eight years ago, Kim had answered an ad Nakia had placed on the dark web, requesting a digital personal assistant. It had never occured to Nakia to ask for a photo.

The girl was fat. Flesh enough cover her and Nakia, with plenty left over. She had bleached blonde hair with streaks of neon blue and electric green and long, dark roots. She wore it up in a messy bun. Not one of the elaborately casual affairs that Beverlee Hills soccer moms wore around town with more plastic than keratin, but the neglected bird's nest of the confirmed agoraphobe. She wore black sweatpants with a pink sparkly hoodie over an Aphex Twin t-shirt, all oversized. 

But none of this was the reason Nakia was angry. "You're young," she said, accusation ringing in her tone, a huge roll of thunder backing her up.

Kim shivered, even though the rain was warm, and then flinched as a bolt of lightning split the sky, followed by a deep roll of thunder. Her soggy bun drooped over her head as rain dripped down her face. She shut the door to her rented beige Lexus. "Maybe we could go inside?" she suggested.

Nakia stared at the girl. "You're young," she repeated. "You could have pretended to be Sunny instead of me."

Comprehension dawned on the girl, followed shortly by chagrin obvious enough for Nakia to reign in the thunder. The girl clearly hadn't thought of herself as a potential stand-in for Sunny. She hadn't held the idea back so that Nakia would be forced to do it. Nakia watched the girl digest the idea of herself showing up to high school, and all that would have entailed. She shuddered. Nakia was bemused as the rain slowed and the sky lightened. The girl was terrible at hiding her emotions. No wonder she hid behind a computer screen all day. Nakia felt lighter as Kim retrieved her carry-on from the trunk and then headed toward the front door. The alarm on the Lexus blooped. 

Nakia followed. The rain tapered to a drizzle as the sky began to lighten, hints of a pinky-blue sunset glowing over the treetops.

They made their way up one side of the double staircase, and Nakia dropped Kim off at her room to settle in, while she walked next door, to "Sunny's" room. The room was huge, with its own bathroom, and a balcony overlooking the pool. The interior decorator, Peggy Weems' brief had had a typo, so she'd decorated Sunny's room for six-year-old instead of a sixteen-year-old. 

There were three beds, which was triply ironic, considering the fact that Nakia didn't sleep. The biggest one was a castle with a twin-sized bed on top and a desk nook underneath. The most spoiled child in the world could wend their way up the staircase at night and slide back down in the morning. The second bed was a Cinderella coach complete with plush rocking horses to "pull" it. The last bed was a round mattress on the floor, surrounded by enormous flower petal-and-leaf pillows. Nakia sat down in the middle of this bed, facing the door, and waiting for Kim.

A general enchanted forest motif took over the rest of the room, with a wardrobe "built into" the trunk of a tree, plush emerald green carpet with rugs in the shapes of stepping stone, and a long, winding blue one to imitate a river, complete with a bridge that led to a stage that built of plush "wooden" logs.

Nakia hadn't had her own bedroom when she was a kid. She'd shared a straw mat in a two-room hut with her parents until Princess Ahmose had taken her to the palace. As a servant, Nakia'd gotten her own small bed on a wooden platform, which had felt like the height of luxury, until Ahmose decided that she didn't deserve a bed. Then it had been the marble floor under Ahmose's elaborate bed until Ahmose had had Nakia murdered.

Peggy Weems had  been mortified about her mistake and promised to update the room, but Nakia had told her not to bother. Peggy didn't need to know that Nakia would only be staying for a few weeks, and besides, she knew that Ahmose would have been furious to see Nakia in a bedroom this cool, no matter how many millennia had passed since their childhoods. Nakia took a brief moment to hope that Ahmose had ended up in an Afterlife she deserved.

Kim entered. She'd combed out her wet hair and could be wearing the same exact outfit as before, except that it was dry. It took Nakia a moment to decipher the logo. If Nakia had had to guess what kind of music Kim would like, Alphex Twin would definitely have made the list, but 100 gecs surprised her a bit. If she also liked Taylor Swift, they'd have the exact same musical taste. She was carrying a ThinkPad X1 Carbon under one arm. Respect. That was one of Nakia's main machines, as well. She suppressed the sense of kinship that tried to arise.

She watched Kim's face to see the girl's reaction to the room, but she only looked around and shook her head. She sighed. "Peggy Weems said she'll get this fixed for you ASAP." Nakia thought she saw a flicker of -- disgust? -- before Kim seemed to mentally dismiss the room. She chose an ottoman shaped like a tree stump, sat down, and opened her laptop. A small child would have been dwarfed by the cushion, but Kim's bulk threatened to swallow the stump.

Nakia stared. Was the girl dead inside? Maybe her own childhood bedroom had been similarly elaborate, which would have meant that Kim came from Money. Aside from checking Kim's hacking creds, she had never felt any real curiosity about the girl. That wasn't true. Nakia had suppressed her curiosity. Getting involved with humans was always a mistake. How many ways did Nakia need to get murdered in order to learn that lesson? Just the three, thank you very much.

Still, she'd always pictured Kim as an older version of Sandra Bullock in The Net. Timid, but smart, with humor-tinged misanthropy. But this girl barely looked old enough to drive. And she'd been working for Nakia for eight years. "How old are you?" she asked, before she could stop herself. Irrelevant.

"Twenty-one," she said, absently, typing. She'd made sure that the screen was angled away from Nakia, which was amusing, as Nakia had as much access to Kim's computer as she wanted. "The staff should be moving in tomorrow, and I have Jacqueline Castillo's report ready for you. I've emailed it to you. Would you like the highlights?"

"I read it. You started working for me when you were thirteen?" Nakia asked. That couldn't be right. Kim was an established Grey Hat by the time Nakia had met her. What was she, some sort of hacking Mozart? 

Kim's neck twitched. "Twelve," she corrected, and giving away her pride in the fact. "The bad news is that there's not really anything to blackmail Castillo about," she continued. "But the good news is that there's not really any purpose in trying to blackmail her." She looked up. "Do you know much about the foster care system?"

Nakia froze. She didn't really pay much attention to modern politics and social systems except where they impeded her. She did have opinions on the concept of foster care, though. "Just that they take children away from their parents," she said, remembering the oh-so-joyous day that Ahmose had claimed Nakia as property. She was glad for her bandages and the lack of facial muscles under them that kept her expressionless. Kim watched her, though, obviously picking up on her tension. Outside, clouds started to gather again. Nakia 

She looked away, staring up at the sunset painted ceiling with its sprinkling of early-night stars. "I didn't either. Apparently, children are monitored in cases of suspected abuse or neglect, but only taken away if the child seems to be in immediate danger. Even in cases of abuse, birth parents are often offered opportunities to improve their parenting -- anger management classes, that kind of thing. When possible, children are reunited with their  birth parents, and also when possible, placed with immediate relatives in the interim. It's supposed to keep the child's life as stable as possible."

Nakia had experienced little anecdotal evidence for the idea that parents could abuse their kids. In her experiences, systems were the problem, not the solution. Royalty, religion, politics -- had literally been the deaths of her. 

She could feel the air thickening. Trying to ward off another storm, she pictured the Afterlife -- her little gazebo on top of the waterfall, looking out over the edge while The King thought about his next move on the Senet board. The clear blue sky with puffy white clouds, the sound of the water, birds soaring through the air. 

The atmosphere thinned. Nakia brought her attention back to Kim, who seemed to have been lost in her own thoughts. She had closed her laptop. There had been something, a bitterness, maybe, that was apparent in her tone throughout her recital of the foster care system. She took a breath and and brought her gaze back to Nakia. "Castillo does sometimes break the rules, but only the help the children who are assigned to her."

Nakia wondered what it was about describing the foster care system that was making Kim tense. Maybe she'd been taken away from her parents, too. Nakia thought about doing her own investigation on Kim, but dismissed it. She didn't care about anything other than finding The King. The only reason she'd had Kim investigate Castillo was because she didn't want to have to deal with a social worker for the next three years until "Sunny" turned eighteen, and thought that a little light blackmail would get her to leave Sunny alone. 

"What rules does Castillo break?" she asked. 

Kim flipped her laptop back open and started reading from her notes. "There were a couple of kids whose mother had a mental health break down and the only housing she could get afterward was an old office building. It wasn't technically a residence, but it had all the amenities needed: plumbing, kitchen, shower, etc. so Castillo pushed through the approval. She had a coworker who was bribed by wealthy parents to help them keep a kid they were abusing and she exposed the coworker's romantic relationship with a teenage girl."

"How is that breaking rules?" Nakia asked.

Kim bobbed her head from side to side. "It's not against the rules to expose that, it's just an example of how she didn't go through the system to expose system corruption; she exposed him personally, not professionally. She also had a kid who was moved to a different jurisdiction and she continued helping, even though the kid had a new social worker. Again, not technically illegal, but working outside of the system. Oh," she added, grinning at the screen. "This is a fun one." She looked up at Nakia. "She has an old high school boyfriend who works at a chop shop, and she tapped him to get a car for a kid who had aged out of the system." 

"That sounds like breaking the rules," Nakia said.

Kim nodded, smiling. "That was only a year-or-so in. She skirts the rules more than breaks laws now. More to lose, I guess."

"Hm." None of this was material Nakia felt comfortable using as blackmail. Castillo didn't seem like someone particularly likely to cave to blackmail, anyway. Her old coworker sounded like he'd have been fun to destroy, though. She made a mental note to look him up and make his life miserable. "How often would Sunny have to deal with Castillo over the next three years?"

Kim nodded like she'd been about to answer this question already. "Based on Sunny's age, and the assumption that she is not being abused or neglected, most likely once a month at first, just to make sure that everything is stable, and then after that potentially every three months -- that would be her checking in with Sunny in person. She'd also coordinate with the schools, extracurricular programs, and healthcare providers to make sure everything seems okay." She paused, gesturing toward Nakia. "The bandages are explained in your case history as severe chemical burns from years ago, and as long as she likes me as your 'guardian'," she used air quotes for this, "then you'd only have to see her a handful of times over the next three years."

"And by me, you mean --"

"Whatever actor I get to play Sunny. I'm on it."

"Okay." Nakia processed this. She had more she wanted to discuss, but she was drained. She'd had more human interaction in one day than she'd had, since Atlantis, maybe ever. She needed to stare an ocean or a tree or something for a while. She shook her head, focusing. "Keep an eye on Castillo. I want to know when she's planning to visit, and I don't want Sunny to meet her until we get a permanent actress to play her. Also, I had lunch with three girls from school today. I get the impression that they'd like to continue the relationship. Can you look into them for me?"

Kim raised her brows. "You think they're apart of some sort of high school crime syndicate?"

Nakia laughed, surprising herself, and Kim. "I wouldn't care about that. I'm more worried about a 'Carrie' situation."

Kim cocked her head. "You mean pig's blood at prom?" She grimaced. "High school girls can be really mean." She closed her laptop again and stood. "I'll look into them." She looked as ready to leave as Nakia was to have her leave. "Anything else?"

"Anything on The King?" Nakia asked, as Kim moved toward the door. Kim didn't know that The King was Neferkheperu Amenhotep IV, a pharoah from ancient Egypt. To her, it was just a nickname.

"Right!" Kim stopped and turned. "I think I found him! I think he's Excell Masterson!"

"He can't be," Nakia said, automatically. "He doesn't look or sound anything like Excell Masterson." Excell Masterson was was short and stocky with sandy blonde hair that caught the light in a subtle wave. His skin had a pink undertone, hazel eyes, a strong jaw softened by a faint cleft chin. He'd started in construction and had a deep, gruff voice that was out of place with his surfer-boy good looks. The King was tall and angular, had skin with golden undertones and dark, piercing eyes that felt like they could burn through flesh. His voice was thick and smooth like honey on a cool day.

"I know," Kim, said, grinning. "I think that's why it took me so long to find him. I was relying too much on the sketches and physical description you gave me." Stepped took a few steps back into the room. "What if the guy we see publicly as 'Excell' is an actor? Everything else about him screams The King."

"Oh." Nakia thought about it. If she'd figured out how to use actors to play her various aliases, The King was certainly capable of it, too. Excell Masterson was a video game developer with a cult following of mega video game nerds. He'd created the most immersive virtual reality system ever invented. It was only available to the ultra rich. Nakia hadn't liked it. It wasn't uncanny valley real, it was real real and it freaked her out. She'd only played it a few times.

The King liked to build aliases that were rich and powerful mogul-types, and he did love games. He'd taught her how to play Senet when they were alive, and they'd played every board game ever designed when they were in the Afterlife, regardless of time period. It wouldn't be strange for The King to branch out into video games. He had a vigor for both inventing and conquering. Kim was right. Excell Masterson, looks aside, fit all of the markers she'd told Kim to look for.

She felt a rush of excitement. Excell Masterson's home base was Silicon Valley. If she took the Phantom, she could be there in less than three hours. She could be face-to-face with The King that night.

"He's in Hawaii."

It took a moment for Kim's statement to break through Nakia's thoughts. Then her excitement deflated like a sad balloon. 

Kim looked sympathetic. "He'll be back next Tuesday and has a press conference at The Glasshouse on Tuesday at ten in the morning."

Nakia adjusted. "Not tomorrow, next Tuesday?" 

Kim nodded. 

Nakia nodded too. "Okay, thank you." Kim turned to leave, and Nakia replayed back their conversation, feeling like she'd missed something. "Wait a sec. What was that you said about the staff? What staff?"

Nakia's Death Scene

Nakia didn’t cry. She didn’t beg. She just stared into Ahmose’s hard eyes. Something flickered in her gaze, a flash of the girl she had once been: running across the field, black hair catching the sun like blue fire, eyes dancing with mischief. She remembered crashing into that girl, hearts and limbs lost in a tangle of giggles.

The last thing Nakia saw was Ahmose close her eyes and turn away. It was the remorse that Nakia found hardest to forgive. It meant that her friend and enemy were the same person. And she died, never understanding what had twisted one into the other.

Nakia Meets The King

Discomfort made its way into Nakia's consciousness. At first, she thought it was just the cold marble floor that she slept on, and tried stay sleep but eventually, she recognized it as the need to relieve herself and allowed herself to awaken fully. She started to move, but froze. How long had it been since she'd used the chamber pot without the princess' permission? Two years? Three? Judging by the snores coming from the bed above her, Ahmose was asleep.

After a minute, Nakia decided it was either use the chamber pot or burst all over the floor. She crawled carefully out from under the bed, heart hammering. Awakening Ahmose would mean punishment. Everything with Ahmose meant punishment. Hunger clawed at Nakia's ribs, but she was so used to ignoring it that she barely noticed.

She made her way over to the chamber pot and when she re-emerged from behind the screen a few moments later, Ahmose was still asleep.  

The lattice window high in the wall caught the pale glow and broke it into thin patterns that fell across the floor. The marble gleamed softly where the light touched it, as if a shallow pool of water had spread across the room while she slept. Between those bands of silver, the shadows were deep and blue.

Ahmose lay atop her raised wooden bed, stacked with linen-stuffed mattresses, one arm draped over the edge. Her dark hair spilled downward, her gold-threaded pillowcase glinting in the lamplight, her mouth slightly open as she snored. The carved lion-paw legs of the bed caught the flickering light, and the linen curtains around the frame hung in soft folds.

Nakia had grown so accustomed to seeing the princess towering above her in a righteous rage, that it was easy to forget that she was barely more than a child. The days when they'd been friends were so far removed that Nakia wasn't sure she hadn't dreamed them.

The painted walls looked different at night. During the day the lotus flowers and papyrus reeds were bright and cheerful, but now they seemed to float in the dimness, pale blossoms rising from dark water. A painted falcon near the ceiling stretched its wings across the plaster, its eye catching a glimmer of moonlight so that it appeared to watch the room.

The air smelled of lotus oil and burned incense from earlier in the evening. Beneath it lingered the cooler scent of stone and linen.

A low table stood near the hammock, scattered with the princess’s things: a comb carved from ivory, a small jar of perfume, bracelets coiled like sleeping snakes. The moonlight touched their polished surfaces and turned them into tiny sparks of light. Beside the table sat a painted chest where Ahmose kept her dresses.

The palace beyond the walls breathed gently—somewhere far away a door thudded softly, and she thought she heard the distant trickle of water from the garden fountains.

She knew that she should climb back under the bed before Ahmose awoke and accused her of plotting her death or something. But -- from the second Ahmose had adopted Nakia as her servant, she had owned Nakia's time. She wasn't allowed to fall asleep before Ahmose, and certainly not allowed to sleep later than the princess. And all of her waking thoughts were consumed by the princess; feeding her, clothing her, enduring her rages. When the princess was calm, Nakia just dreaded the next storm.

But now, she was awake and Ahmose was asleep. 

Without really allowing herself to think about what she was doing, Nakia edged toward door. She lifted it slightly — the pivoted cedar whispered against its sockets. She held her breath, listening. She wasn't so far from the chamber pot that she couldn't lie if Ahmose woke up and asked Nakia what she was doing. Ahmose continued to snore. 

Slowly, Nakia slipped into the corridor. The further she moved away from the princess' room, the less convincing her excuses would be. But freedom beckoned her. 

The corridor twisted, and the faint scent of lotus drifted to her. A soft whistle from a guard in the distance made her jump. But it wasn't Ahmose's screech, so Nakia kept moving. 

Finally, she reached the outer corridor that led to the garden. Moonlight revealed the packed sand paths, the raised beds of lotus and hibiscus, and the towering silhouettes of date palms. A fountain tinkled somewhere beyond, its sound delicate and surreal.

Even if Ahmose slept through the night and never missed Nakia, there was a second danger. If any other servant saw her -- especially any of Ahmose's favorites who also hated Nakia -- Nakia couldn't allow herself to imagine the consequences.

She paused at the edge of a lotus pond, watching the petals float on still water, letting her pulse slow. And then, at the far edge of the garden, near a low stone bench, she saw a man seated cross-legged, ivory pieces arranged carefully on a carved game board. The board gleamed dark and polished, falcon heads carved into its ends, eyes glittering. The edges were inlaid with faint gold and small stones and atop it were ivory pieces shaped like cats, birds, and stick figures.Beside him was a small tray with figs and a piece of flatbread, scented with honey. 

She tried to retreat but her movement caught his gaze. 

He leaned forward. Moonlight touched his face. He was old — not bent and weathered, but grown. His narrow face was smooth, except for a short, dark beard. Beneath his striped linen headdress, his hair was combed perfectly. A thin golden band glinted at its center.

Even in his simple linen robe, tied lightly at the waist and falling loosely over his shoulders, he seemed impossible to touch. Around his neck, a broad collar of bright stones flashed in the moonlight. He smelled of sweet oils and something sharper.

When he looked at her, his eyes were sharp and dark. He'd been frowning, but as he examined her, his face relaxed into a quizzical smile.

He was obviously important, maybe a guest of the king? Nakia wasn't allowed to leave Ahmose's room, so she didn't know what any of the guests looked like, but the palace was always hosting some dignitary or another. 

“Ah,” the man said softly, still smiling. “You’ve found my game.”

Nakia was torn between responding to his smile and running back to her spot under Ahmose's bed. She was very aware of the roughness of her shift. Her arms and legs were decorated in rainbows of bruises in various stages of healing. And Ahmose often assured her that her face was hideous, twisted and terrifying.

The man did not seem repulsed by her, though, merely curious. And slightly amused by her silence. “Do you know how to play Senet?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Then allow me to teach you,” he said, leaning back slightly. He gestured her nearer, and when she moved toward him, he bent over the board and ran a finger along the polished edge, tracing the carved falcon heads at either end.

“This is the board,” he said. “Thirty squares, in three rows of ten.” He tapped a square with a slender finger. “Some are safe. Some bring trouble.”

Nakia knelt beside him, the stone wall warm from the day's sunshine. The ivory pieces gleamed in the moonlight, carved into cats, birds, and little people.

“These,” he said, lifting one carefully, “are the dancers. You move them forward along the squares, one step at a time, unless the game allows otherwise. He set the piece down and nudged another. Only one piece may occupy a square at a time.”

She leaned closer, tracing the edges. The smoothness of the ivory felt impossible in her hands, too precious to touch.

He picked up a fig from the tray beside him and tore it in half. Her stomach growled at he smell and she almost didn't believe it when he handed one half to her and ate the other. The sweetness, the warm, honeyed smell of it, made her eyes water. 

Nakia took the tiniest nibble, hoping that she could squirrel away the rest for when she was truly hungry, but he didn't take his eyes off of her until she had chewed and swallowed her final bite. Then, almost carelessly, he handed her a whole fig, and returned his gaze to the board.

Suddenly, everything made sense. The perfectly cool breeze, the warm stone, the delicious fruit -- the freedom. She was dreaming. There was no use in saving a dream fig, so she nibbled on it and turned her attention to the board, as well.

She was soon absorbed in learning, being guided and teased by him. She'd forgotten how to be teased as much as she'd forgotten how to play. At one point, she slid her cat piece forward—not toward her own safe square, but between two of his pieces.

He froze, frowning at the board, before looking at her. 

Nakia looked up at him. She'd been proud of that one, but now she was confused. "Was that wrong?" she asked, worried.

He watched her for another second before his frown relaxed. "No, that was good," he murmured, returning his gaze to the board. "Just unexpected."

She felt a thrill at having surprised him, and just a touch of fear. The way he'd frowned had reminded her of Ahmose just before an explosion. But after a few minutes of monitoring his mood, she relaxed and the moment was soon forgotten.

She could have played forever, but all too soon, he handed her the last piece of flatbread and started to pack up the board. "The board is tired." He lifted each ivory figure with snow, deliberate fingers, and tucked them into a small cloth-lined box. He stretched luxuriously and waved her away with careless fingers. "Off with you, now," he said.

Nakia had never felt so devastated. For a while, night had felt like day, as though their own sun had hovered above their heads, making the world build only for them, warm and bright. With his dismissal, darkness returned, colder than before.

She stared at him, feeling only rejection. Not a dream, after all. The pain from her bruises, fatigue from the day all came rushing back, worse than if they'd been there the whole time.

And then, gratefulness flooded her body. She had never had, nor deserved a dream so good. She bowed and thanked him. In that moment, it didn't matter that he wasn't a king. He was her king, her god. She dare'nt show these blasphemous thoughts in her face, though, so she turned and fled back to Ahmose's room.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been gone, hours, but Ahmose was still snoring peacefully. Not quite believing this wasn't a particularly vivid dream, Nakia slid onto the floor and into her spot beneath Ahmose. In a hollow behind the headboard carving, Nakia slid the flatbread. She was hungry, but fuller than she had felt in a long time, and she couldn't justify eating when she knew that there were days of starvation ahead of her. 

She lay on her back, her head against the marble floor, digesting the dates and the surprising freedom that the night had offered. She had a dangerous thought. What if, tomorrow night, she refrained from using the chamber pot before falling asleep? Nature would awaken her, again. It was unlikely that the stranger would be there, and even more unlikely that he'd want to pass another night in her company. But she could stroll the gardens, or just find a comfy spot and watch the stars dance. And think. 

Deleted Scene: RIP The Sinclairs

 The mummy lay on the snow, her head propped up on a half-buried rock, looking at the sky. Her eyeballs had disintegrated millennia ago, so she couldn't see in the traditional sense, but her supernatural sight allowed her to see in shades of gray. She was aware that much of the beauty of the aurora borealis was lost on her. Still, she liked watching the play of lights as they shot across the sky.

The sweatpants and hoodie that she was wearing wouldn't have done much against the cold for a human person, but the mummy was impervious to the cold. She did, however, feel the vibration of her cellphone just under her rib bones. A series of three texts, one right after the other.

For a moment, she thought that she might not even answer it. For a moment, she didn't. She no longer had the ability to breathe, but she let out a mental sigh before pulling the phone out of the kangaroo pocket on the front of her sweatshirt.

The phone woke immediately, displaying the three short texts on the lock screen.

Kim:
karen and john sinclair r ded
plane crash
whoops! :/

Well, that was inconvenient. The series of texts came from the mummy's personal assistant, Kim. Kim was a 32-year-old software engineer from South Carolina. She was as sharp as her southern drawl was soft, and she'd never made a mistake in the decade that she'd been working for the mummy.

Until now. Karen and John Sinclair were two of the mummy's fake personas. They allowed the mummy to purchase property, stocks, and private jets. To make them seem real, Kim's job was to pay their taxes on time and to keep them rich.

One thing she did with all of the mummy's personas was keep them moving. She'd buy and sell homes in different cities, and arrange for lavish vacations. She'd even hire actors to populate these vacations.

Modern technology had made the creation and maintenance of pretend people a lot more complicated than the falsified birth certificates the mummy had relied on only a century ago. But they were necessary so that the mummy could keep looking for The King.

The King's body had been stolen from his tomb a couple of millennia ago. The mummy, who had been sacrificed to keep him company in the Afterlife, was dragged back into her desiccated body kicking and screaming. She'd been looking for him ever since.

The mummy didn't text Kim back. Instead, she purchased a plane ticket to Los Angeles, hired a staffing service to set up the mansion in Beverly Hills that belonged to the Sinclairs, and a car to take her from the airport to the mansion.

There was an underground network that the mummy operated under -- kind of like the dark web, but an actual secret. It allowed the mummy to make further arrangements, severing Kim's connections to the mummy's network of bank accounts and fake personas. As severance, the mummy added twenty million dollars to Kim's bank account before erasing any trace of her activity.

She debated texting Kim back to let her know she was fired, but Kim was a smart girl. She'd figure it out.

The mummy powered down the phone and then slid it back into her kangaroo pocket. Swirls of bright white slunk around a dark gray sky.

The mummy screamed.

Chapter 1

When Nakia was alive, high school hadn't been invented. She hadn't known, at the time, to be grateful for that fact. The classroom was festering with hormones. The cacophony of concurrent conversations was an ozone of bravado overlaying a buzz of anxiety.

She wasn't nervous, of course. She just hated being around humans. That's why the classroom windows displayed a panorama of gathering storm clouds. Nakia had never figured out why her emotions affected the weather, but it was one more reason to avoid humans. She wasn't trying to contribute to climate change. Humans were doing so well on their own.

Three girls walked in. Two of them were twins, with platinum blonde hair and blue eyes. They had matching sets of bruising around their eyes and bandages over their noses. They flanked a taller girl with long, lustrous brown hair and naturally tan skin that indicated non-Caucasian ancestry. 

The girl's chest sported a pair of knockers so unnaturally large and round for her thin frame that for a moment, Nakia wondered if the girl had stuffed her bra with softballs. All three girls were too thin, only the need for their sausage casings to house organs and blood made Nakia's waist span slimmer than theirs. Even so, she wondered how they all stood upright without folding over. Corsets, maybe?

The two blondes were dressed in pastel, one in pink, flowy layers, on in a blue dress with a mandarin collar that flared at the waist. The brunette wore a deep purple business suit, complete with vest and a matching briefcase instead of backpack.

Nakia had prepared for her first day of high school by binging (as the kids called it) as many teen movies as she could stomach. The hush that fell over the room as well as the unnatural poise and mouthwateringly perfect outfits identified them as the mean girls. 

Just as Nakia thought that, the tall one looked directly at her, her dark brown eyes liquid and assessing. Nakia froze. Something about the girl's gaze reminded Nakia of Ahmose. Lightning flashed outside, followed quickly by a clap of thunder so loud that all of the students in the class jumped. This included the twins, but not the Ahmose-girl, who had been so absorbed in assessing Nakia that she'd barely noticed the thunder. However, her gaze slid over Nakia's sunglasses and around the room before turning to the twins.

In the movies, the mean girls sat in  the exact middle of the room. Nerds sat in the front, the problem boys sat in the back, the dreamers sat closest to the window, and the extras filled in the empty spots. Nakia had chosen a seat exactly in the middle of the row closest to the door. The mean girls were some of the last to enter, and there were only a few seats left in the front row.

Nakia expected the Ahmose-girl to direct her mean girl stare at some hapless students in the middle rows who would immediately jump up and give up their seats, but instead, the three girls just took three seats in the front row. They didn't even ask anyone to move so that they could sit together. 

It was raining hard outside. Nakia stared out the windows, trying to thin out the atmosphere. The tall girl's stare had unnerved her. She hadn't thought of Ahmose in thousands of years -- that was a lie -- okay, fine. She had been trying to not think about the princess for thousands of years. So to see her gaze peering out through the eyes of a girl who was the same age Ahmose was when she was at her most dangerous -- 

Thunder made everyone jump again, and Nakia forced the princess out of her thoughts. She tried to picture the Afterlife. After Ahmose had murdered Nakia, Nakia had gotten to spend some time in the Afterlife before being dragged back to Earth and into her rotting mummy body. That wasn't a fair description. Due to the mummifying process, she'd actually been preserved very well -- not the point. The point was that she got to go to the Afterlife. And the Afterlife was wonderful.

Blue skies, puffy white clouds, a gazebo set atop a waterfall, a rain of different kinds of desserts every after noon. Some days, popsicles. Other days, bon bons, macaroons and macarons, chocolate-covered strawberries. Aside from her mother's homemade fig cakes, honey-coated nuts, fruit-and-nut rolls, etcetera, Nakia hadn't known the name of these desserts until relatively recently. Similarly, the games she'd play with The King. Senet, of course, was the first game he'd taught her when they were alive, but there were more, some of which hadn't been invented yet. Monopoly, Scrabble, LIFE. 

Remembering the Afterlife always calmed her, and the rain outside slowed, the rolls of thunder quieting. Half of the kids had gotten up and were staring out the window when the teacher walked in. Mid-thirties, short and chubby with shoulder-length curly black hair. She wore a peasant blouse and a long, patterned skirt. She came in carrying an enormous binder and a look of expectant curiosity. A bulging tote bag hung off of the crook of her elbow. She set down a water bottle, set of keyes, and a sweater, before setting down the binder and slinging the tote onto the back of her chair. She wasn't wet so she clearly wasn't running late, but the bell rang just as the bag hit the chair.

"Crazy storm, huh?" she said, cheerfully, as the kids who were standing returned to their seats. "Came out of nowhere. Good morning, everybody. I'm Ms. Bronahan. You can call me Kate -- haha, just kidding, don't do that.  My name is Susan." She turned and wrote 'Ms. Brosnahan' on the blackboard.

A kid skidded in, soaking wet, avoided eye contact with the teacher, and made his way to an empty desk, near the window. He sat down with an audible squish and a couple of students giggled. Ms. Brosnahan smiled sympathetically at the kid then walked over to her desk and picked up the huge binder. She flipped it open. "This is Homeroom. This is where  you come each morning to catch up on your homework." She rolled her eyes. "Or copy someone else's. If any of you are in my History class, please don't be obvious about it. I'm going to take attendance. If you're here, say 'here' or 'present'. If you're not here, don't say anything."

A couple of kids giggled, a few booed. Nakia liked Ms. Brosnahan. For a human. But most of them seemed okay until you got to know them. 

"Adam Abrahams," Ms. Brosnahan called out.

"Present." The chubby extra sitting next to Nakia raised his hand and then went back to staring at his phone.

Ms. Brosnahan looked up, made eye contact, smiled, and called out the next name. She did this for each name she called. Most of them were glued to their phones, a few were talking quietly to the person sitting next to them. They were all paying enough attention to answer when their names were called.

The mean girl twins were Candace and China Romney. The Ahmose-girl was Atairal Martinez. For some reason, she glanced around at Nakia after raising her hand. Nakia, who'd continued working to calm the storm outside had a moment of panic and a flash of lightning hit a tree outside. Once again, a bunch of kids flew to the windows, commenting on the storm. Nakia cursed to herself, stared at her phone, and thought about the Afterlife. 

She was focusing on the storm so much that it took a moment for her to register Ms. Brosnahan calling Sunny's name. "Sunshine Sinclair?" she asked, looking around. 

"Oh, um. Here," Nakia  said, waving her phone halfheartedly.

Ms. Brosnahan looked over at her smiled, and marked something in her notebook. For some reason, the brief glance had the opposite effect of the Ahmose-girl -- Atairal Martinez. It sent a soothing sensation throughout Nakia's psyche. The sky lightened outside. 

Ms. Brosnahan finished taking roll. "Alright," she said, checking the last name off in her binder. She closed the binder and glanced at the wall clock. "We have another forty-five minutes until first period, so just hang out here until the bell rings. If you need help with your schedules or anything, come and see me up front."

The volume of the classroom chatter increased as Ms. Brosnahan placed the binder on her desk and looked around. Atairal looked around at Nakia again, and Nakia's bones felt all jangly. The storm increased again.

Nakia didn't want to call attention to herself, she needed to get out of the classroom, and, according to the movies, that wasn't allowed without a magical thing called a Hall Pass. She stood and made her way to the front of the classroom, careful to avoid the gaze of Atairal Martinez. She made her request to Ms. Brosnahan who smiled and told her to go ahead.

"Do you know where the bathroom is?" she asked, her friendly smile calming Nakia even as the gaze she sensed on the back of her head freaked her out.

"I have the map," Nakia mumbled, and wandered out, a little disappointed that the Hall Pass was not a physical thing anymore. 

The hallway was empty. She only passed a couple of adults as she made her way to the bathroom. She was confused. She felt claustrophobic. She didn't have lungs, so of course she couldn't breathe, but she never felt like she couldn't breathe. 

The bathroom, thankfully, was empty, the fluorescent lights buzzing softly overhead. The air smelled faintly of soap and hand sanitizer, mingled with the lingering perfume of students who’d been here earlier. There was one window, above the furthest stall. It was frosted over and didn't open, but it was better than nothing. 

Nakia didn't actually have to see the sky in order to adjust the weather, but it helped. She stood on the toilet seat and pressed her bandaged skull against the window. She tried to think of the Afterlife, tried to think of the atmosphere outside. But she couldn't concentrate.

Why did that girl keep looking at her with Ahmose's eyes? Was she Ahmose? Was reincarnation real? Did she remember Nakia or did just some small part of her psyche recognize her? Nakia had plenty of non-Ahmose-related reasons to avoid humanity, but a big one was the fear that she'd run into the princess again, someday. It was an irrational fear, she knew.

If mummies coming back to life was a normal thing, then there wouldn't be modern day scary movies about it -- and action adventures. So, the thing with her and The King had to be an anomaly, right? But Ahmose was The King's daughter, so who would be a more likely third person to be pulled out of the Afterlife for some unknown reason? 

Nakia didn't have a nervous system, but her soul shuddered. She tried, again, to think of the Afterlife -- gazebo, sky, games -- but Ahmose was there, in Nakia's beautiful gazebo with that cruel sneer -- the storm outside increased, and Nakia -- 

The bathroom door opened and a girl came in. Nakia ducked down. The girl was crying. "The fridge is empty, and they forgot to leave money for food again," she was saying as the door banged shut. "No," she said, after a moment. Her distress was apparent in her voice. "I don't know," she said, after another moment. A stall door slammed open. A moment later, the girl said, "Hold on." she stepped toward the wall of sinks. A huge mirror spanned the sinks, and Nakia saw the girl set down her phone. She blew her nose into a wad of toilet paper. Her movements were jerky as she threw the paper away and washed her hands. She let the blower dry them and then returned to the phone. "Are you still there?" she asked.

She must have pressed speaker phone because a voice came out of the speaker. "I'm here." The voice was calm and reassuring, and it even calmed Nakia down, even though it wasn't directed at her.

"I don't know what to do," the girl said, her voice rising into a wail. She breathed heavily and then took a deep breath, holding her head in her hands. 

"I will call your parents," the voice said. "And make sure --"

"They're not answering -- " the girl interrupted. 

"That's okay," the voice said. "They may be unavailable, but this isn't the first time this has happened. If I can't reach them, I'll call the electric company and get the power put back on. I can also get you some food --"

"This just keeps happening," the girl said, bursting into tears again. "They're my parents. They're supposed to care."

For a moment, the girl's sobs were the only sound.

"I know," the voice said, quietly. "I'm sorry."

"I hate them," the girl said.

"Me too," the voice said. "I didn't say that, but I do too."

The girl gave a shuddering giggle. "You never say that."

"Well," the voice said, "this has happened too many times. I'm going to petition the courts to set up an account for the utilities so that they get paid automatically and --"

"How can they keep doing this, though?" the girl asked. She asked this in a quiet, small voice, not seeming to have the energy to muster up the hysterics she had just a moment ago. "They have plenty of money. They just don't care. I don't care that they don't take me with them -- I don't want to go -- but how can they ..." she broke off again, sighing.

The voice sighed too. "I don't know, honey. I think they're just selfish. I don't think it's malicious."

"That's worse, though," the girl said. "At least if they hated me, they'd care. It's like I don't even exist." She sighed. "Maybe it's not worse. But it sucks." She rested her head on her knees.

"I know." After a moment of silence, the voice said, "Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to pick you up. We can go to the zoo..."

This made the girl laugh weakly. "No, I'm okay. It's the first day. I should probably stick around. Besides, I haven't seen Jean Marie for three months, so...."

"Alright," the voice said, her tone still kind but moving toward a more professional tone. "I'll get on this. If you don't have power by the time you get home from school, I will arrange a hotel for you."

"Thank you, Jackie," the girl said. Her elbows rested on her knees, hands dangling, phone resting on the sink above her.

"You're welcome, sweetie. Hang in there." 

After a moment, Sweetie stood up and retrieved the phone. She poked at its face for a while. Then she washed her face in the sink and left.

Nakia stepped down off of the toilet. The other girl's distress had distracted her from her own, and for the first time in minutes, she noticed that she could still hear the rain outside. She reached out with her mind and tried to lighten the atmosphere, again. This time, it worked, and the rain started to fall more softly. 

She exited the stall. She wore a cheap brown wig cut into a shoulder-length bob along with a pair of cat's eye sunglasses and a baggy black sweatsuit. White bandages covered what would be exposed skin on a human. The nice thing about Beverlee Hills was that bandages didn't scream, 'MUMMY!' so much as they murmured, 'plastic surgery'. 

Makeover! (Not currently connected to a specific chapter.)

Of the three, Princess was probably the least comfortable with Candy, which was saying something. There was something unnerving about the way that her bright eyes darted around like a curious bird, seeing everything but focusing on nothing. As Candy turned those eyes onto Princess, Princess realized that she'd never actually been alone with Candy -- how had she not known to treasure those days?

"A lot of thin girls think that if they wear baggy clothes, it disguises how thin they are," Candy said, eyeing Princess' oversized turtleneck. "But," Candy added, biting off that word with relish, "a lot of times, it can just make you look even thinner -- and not in a good way." Candy leaned toward Princess, her sway conspiratorial.

Princess leaned away, and Candy took hold of Princess' arms just below her shoulders. "We're going to fix that." She let go of Princess and stood back. "But first," she said. "Those bandages."

"I need the bandages," Princess said. "You really don't want to see what's under here."

Candy waved her hand dismissively and walked over to her bed. On it, a set of seven silver boxes were stacked, the largest on the bottom, smallest on the top. A single lacy peach-colored ribbon encircled the stack, with a simple bow on the top. Candy turned back toward Princess and with a flourish, tugged on one of the ends of the bow. The bow untied, the other end of the ribbon fluttered to rest on Candy's pale blue duvet.

Candy dropped her end of the ribbon and picked up the smallest box. It was about the size of a baby's skull -- but square. Candy cupped it her hands, walked over to Princess, and presented the gift. God, the girl was exhausting. Princess took the box and lifted the lid. At first, it appeared to be rolls of neutrally-colored ribbons, but after a moment, she realized it was gauze.

"That hospital-white has to go," Candy said firmly. "This is just as sterile as anything you'd get from a doctor. I ordered it special for you." She leaned in conspiratorially again. "Although more common in Beverly Hills than you'd think." She stood up straight. "Okay, you get changed -- wear the light tan -- and then I'll give you your next gift."

Princess, too stunned to be offended, walked over to the room divider that Candy pointed to. Who was this girl?

"Do you need help?" Candy asked. "I've helped with this sort of thing, also more often than you'd believe."

"No, I got it!" Princess called out from behind the screen. The girl had bought her skin-colored bandages, in every shade of skin, plus gray, black, silver, and gold. They were all lavender-scented. She undressed and removed her wig. Practice made the change from white to tan fairly quick. "Now what?" she asked, mostly to herself.

A silver box appeared over the top of the screen. Princess accepted the box with a less than grateful, "Thanks!" The box was slightly larger than the last, and held an array of tiny bras and even tinier thongs.

"Dark grey," Candy called out.

Princess sighed and slipped on the dark grey thong. The bra fit surprisingly well, especially once Princess had filled the a-cups with some more gauze.

"You ready for the next one?"

"Um, sure." Princess said. She accepted the next box that appeared over the top of the screen. In this one was a long-sleeved dress a shade lighter than her tan bandages. The skirt ended at her knees and the dress, one layer of sheer chiffon, was entirely see-through.

The next box held a dark gray, cable-knit sweater. The sleeves ended at her elbows and the hem ended just under her hipbones.

"Can I see?"

Princess slipped her wig and sunglasses back on and then stepped out from behind the screen.

Candy clapped her hands. "Oh, my gosh, you look so awesome!"

Princess was sure that wasn't true, but it was nice to hear. She knew she couldn't tremble, but she was as close as a mummy could be to doing just that. She wouldn't have admitted it, but her defenses had been breached efficiently and thoroughly by this presumptuous teenager.

The rest of the boxes held a belt that Cindy slipped around Princess's waist, silver calf-length boots, and bangle bracelets. She let Candy steer her in front of an ornate, full-length mirror.

She hadn't been expecting much, but on first glance, she just looked like a normal scantily-clad Beverly Hills girl. The sweater, ending just where decency would need it to, was lent respectability by the length of the sheer skirt and sleeves. The shiny boots drew attention from her bandaged face to her long, slim legs.

The bandages weren't even that conspicuous. Princess had intended for her cover to be that of a victim of bad plastic surgery and Candy had unwittingly completed that illusion better than Princess ever could. She almost looked like a real person.

The last box, the largest, still lay on Candy's bed, and even Candy looked a little nervous when she glanced at it. "You don't have to do this one, but I thought it would look nice."

They walked over to the bed together. Candy fidgeted with the peach ribbon while Princess lifted the lid of the last box. She smiled inwardly, understanding Candy's discomfort. It was a wig. It was a chocolate brown that, as Princess picked it up, shone amber where the light played on it. She walked over to the mirror. Candy kept her back turned, still preoccupied with her bit of ribbon, like an easily amused kitten.

Princess pulled off her wig and slipped on the one that Candy had chosen. It was cut to frame her strong jawline and it made her neck look incredibly long and equally vulnerable. Between the bangs and the sunglasses she always wore, the top half of her face was hidden without even needing the bandages. Again, the illusion of normalcy was almost complete.