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

Tatiana had watched enough teen movies (as research, only, of course) to know that the nerds sat in the front, the cool kids sat in the back, the dreamers sat closest to the window, and the extras filled in the empty spots. Tatiana had chosen a seat exactly in the middle of the row closest to the door.

She wore a baggy black sweatsuit, a long black wig, and enormous sunglasses that hid half of her face. This meant that only the half of her face that was covered in white gauze bandages was visible, as were the bandaged fingertips that peeked out from the sleeves of her sweatshirt.

When Tatiana was mortal, high school hadn't even been invented yet. 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 a hip-high ozone of bravado overlaying an incessant buzz of anxiety.

Being around so many humans made her nervous -- not that she'd admit to anything so biologically impossible. Instead, she stared at her phone, at a series of texts, willing the letters to rearrange themselves into any order that would allow her to be anywhere else.

The teacher, chubby with curly black hair and a long bohemian skirt, entered. Her presence instantly halved the volume of noise in the room. Tatiana liked her already. The teacher's purposeful energy swept through the classroom, pushing the majority of collective angst out into the hallway. What was this magic?

The bell rang and a student skidded in, avoided eye contact with the teacher, and made his way to the only empty desk, directly in the middle of the classroom.

"My name is Ms. Bronaham," the teacher said. The classroom, a roar of bravado mere moments ago, was now so quiet that her voice nearly echoed. She placed a large binder on the desk in front of the whiteboard and 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. Some of you may also have me for History. I'm going to take attendance. If you're here, say 'here' or 'present'. If you're not here, don't say anything."

Tatiana thought that was funny but a series of groans and boos corrected her. Ms. Bronaham,  just grinned. She looked down at her binder. "Adam Abrahams," she said.

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

Ms. Bronaham nodded and made a mark in her binder.

Tatiana took stock of her classmates as their names were 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.

Fifteen students in, Tatiana caught the gaze of a student sitting in the front row. She was slim, with sleek black hair that was very long in the front and very short in the back. Her almond-shaped eyes suggested that her tan was related to her ethnicity rather than time spent in the California sunshine. She was a main character.

"Atairal Morales."

"Here," the girl said, raising a hand and letting it drop again, all without breaking eye contact with Tatiana.

So much for making it through the next two weeks as an extra. One of the mean girls had spotted her.

Ms. Bronaham had to say Tatiana's alias' name twice before Tatiana caught it. She raised her hand.

"Candace Richmond."

Atairal Morales finally broke eye contact in order to turn and glance at the blonde girl sitting to her left.

"Here!" chirped the blonde.

Ms. Bronaham nodded. "China Richmond."

"Here." The blonde sitting to the right of Atairal Morales didn't raise her hand or look up from her phone.

Although Atairal was sitting in the front row and was no longer facing Tatiana, Tatiana could still feel the girl's mental gaze on her.

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 1st 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."

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.