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lack of ambition on her phobic mother or her overprotective brothers.
    They had all known what they wanted too. Just like Greg. Tarik had been headed toward a career in business management from kindergarten, and Adam used to practice reading the six o’clock news in the bathroom every single night. Tarik used to tease him about that, saying his reflection must be incredibly well informed.
    Joseph was different, the only one who hadn’t followed his original goal. Growing up, he’d always planned to be an archaeologist, even used to beg her to take him to museums instead of soccer practice on the weekend. If he disappeared for any length of time, she knew she would find him discovering a long-forgotten tomb in his closet.
    Their mother had tried to discourage him, knowing his dreams were leading him far away from home, but she couldn’t stop his obsession with the past. Joseph could always out-stubborn all of them.
    He’d gotten the scholarship he’d applied for a month before he announced to his siblings that he’d joined the military. He still longed to see the world their mother had tried to shield them from, since she was no longer there to be hurt by his decision, but now he was determined to make a difference in the present instead of studying the past. Once again, no one could talk him out of it. He hadn’t even given them a chance to try. He’d made up his mind.
    No one ever asked Aziza what she wanted to do with her life. When she was eighteen, she was sure that even if she’d had a plan, it wouldn’t matter. She knew what her brothers expected. That she’d be the one taking care of their mother. Watching them move on with their lives while she remained behind, the aunt with lots of cats who’d spoil their children when she babysat for them and distracted them from the crazy ramblings of their grandmother. It wasn’t her ambition, but it was what she’d expected.
    A year later her mother was gone.
    So much had changed. Too much. Every two years, as if it had been scheduled in advance, she’d lost another family member. Another brother. Another piece of her soul. She’d give up her adventures in a heartbeat if it meant having them back again. She’d take care of her mother and never complain if…
    She curled her hands into fists once more, breathing deeply to stop herself from crying. Stop thinking. Don’t try to make sense of it anymore. Curses don’t make sense. Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking completely. Look at the beauty around you. Look at your garden. Live in the moment. This moment. It’s all you have.
    “Feel…”
    She stilled, startled again. “Who’s there? Whoever you are, cut it the fuck out.”
    Nothing.
    She frowned. This was ridiculous. She wasn’t afraid, but maybe she should wait at the entrance until Greg arrived. She could people-watch, distract herself and then perhaps she’d stop hearing disembodied voices on the wind. “Okay, fairies, I’m leaving your garden now,” she mumbled. “Stop playing Scare the Tourist.”
    Aziza tried to rise from the seat and was pushed back against the curved side of the window by some unseen force. She tried to resist it but it had weight. Power. “What the—?”
    She looked down at her knees. It felt like hands were touching them. Strong, hot hands that were sliding up her legs, pushing her dress higher as they went. She still didn’t see anything, but her dress was lifting by itself. “Are you kidding me? What the hell did they put in my drink?”
    “Feel, Aziza…”
    “No thank you.” She tried not to. Tried to tell herself that her imagination was running away and had decided to take the rest of her mind along with it. She was hung over. Still jet-lagged. Anything so she wouldn’t focus on the fingers slipping beneath her white-lace panties. The extra set of hands lowering her peasant blouse until her breasts were exposed for anyone to see. Too many hands.
    “Stop,” she whispered.
    But she didn’t make another