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her habits, and it certainly wasn’t Chloe’s. “The poor? Nay,
     only the wealthy can afford sushi. They eat it in dark bars and discuss business so they can write it off.”
    Cheftu handed her a slab of slippery, raw meat. “Regard this as sushi, this rock as your ‘dark bar,’ and tell me what ‘write
     off’ means.” He cut a slab of fish for himself and bit into it. Maybe he could get her to talk about Chloe’s world instead
     of complaining.
    His stomach protested the temperature of the fish, his tongue rebelled at the taste, but at least it was food. The nutrition
     would help to keep him warm. Cheftu was growing concerned about freezing off his privates. RaEm chewed silently. “Does it
     taste like sushi?” he asked.
    “I don’t know,” she admitted. “All I have are the woman’s emotional memories, only her impressions of America. She left me
     ignorant in her body, so I didn’t dare leave Egypt.”
    “There is no sushi in Egypt?”
    She laughed. “Nay. Except for the neon signs and the cars, Egypt is almost the same as during Pharaoh’s time. Feluccas still
     ply the Nile, children still beg in the streets.” He heard her awe in the darkness. “But the power there!”
    Cheftu shivered, then hacked another slab of fish. “Whose power?”
    “The electricity!”
    “Eee-lek-trih-city? Who is the Eee-lek-trih- of the city?” RaEm stared at him, the whites of her eyes visible through the
     darkness. “You are an idiot.” Her tone was flat, dismissive.
    Cheftu stifled his rage. How dare the ignorant, loud-mouthed little witch ridicule him? “Then please,” he said, coldly, “educate
     me.”
    “They have harnessed the power of the lightning to use in their cities. It can be as bright as day in the middle of the night.”
    For the first time in Cheftu’s recollection, RaEm sounded excited, enthusiastic. Her ennui was replaced with a childlike wonder.
    It was appealing, though he knew it was only one small side in a multifaceted woman whose other traits he loathed. “How do
     they harness eee-lek-trih-city? You say it is lightning?” He took another slab of fish. Fishy liquid dripped down his arms,
     sticky and cooling rapidly. At least his stomach was filling up. Now they needed to find a source for fresh water.
    Also, a way to get off this island. “The Benjamin Franklin unlocked the key to lightning on a kite.”
    “A kite? The birds that fly over the delta?”
    She sounded a little defensive. “Of course! You ignorant fool, what else could it be?”
    “How did he do that?”
    “Well,” she said in a confidential tone, “he tied the kite to a string, with the key.”
    “A bird, a string, and a key?”
    “To unlock the door to lightning,” she said. “Honestly, you must pay attention.”
    Cheftu glowered. “The kite flew into the heavens, unlocked the door, and then the Benjamin Franklin was able to capture it
     and use it at his will. He colored the lightning, and he boxed it. Even the hieroglyphs of these people are formed of lightning.”
     He heard her scraping for more fish. “But,” she said, swallowing loudly, “he makes it last.”
    Snippets of conversation from his nineteenth-century childhood, before his fateful trip to Egypt with his brother, Jean-Jacques,
     were falling into place. These were mentions of people he’d known only through recent history. Franklin and the American Revolution
     had been inspiration for France’s own revolution. How did the esteemed and eccentric statesmen figure in with lightning? And
     a key to unlock it? Cheftu’s mind was switching madly from English to French to ancient Egyptian, trying to understand. Perhaps
     RaEm’s trip through time had addled her wits. “It lasts?” he asked, completely bewildered.
    “It doesn’t flash on and off, but it is a steady light. He must be very powerful to have captured lightning. I wonder what
     he looked like, what kind of lover he was… .”
    Cheftu rolled his eyes—definitely the