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breaking the law if we helped you work illegally, which frankly wouldn’t look good on my record.”
    I throw my hands in the air. “Then how is it okay for me to work at the museum?”
    Sirus shrugs. “Because they aren’t technically employing you. You’re a volunteer. With regularly scheduled hours. And mandatory attendance that will be reported directly to Mom.”
    “And that’s the only way I have access to any money at all.”
    “Sorry, kiddo. We’d support you, but—”
    “No, I don’t want that.” I scowl and trace the grain of the wood on the table. “I don’t want to be any sort of burden on you at all. I’ll do the stupid job.” I stand, and I can see the mixture of relief and regret on Sirus’s face. “But seriously? I am going to burn this table. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get some air.” It’s hard to breathe with my mother’s tentacles reaching out to strangle me from across the world, after all.

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    I stare at the mural of my parents’ creation, Grandma Nut arching across the sky. I reach up, standing on my tiptoes, to trace my finger along her length. I don’t understand why I can’t visit her, can’t see her like I can so many aunts and uncles.
    I turn to go back to my room when I run into a pair of legs and look up to see Set. I freeze, terrified as always.
    “Hello, child,” he says, and his voice is soft and calm as he bends down to be eye level with me. He looks so much like my father, except Set’s skin is healthy brown, not corpse black like Osiris’s.
    I swallow and stammer hello, which embarrasses me because I’m nearly nine and I don’t stutter now.
    “Why are you sad?” he asks.
    I’m not sad, not anymore. Now I’m scared. But I answer, “Because Grandma Nut isn’t here and I can’t see her. I don’t understand why.” I scowl, try to stand taller in defiance. It’s not fair. “Why are you still here, but she isn’t?”
    Set’s smile is in his eyes. “Do you understand that only the gods who are remembered or worshipped—even inadvertently—are strong enough to remain in physical form?”
    I nod, but I don’t know what inadvertently means.
    “You should study current events,” he says, standing tall again. “Then you will know why the god of chaos still walks the earth and never needs to fear oblivion.” He smiles again, and it frightens me.
    I turn to run down the hall to where my mother is, but it’s blank, an empty black space, and I know she won’t be there. I back slowly away, past Set, past the mural, where my mother’s image has been erased.
    Everything is wrong. This is all wrong.

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Set was not well pleased with his brother’s ascension to god-king of Egypt.
“A game,” Set declared, bringing out a beautiful chest. “We will see who fits the best.”
Osiris was a perfect fit. Unsurprising, because it was a coffin specially made for him. Set seized it, sealed it, and condemned Osiris to a slow death. He dumped the coffin into the Nile, surrendering it to the depths and denying Osiris a proper burial and entry into the afterlife.
Isis would not allow this. She searched the river and the sea until she found the coffin and brought it back to Egypt to prepare for burial. But clever, vengeful Set found where she had hidden it and chopped his brother’s body into fourteen pieces.
Ever faithful, Isis and her sister Nephthys searched all of Egypt and found . . . thirteen pieces. The fourteenth, Osiris’s penis, had been eaten by a fish. Industrious and undeterred, Isis just made him a new one. That magical penis went on to sire Horus, who carried on the good fight against Set and chaos. It also made Anubis.
It also made me, but let’s not think about that.
    SIRUS DRIVE