Return Once More

“Are you going to ask him to the party?” Sarah teased around a mouthful of toothpaste.

“Who?” The thoughts in my head had pulled me into a different world.

“Your new crush, dummy.”

“Are you off your nut?” I countered. “Ask Evan Pritchard to his own certification party, the night before to boot? Yes, I think that sounds like a fine idea.”

My friends dissolved into giggles, probably at the thought of my even speaking to Evan, never mind asking him to spend the evening with me. I ignored them and went into my bedroom, grabbing my personal tablet comp from my desk on the way past and snuggling under the covers.

The mention of the party tomorrow reminded me that I hadn’t put together an outfit. The contents of the wardrobe closets were loaded into the central database, and even though we weren’t allowed to research for observations without being in the pods, dressing ourselves for events by flipping through virtual options was allowed.

Our dormitory closets and drawers were filled with little other than our black, skin-molded suits, undergarments, and the standard issue pj’s. We each had a few hand-me-downs, brought from home, but events that allowed for actual clothing got all the girls in a stir. I had more on my mind than picking out a dress for the certification party, but it had to be done. Fitting in, going u

Sarah plopped on my bed, smashing my legs. I scowled at her but relented, shifting so there was room for her and Analeigh, who joined us a moment later. Our pajamas and glasses might match, except for the colors, but the three of us were opposites in so many ways. The two of them were pretty blondes with light eyes, though Sarah’s hair fell straight to her chin while Analeigh’s tumbled in waves almost to her waist. Both a contrast to my olive skin, chestnut hair, and matching eyes.

“What are you wearing tomorrow night?” Sarah asked, her eyes lit with interest.

“I was trying to figure it out.” I fa

She took the personal comp from my hands, and then she and Analeigh bent over it, fighting over whose finger took control of finding me an outfit.

“That one,” Analeigh said, stabbing at something I couldn’t see.

“No, she’ll look like that old mouse.”

“What old mouse?”

“The one from Disney World’s girlfriend.”

“Mi

“I’m with Sarah,” I interrupted, recalling the mouse in question. “No polka dots.”

“It would be a sexy Mi

If looks could kill, my best friend would have been dead and buried.

“I think it’s the right style, Analeigh. Just not red polka dots. The 1950s housewife totally fits Kaia’s personality.”

“Except for the ‘doing what she’s told’ part.”

“Not actually being a housewife, ew.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “Just the pretty dresses that show off those legs that make us both totally jealous.”

I snuggled back into my pillows, tucking my cold toes under Analeigh’s thigh, and let my friends take over dressing me for tomorrow’s party. Their chatter and discussion faded into the background as my thoughts returned to the bathroom, to the lingering feeling of betrayal all of my fake crushes ignited in my heart.

Loving another couldn’t be a betrayal to Caesarion. He was dead and gone, turned to dust long ago, and unless his beliefs held true, we would never meet again after his death, or after mine. My life was now, and in the years to come; I couldn’t look on new relationships as somehow tarnishing the perfect co

I had adored every moment of being with my True, but the push and pull of my feelings tied my insides into a huge knot of confusion. As though the Kaia that took the risk of traveling back to Egypt wasn’t the Kaia sitting here now, listening to her friends plan for a party. We were separated by something distinct. Knowledge, maybe. Or simply time.

Whatever it was, I had to find a way to let that earlier, naive version of myself go.

To let Caesarion go.

Chapter Twenty

Something was coming.

I felt it, like electricity in the air before a storm on Earth Before. The promise that the sky would soon darken and change, that rain would lash the earth, trees would bend in the wind, and anyone with good sense would take cover indoors. I had been accused of many things these past several days, but possessing good sense had not been brought up once, so of course, I chose to ignore it. My path wasn’t changing, not right away—I promised Caesarion I would return once more to ancient Egypt and I would. As soon as I got this ridiculous certification party out of the way.

There were three gathering rooms at the Academy. Table comps and uncomfortable desks in metal study carrels filled one, what passed for homey furniture around here and walls lined with holo-sets for watching old television shows and movies decorated another—although most Historians considered doing so for pure entertainment and not research wasteful and idle. We lived in observation and reflection mode pretty much all the time. Every piece of history, even if it were originally meant only to entertain, held details that helped us better understand our forebearers. Our duty was to soak it in and spit it out, each in our unique way, not laugh at it.

The third room, where we crowded for the certification party, served as a group gathering area. Study groups or book clubs used it for discussions, and the younger classes sometimes used it for practice reflections before they were given access to the Archive database.

Tonight, the chairs and round tables had been removed. A long, rectangular table with a bowl of lemonade at one end and sherbet punch at the other sat off to the right side. Plates of vegetables and fruits, along with desserts that looked good but tasted like cardboard, rounded out the display.

I’d been ru

My hands shook as I smoothed the thick, dark purple material of my dress. It was sleeveless, the scoop neckline landing right below my collarbone, the hem brushing the skin about two inches above my knees. Sarah had tied a dark gray, silky scarf around the high waist that made the skirt flare, showing off my legs the way she’d promised, and the silver heels already killed my feet.

Sarah looked adorable in her early nineteenth-century-inspired empire-waist gown. The silky, cream-colored material flowed off all of her curves, the gorgeous blue ribbon under her boobs matched her eyes, and the floor-length skirt hid her calves, which she hated.

I had to admit Oz looked handsome in his standard black tuxedo, for a potentially dangerous nutball. His gray eyes, always his best feature, trained on his True as she laughed with Levi. He must have styled his hair with some kind of product that pushed his unruly thick chunks into a loose semblance of order, and the cut of the suit accentuated his broad chest and shoulders. The memory of his strong hands squeezing my arms, shoving me into the air lock, returned the churning guilt and anxiety to my stomach. I glanced down at the fading red mark on my wrist, frowning.