Return Once More (8 page)

A wrinkle appeared between Oz's eyebrows. “It's okay.”

Sarah tossed a knowing look toward us girls, grabbing her suit off the bed and retreating back into the bathroom. “I'll be five minutes,” she told Oz, then shut the door.

“Where are you two headed?” Analeigh asked, a little too perky, even for her.

Oz pulled off his glasses, rubbing imaginary spots from the lenses with the hem of his shirt. Without them, his gray eyes were huge and framed with impossibly thick, black lashes. “Studying.”

“For what?” He obviously wanted to sit in silence, but knowing that only made me push harder. I'd grown up with an older brother. Surly boy did nothing but bring out the annoying little sister in me. “Are you helping Sarah with something?”

“No. She's helping me with a reflection analytic. For my specialty application next year.”

His application
next year
. Good gravy boats. I hadn't even thought about it. If anyone else used that excuse it would have sounded like they were just trying to get their girlfriend alone for a couple of hours, especially since Sarah didn't excel at reflection. But Oz probably
was
working on next year's applications, which would be reviewed before we were certified as full Historians and used to determine our permanent field of observation.

Maybe
Sarah
wanted the excuse to spend time alone with
him.

“You're that sure you don't want to travel anymore after we're certified?” Analeigh asked, unable to contain her curiosity even though being nosy went against her upbringing. Her parents were both from Persepolis; she'd been raised a traditional Muslim, and even though she didn't practice she couldn't shake the ingrained reticence and respect. Like the rest of Genesis, the Academies allowed no subscription to nationality or faith or even planetary loyalty. Clinging to those kinds of identities fractured cultures, drew lines in the sand, caused dissension and hate. We were humans first, our callings second. Nothing more.

After seven years of observing altercations, murder, and persecutions, stripping humanity of their useless and arbitrary labels seemed to be one of the smarter decisions the Originals had made upon our departure from Earth Before.

“I'm sure. But you know they don't approve many of us for permanent reflection, so I want to make sure all of my essays are outstanding. My goal is to get something added to the Hope Chest before certifications.”

That made more sense, even if the goal was so lofty it never would have entered my mind. Apprentices
never
initiated the process to finalize a body of reflections. It would be a coup, and he would probably get approved for whatever he wanted.

Light swirled in his stormy eyes, lit by excitement and passion—two things I didn't often associate with Oz Truman. I'd never heard him say so many words at once before, ever.

Sarah swept in from the toilet, bringing the fresh scent of perfume and shampoo along with her. The standard black suit clung to her lithe frame, hugging her hips and generous chest. Her chin-length hair shone, appearing brighter in the glow from the bathroom.

Oz gave her an appreciative smile before cocking his head toward the door. “Ready?”

She smiled up at him and the affection in her gaze was impossible to miss. A similar emotion flickered in his smoky eyes and he smiled for real, bending slightly to press a quick kiss to her lips, disproving my previous assumption.

“See you gals at lights out!” Sarah tossed over her shoulder as she hauled Oz from the room.

The sight of their clasped hands dragged a sigh from my chest. I might not have wanted Oz, but that electricity between them, the excitement and ease born from the simple fact that they knew they were perfect together …
that
I couldn't help but want.

I'd never have what Sarah and Oz did. Never be able to touch or talk with my True.

But I did have Jonah's abandoned cuff. The more I thought about it, the more it didn't seem like it would be so bad, my using it just this once. It was a good reason. A once-in-a-lifetime reason. And once I saw him, my curiosity would be sated. Life could go back to normal.

And besides, you're only in trouble if you get caught.

Once the idea of using Jonah's cuff to observe Caesarion dug its claws into me, shaking them loose was a lost cause. The logistics of making it happen—without getting caught and without shaming my family—had kept me up half the night, and no amount of rationalizing settled my nerves. Perhaps it was the Historians' ability to move unquestioned through time and space, but our Elders had always seemed omnipotent. They weren't, though.

Most likely.

There were seven Elders at each of the twelve Academies, but they weren't figureheads. They taught us in addition to doing their own research, and had better things to do than spy on teenagers. No one ruled or presided over anyone else once we'd been certified in our callings. Trust, individual responsibility, expectations, and freedom were cornerstones of our society's success. The Elders were nothing more than the eldest seven at each of the Academies; they weren't elected or lauded for anything except still being alive. A combined board made up of Elders from all of the Academies handed down the sanctions, based on the Guide, but no one traced even the movements of apprentices without reason.

But if I was really going to use my brother's old cuff to travel alone to ancient Alexandria, I had to hope that was the truth. The Historians had no idea that I had the cuff, and no reason to suspect I would travel alone. Unless I had supremely terrible luck and someone decided to idly touch my dot the way I had Oz's yesterday, no one would miss me. As long as my absence went unnoticed there would be no harm and no foul. Just a peek and then back to the Academy, easy peasy.

I rose before Analeigh and Sarah, my stomach a snarl of worry and excitement. Our suite was big, and we each had a room that held a bed and two dressers. The common room had the sitting area where we'd held the study session the other night, a picture tube for news reports and movies, a couch, and three desks. Knickknacks and the occasional physical book, salvaged for sentimentality's sake, cluttered the rooms' shelves.

The Originals had allowed people to bring up to five paper volumes apiece for the journey to Genesis. I had a copy of my grandfather's favorite book—
On the Road
—and my mother's tattered, coverless copy of
Pride and Prejudice
. My father owned two books about physics, and Jonah had taken our family's copy of
Romeo and Juliet
with him when he left.

I slipped out of my standard sleep shorts and long-sleeved top and into the black uniform that molded to and warmed my morning-cold skin. Running water would wake Analeigh—the lightest sleeper in the System, probably—so I didn't brush my teeth or wash my face, just stuffed my long dark hair into a ponytail, slapped on my glasses, and left the room barefoot.

The hallway floors transferred a chill to the soles of my feet but I ignored it, wanting my privacy. There were two necessary stops before Egypt, and only a few hours before my friends woke and started wondering about my disappearing act. First, I needed to review Caesarion's timeline and store the info in the password file in my tat. Second, the Research holos would help me figure out a proper wardrobe—I couldn't go to ancient Egypt in this getup.

It took me less than five minutes in the Archives to download the sliver of information related to Caesarion. I wanted to meet him when we were about the same age. But getting to Egypt at the right time—before he died, but not long before—would be tricky. The facts were vague, but it helped that he'd died the same year as his mother.
Her
death I could find, and if the historical outline in the Archives held true, Caesarion left Alexandria around then. The date of her murder seemed like the best place to find him.

If he hadn't left the city yet, he would be at the palace, and missing
that
would be hard.

With plan in place to get in and out as quickly as possible, I headed down the cold halls in my bare feet, slipping into the Research Lab. I had to swipe my wrist tattoo to open each door, but as with everything else, the information was stored but not monitored. As long as I didn't give anyone a reason to be suspicious, all of my actions would disappear among the hundreds of other wrist swipes today.

The fashion holo pulled sizes and color preferences from my stored bio stats, styling me in a cream-colored linen dress that reached my feet. Black and teal scarves fell off my shoulders and ringed my waist, and heavy turquoise and gold jewelry adorned my neck and wrists. It wanted my hair darker, almost black, but there wasn't time to dye it. I hated itchy wigs; my dark brown would have to do. Way to go, Israeli heritage. The leather sandals it chose were softer, more comfortable than the shoes I'd worn in Rome. Black makeup smudged my eyelids and trailed underneath, making me look like a sort of attractive raccoon.

The jewelry, scarves, and makeup were added because I'd entered “elite” into the social strata column. Cleopatra and her family had wealth beyond imagining, and no one without status would be able to get near them, except the servants. I could have easily slipped into the palace as a slave, and perhaps it would have been the smarter call and simpler to blend in, but at the last moment, I knew I didn't want to go unseen.

If Caesarion looked up, if our eyes met, I wanted him to notice me. Just for a moment, to glimpse the look in his eyes when he felt our connection. A boy like him would never notice a servant girl.

Nerves quickened my heartbeat. If I waited until tomorrow, or even another five minutes, I would change my mind.

A quick rummage through the closet produced all of the recommended pieces. The memory of old movies with teenage girls digging through piles of clothes looking for a missing shoe or that one skirt they wanted to wear made me smile. I simply punched in identification numbers attached to each piece of clothing, and drawers slid out, hangers popped away from the racks. The makeup and jewelry followed suit. The girl in the mirror looked exactly as the holo had styled her. It was now or never.

Excitement struggled to take over my nerves, the desire to see Caesarion still warring with the deep-seated worry that something could go wrong. If it did, I would be alone and the only way to get help would be to turn myself in. It might be dumb to take the risk—I knew Analeigh would think so—but I didn't want to wait. Nothing would go wrong. In and out.

I wanted my moment.

To be extra sure that Analeigh, who loved mornings like some kind of psychopath, wouldn't freak the hell out and sound some kind of alarm, I sent her a quick wrist comm, scheduled to be delivered at the same time her alarm went off:

Don't worry.

Dressed in the light linen that swished pleasantly in the deserted halls, I hurried to the portal chambers, swiped my wrist tat, and another record of my movements swirled into the void. I really should have paid more attention to Sarah as she babbled on about comps and how to trick them, but it was one trip. One hour. Two at the most.

The doors air locked behind me with a suction sound, and my ears popped.

An attack of anxiety and second thoughts weakened my knees, and I sank down onto one of the cold metal benches. I wouldn't get caught. People were asleep. No one knew I had Jonah's cuff, and the overseers and Elders had no reason to check my movements.

Out of nowhere, hot anger flared, burning my stomach. Jonah had run off; if my absence did trigger some unknown alarm, people might assume I'd done the same. As much as I loved him, I hadn't been able to forgive him for leaving me. I would never put my parents and friends through the same thing.

Tears stung my eyes, my fingers curled into fists. I should stay. Follow the rules, be a good daughter and a proper apprentice.

But I didn't want to. This could be one of my moments, a morning that would change the way I saw the world, and I didn't want to miss it because of Jonah.

Or because it scared me.

It wasn't worth the worst of the sanctions, like exile to Cryon, where rumor had it people fried under the too-close sun and beat the shit out of each other all day until they went crazy. But the chance of getting caught was so small, the infraction so unprecedented, it didn't seem possible to me.

When the panic cleared, those cloudy what-ifs seemed less scary than never knowing what it might be like to stand in Caesarion's presence and feel, just for a heartbeat, a perfect connection with another human being. Resolve poured strength back into my limbs and I stood, releasing my bottom lip from between my teeth.

I would be quick.

The four little lights on the cuff glowed red under the fluorescent lights. Twelve rotating dials of numbers and three letters were on the inside, and I spun them until it they read 0812 0030 BCE 0600. August 12, 30 BCE 6:00 a.m. When the date and time were steady, three of the red lights turned to green and I sucked in a deep breath, then blew my bangs away from my face.

I twisted the cuff around and raised the tiny speaker on the opposite side, to my face. “Alexandria, Egypt, the lighthouse.”

The last red light extinguished, then glowed green.

*

Alexandria
,
Egypt
, Earth Before–30 BCE (Before Common Era)

Egypt was freaking hot. Hotter than hell, or Hades or Tuat, or any other burning plane of existence people had ever believed they would traverse after death. Sweat immediately soaked through the light linen dress, but the salty breeze from the ocean worked to keep me cool.

An overseer would have known a private spot, but the lighthouse was the most inconspicuous place that had come to mind. It ended up being a lucky choice because the immediate area was deserted. The structure was one of the seven wonders of the ancient world, and until the advent of time travel no one had laid eyes on it for thousands of years. There were no photos or renderings that could have done it justice, anyway. It rose out of the tip of the Island of Pharos, spewing light into the breaking dawn and giving the illusion of comfort and protection, even though it was nothing but a building.