Page 36 of Immortal Sun

Was.

Is.

Whatever.

What the hell?

“What about Zeus?” I jab a finger at the damned statue. I like him, I tolerate him. He has a farm with a chicken named PJ, who he refuses to kill but still. “He’s small, so very small, I bet his—” I take a deep breath. “He’s tiny. Minuscule compared to Ra.”

She shrugs. “Meh, I don’t know. I mean—” She looks over at Anubis and smiles. “Even he looks tall and godlike. Why do you think they made Ra look so small, then? Truly?”

Not Anubis. Literally anyone but Anubis.

My nostrils flair, and I’m about to tell her exactly what I think when the power fails around us, throwing us into instant darkness and near, absolute silence.

Shit.

Again?

Kratos knows better. I’m sure he and Apep are still fighting. I’m sure Enki just sent some people cheerfully away, skipping, holding rolls in their hands.

Son of a bitch.

Thunder cracks.

Rain pounds the building making it sound like the ceiling is going to come down, and Cleo suddenly just shrinks in front of me and shakes her head.

“What? It’s just a little storm, it’s fine.” I reach for her.

She’s trembling, and then she grabs onto the Ra statue, without thinking I’m sure, as if he’s going to comfort her in that state.

I’m suddenly jealous of a rotting statue.

I grab her by the hand. “I promise the lights will go on really soon, the generator always kicks in during bad storms.”

“I h-hate the rain. I hate storms.”

I frown. I wasn’t expecting that, quite the opposite actually; normally the bloodline loves the storms because they cover up the sun. Huh, interesting.

“Well…” I pull her closer. “Why don’t we distract you a bit. Why do you think they made Ra smaller?”

She hesitates at first, her teeth chattering. “Because as a god he wasn’t very big, he just appeared that way from being in the sky.”

“Bullshit.” I draw her a bit closer still then lean in and whisper in her ear. “It was so they could feel bigger than the sun.”

Her little gasp makes me want to capture her lips, something I’ve never done with any of them.

The lights turn on, and I pull away.

She looks away, nostrils flaring. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate.”

“We all have our moments when we’re afraid,” I say gruffly, not wanting to admit out loud how much the touch affected even me. “Should we continue the tour?”

She nods.

I look back at the statues and flip them all off and keep walking, satisfied with my own disdain.

The rest of the tour is uneventful other than her running toward things like she’s a five-year-old who hasn’t been in a museum in her life, and while I tell myself I’m annoyed, I’m also filled with pride of my own heritage.

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