“Exactly,” Lorena exclaimed. “But with our faces! Can you imagine? What technology could beat this mode of communication? Not a letter, or a telegram.”
“What happens if no one answers on the other end?” Farida asked.
Lorena’s excitement dimmed. “Well, it’s not perfect magic. The water will glow for a few minutes, but if no one answers, the magic stops and the receiver is left with just regular water. Unfortunately, if the sender tries again before the receiver empties the cup, the waterwilloverflow.”
“So if I don’t answer your call, you can call again and again and again, flooding our room with water?” Ricardo asked in an aghast tone.
“You’re welcome,” Lorena said, grinning.
PART THREETHE BRIDE OF THE MEDITERRANEAN
CAPÍTULO QUINCE
I was dreaming, the golden ring a pressing weight on my finger. I didn’t quite know how I knew exactly, but somehow my intuition worked even in my subconscious. My limbs felt heavy, tucked under the bedding, and dimly I was aware that I was encased in a gauzy shroud. The mosquito netting. Cool air rustled my hair, and I sank farther into the soft pillow, squeezing my eyes shut, desperate to remain where I was in the dream.
Cleopatra stood in a softly lit room, rows and rows of scrolls in front of her. Her sheer tunic went past her toes, and the fabric kissed the warm-hued stones as she paced, clearly searching for something in particular. She yanked out parchments, unrolling them quickly, hissing with impatience as she threw them onto the floor, one by one. She went to another shelf and pulled out another scroll, unrolling it, and a moment later, she let out a noise of triumph. Her back was turned to me, so I couldn’t see what she was reading; I tried to shift around her, but the memory wouldn’t let me. I was confined to the corner of the room, as if she only meant to capture what shelf she had taken the scroll from. The smell of ash and smoke filled my nostrils.
Something burned.
She spun toward the chamber’s entrance and called out to someone, holding up a single sheet of parchment. Her face was unlined, her hair glossy and dark. This was a younger Cleopatra than I had seen before. She had none of the world weariness from before, none of the jaded expression lining her features.
This Cleopatra had no idea what was to come.
The memory became hazy. My fingers curled around the edge of thepillow, and I held my breath, trying to stay in the memory. I’d seen something on that sheet.
It looked like a snake eating itself.
And then Cleopatra pulled out another scroll, seemingly at random, and slipped the sheet on top of it and then rolled it carefully, effectively hiding what she’d found. She took both with her as she left, and the memory faded completely.
I opened my eyes, confused and disorientated. Next to me, Isadora’s sleeping form shifted, and she let out a little breathless mutter, tucking herself closer to me. I blinked away the drowsy feeling of sleep, cautiously sitting up, and peeled back the netting. The carpet was cool under my bare feet as I padded around the stacked crates toward Whit’s narrow cot. He slept on his back, long legs stretched out and over the edge of the bed. His hair flopped onto his forehead; the curved line of his jaw was soft.
He looked innocent while he dreamed. Younger and unburdened, the Whit who had once looked at me with hope and a promise I could trust.
I knelt and poked his shoulder.
Whit jerked, his hand reaching under his pillow and retrieving something shiny. A cool, sharp edge pressed against me, right under my chin. Sleepy blue eyes with only a hint of alertness stared broodingly back at me.
“It’s me,” I breathed. “Just me.”
He turned onto his side, hiding the blade back underneath the pillow. “I could have slit your throat.”
I rubbed my neck. “You’re a walking hazard, Mr. Hayes.”
He rubbed his eyes and said tiredly, “Please don’t call me that. We’re not strangers. We’re not even acquaintances.”
“I have to,” I whispered.
Whit lowered his hands and peered at me. Even in the dim lighting, I could make out the serious line of his mouth, the narrowed eyes. “Why?”
“Because one day, that’s all you’ll be to me,” I whispered with a quick glance toward Isadora. I didn’t want to wake her.
A long silence followed, and then he flipped onto his back. “Did you need something?”
“I had another Cleopatra memory,” I said, holding up my ring finger. “She’s been busy.”
Whit turned his head to face me. “And?”
“She was in a room, desperately looking for something,” I said. “At first, I thought it was a scroll, but then she held up a single sheet of parchment. On it was a snake eating itself.”
