Page 28 of We Were Eternal Once

I don’t remember what drove me to the Mouseion. It was not boredom—Alexandria was a city that fell apart often, just to come together as something more inspiring. Riots, administrative reforms, and revolts sewed chaos into the populace. I watched the affairs of the humans from the Royal Quarter with the disinterest of most gods. The humans were but food, moving around the world in short, insignificant strides.

One night I ignored the Serapeum and instead head to the Mouseion. The statues of the Muses look down on me as I move through the courtyards and the lecture halls, learning the layout. I slip into shadows to avoid the heartbeats of the guards or servants. I could not feign belonging in a place that disallowed women. I wander the lecture halls, down walkways shaded by pergolas, all the while avoiding being caught.

I am the temple rat again. It is a fun game, to sneak around as though I could be caught. By now I’d mastered compulsion on humans. There was no fear of consequences, because I had none. I was immortal. Short of the sun or starvation, I couldn’t be killed.

Or so I thought.

Maybe this is why I allowed my guard to slip one night. Or maybe I wanted to get caught, to be seen within their sacred halls. To be a legend amongst the scholars—the woman who broke in and disappeared before their eyes.

A ghost. A spirit.

Something to fear.

I move through the quieter rooms in the library, my fingers playing over the scrolls. These were newer, written in Latin. Would I find the stories of those that came before me in Latin? Such a new language, one that bullied its way into relevance. At first I thought the answers would be in Greek, until I learned of the age of the Egyptians. My disappointment rose when I saw what survived after Caesar.

“Lost?” comes a voice in Greek.

I’d been so distracted I stopped listening for heartbeats.

I turn slowly, ready to use my compulsion, when I see who was behind the voice. It wasn’t his size—taller than any other Greek I’d seen—nor the air of authority about him. It wasn’t the amused quirk of the brow juxtaposed against the flat line of his mouth.

It was his eyes. Green, glowing faintly in the dim light.

And the heartbeat I didn’t hear.

We stare at each other, shocked, for several long moments. I contemplate running. I contemplate throwing myself at his feet and asking all the questions that plagued me. This man was another of my kind, and he stands within the chambers of the center of knowledge. He wears the robes of the scholar, his fingers stained with ink, smelling of cedar oil and blood.

“Your eyes…” he said, his voice a whisper.

“You are like me,” I said back.

We stare, until footsteps reverberate down the hallway. I slip into the shadows just as a man steps into the room, glancing about. “Who are you talking to, Theon?”

“Myself,” Theon says. He moves to block me from view, as if I need his help. I was a temple rat, and now I am a library rat, and I know how to stay hidden.

“Well, it’s late,” the man says.

Theon says nothing. The man sighs and leaves, his footsteps growing quieter as he moves through the halls.

“You can come out,” Theon says.

“Why not call the guards?” I ask, though that wasn’t the answer I was looking for. He recognized what I was, just as I recognized what he was. Was he surprised to see me, or to see me here?

“They are no match for you,” he says.

I step from the shadows and stand before him, but I could not bring myself to speak. How did I start? Did I tell him why I was there? Did I beg for answers? What answers did I want first?

“Why are you here?” he asks, saving me the trouble.

“Answers,” I reply.

“To what questions?”

“All of them.”

He sits at the table in the middle of the room and motions for me to sit across from him. I do, folding my hands before me to keep from fidgeting.

“How old are you?” I ask when the silence has gone on too long.