Page 51 of We Were Eternal Once

“Why Memphis?” Menodotus asks. “Why not Rome? It is the center of civilization.”

“Until it isn’t,” Zahra says with a shrug. “The emperors rise and fall, the wars cannot go on forever. At some point the empire will fall, just as every other has.”

“Perhaps, but not for many, many years.” Menodotus laughs. “We will see the cracks and leave before the collapse. Memphis is nothing to Rome.”

“Memphis is where the devout go,” Essemteu reasons.

“Yes—the devout to Ptah. Do you wish to wrest their god from their hands?” Dione asks.

“We need not wrest, we need only show our power. On the street we hunt with compulsion, show the others what we know. We position ourselves as the learned elders, of a sort,” Essemteu says.

“Where do you suggest we go?” Zahra asks, turning her gaze to you. You are quiet during this, your fingers tracing the ornate design carved into the side of your throne. I found and carved the throne; it was unacceptable that you had sat in a simple dining chair. You deserved the grandiose.

“For what end?” you ask. “We establish a temple here, just to abandon it?”

“Dione will stay behind to tend to it and lead new lamia to us,” Zahra says.

Dione will stay behind, and we will leave. She would be separated from Zahra so easily? I glance to you, but you will not meet my eye.

“We could divide,” Ardashir suggests. “Some to Rome, some to Memphis. Once we all know compulsion, it will be easy to sway others.”

“Once we start lessons, we can plan a departure,” Essemteu says reasonably.

Start lessons? You’d spent months teaching me the gift of silence. In that time, you hadn’t even begun to teach compulsion? I assumed you coached them individually. They couldn’t very well all practice at once, on the same human.

But you hadn’t started, and already they want to leave Alexandria.

My chest fills with sympathy for you. I was just like that when we left Delphi, stuck in the seaside village. I wanted to go, to run, to leave—I did not realize the gift I had at my side. My hubris and impatience nearly cost us both our lives.

“It is not a gift to be learned in a fortnight,” I say. I am still unsettled by the weight of their gaze as they train it on me. There is no judgment or disgust, simply curiosity. I am, after all, the only other one to use it. “It took me decades to perfect.”

“It does not need to be perfect, just passable,” Ardashir says. “We have been subduing humans for years. If it doesn’t work, we can try again.”

“That will not instill confidence in the other lamia,” I scoff. “And what will you do if your compulsion wears off mid-travel? If you do not trust your strength, you risk a human turning on you and killing you, then telling everyone about the creature that bent their mind.”

“Yes, it’s not as though you can stay awake to ensure its power,” Essemteu reasons. “We are all tied to the sun—we must wake and sleep by his movements.”

I want to ask again how long they can stay awake once the sun rises, but you place your hand on mine and squeeze.

“Lessons will begin soon. The temple is nearly complete, perhaps we celebrate?” you offer.

The celebration is small but raucous. With no one nearby to hear us, we are free to bring many humans inside the temple and chase them through the rooms. The fear in their blood is an elixir, much like when I drank the wine at the temple as a child. I paint symbols on the wall in their blood. I laugh and dance and sing.

Dione grabs my arm, stopping me shortly after I sing a line from the old temple.

“Your voice,” she marvels. “It is beautiful.”

“It is what drew me to her,” you say, painting the side of my face with blood. “Her singing in the garden one night. I was drawn to it, inexplicably.” There is a fondness in your voice I am unaccustomed to. I am thankful the blood hides my blush.

We carry on through the night, until there are no humans left and the sun threatens to rise. The acolytes lie on the floor of the temple, their bodies slick with blood, their bellies full and eyes heavy.

“Tomorrow,” Essemteu slurs.

“Tomorrow,” you promise, and lead me into the street.

The sun blisters the back of my hand as I close the door to our home. We peel off our clothes and fall into each other, licking the blood clean from our skin.

My eyelids grow heavy as I slide into our grave. I am content and sated, and I am in your favor wholly. I do not like the idea of the others learning compulsion, but I suppose it is only fair. You are their leader, their goddess—and bestowing gifts is what you are wont to do with your devotees. I can dislike it all I want, but I will not question you on it.