Chapter Three

Day 1.

I scream and bolt from the room.

My heart races as I fly down the corridor, beating so erratically that it feels like it's going to rip through my chest. I refuse to let myself look back over my shoulder as I skid to a stop in front of the elevator and repeatedly press the down arrow, terrified out of my mind that I'll see the mummy chasing after me. A loud ding tears through the unearthly silence. I trip over my own feet in my haste to get into the elevator, breathing a sigh of relief as the doors close. I lean against the handrail, giddiness hitting me as the adrenaline coursing through my veins reaches my brain. Hysterical giggles bubble up through my lips.

I just woke up a mummy.

I am hiding in an elevator from the mummy my father has been obsessed with for his entire life.

A real-life, breathing the same air as me, chasing me down a hallway, mummy.

A realisation hits me at the same time that the elevator chimes.

My father is going to murder me. I woke up his mummy.

The doors open. The mummy stares straight at me.

"Kasiya!" The mummy shuffles forward. "Ne fuis pas!"

I jump so high that I just about knock myself out on the lights suspended from the elevator roof. Holding a hand to my racing heart, I gawk at the figure in front of me, my eyes wide. My hand slowly rises up to point, my voice shaking with terror. "Live mummy. Live mummy. Live mummy!"

"Arrête s'il-te-plaît!" He holds up his hands, pleading with his eyes. "Écoute moi. Je ne suis pas un cadavre."

"Stop speaking French!" I yell, leaping forward and pushing every single elevator button I possibly can in hysterical succession. After an eternity, the elevator finally obeys, the doors closing before the mummy has a chance to pull his arms free. A horrible crunching sound fills the elevator, and before I know it, there are two severed arms lying in a bloody pool at my feet. I scream again, pressing myself hard up against the wall as I stare at them in abject horror. "Arms. There are bloody arms at my feet. I just chopped the arms off a live mummy. What is happening?!"

Nobody answers me. Instead, the doors chime for what feels like the fiftieth time, sliding open to reveal the empty landing of the first floor. I don't hesitate, tripping over my own feet as I flee from the museum as fast as I can, determined to put as much distance between myself and the museum before all the exhibits start coming to life.

I almost make it, too. I'm halfway down the staircase when I see a flicker of a shadow out of the corner of my eye. Before I can blink, the mummy appears again, standing halfway between me and the door. I yelp, my feet rooting me to the spot as my entire body abruptly stiffens.

"How are you doing that?" I gasp, bunching my fingers into fists as I gesture wildly. The mummy regards me in a golden-brown gaze, his hands hanging limply by his sides. My eyes bug out of their sockets. "How do you have hands?! The elevator sliced them off like a guillotine! They were a bloody pool on the floor! How do you have hands? How are you doing that? How are you alive?!"

The mummy sighs, a look of exasperation twisting up his features. "Kasiya s'il vous plaît, je—"

"Why do you keep saying that? What is 'Kasiya'?" I exclaim, on the verge of hysterics. "And why do you keep speaking French? That doesn't make sense! Historically, or just... historically!" I let out a breathless laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. "This is crazy. I am asking — no, yelling — at a mummy about the fact that he is speaking French. I don't understand why I'm getting caught up on the fact that there is a mummy standing in front of me speaking French, when I should really be freaking out about the fact that there is a mummy in front of me speaking French—"

"Would you prefer it if I spoke English?" He cuts me off before my freak-out reaches maximum hysterical capacity. I gape at him.

"You speak English too?" I laugh deliriously and turn away, holding a hand to my face. "Okay, this officially got weird. I am talking to a bilingual mummy. A live bilingual mummy. A live bilingual mummy."

"I am not a mummy."

"You're wrapped in bandages. You rose from a sarcophagus. You even had the creepy music and the creepy smoke ensemble to make the whole thing even creepier!" I cry, folding my arms defensively over my chest. "If you aren't a mummy, then what are you? A pixie?"

"I am not a mummy." He repeats, but this time, I can almost swear that he looks uncomfortable at the words coming out of his own mouth. He glances down at his hands and sighs, starting to unravel the bandages binding them. "I am not a pixie either. I am a human being, just like you."

"Ju—just like me?" I blink at him several times in disbelief and tuck my hands under my armpits. "You rose from the dead. I have never done that. Ever! That's just... weird!"

He pauses, slowly glancing up at me. "I've frightened you."

"No, not at all! I see two-thousand year old mummies rise from the dead all the time!" I retort, unable to keep the sarcasm from filtering into my voice. He smiles a little and stops unwrapping the bandages, giving me his full attention.

"I'm not a two-thousand year old mummy. I was only mummified one hundred years ago." He replies. Now that I've calmed down a bit, I realise that there's a soft lilt to his voice, like an accent that I can't quite place. It seems foreign, but old.

That realisation causes me to pause and really scrutinise the person standing in front of me. A blush taints my cheeks when I realise how incredibly attractive the exotic stranger is. Even though he's mostly covered in mouldy embalming bandages, I can tell that he's got a fit frame, and he towers over my 5"7" frame. His skin is golden brown, appearing much darker than it actually is under the low light, and his hair is completely shaven off — a typical feature of the Egyptian mummification process, according to my father. His face is young, but his features handsome, complete with a chiseled jawline and high cheekbones. His eyes though, are what strike me: they're a rich brown, like melted chocolate, but when he shifts in the light, they glow, like they're made from liquid gold.

I shake my head and clear my throat loudly, trying to disguise the fact that I've been very obviously checking out what could still, quite possibly, be a figment of my own imagination.

A figment of my imagination that looks like a literal walking god.

Good job, imagination.

"That doesn't make any sense at all." I finally reply, frowning as I narrow my eyes at him. Then I throw my hands up in the air, pacing away several steps. "What am I even doing? I'm actually entertaining the idea that you're real." I whirl back to him, gesturing wildly. "You're not real! You're a mummy, for the love of god! I need to leave, or wake up, or whatever. What is it that people do when they need to wake up? Pinch themselves?" I pinch my arm hard, and a string of curses spill from my mouth. "Mother of god!"

"You don't need to pinch yourself." He steps forward, alarm registering on his face. He holds his hand out, beseeching me with his gaze. "This is real, Kasiya. I promise."

"My name is Kiara." I hiss through my teeth, flinching away. "And of course this isn't real! You are a mummy. Mummies are not supposed to be alive. They're supposed to be corpses, or skeletons, or bone dust, or whatever. Not," I gesture at him again. "Alive! And wandering the halls of the museum! And leave bloody hands in the elevators! Oh my god!" I slap my forehead with my hand. "There are bloody hands in the elevator!"

"No there aren't." The mummy replies. My gaze snaps to him in confusion. "They disappeared the moment my hands were restored."

"Oh yes, because that makes total sense." I reply, nodding sarcastically. "You chopped your hands off in the elevator? No worries! They'll just disappear and reappear on your arms! Because apparently that's the total norm for walking talking living mummies!"

He sighs, looking exasperated at my freak-out. "You need to calm down."

"Calm down? Calm down? I am not calm! I shall not be calm! You are a walking, talking, living mummy!" I yell. "This kind of thing only happens in horror movies or Scooby Doo movies! I can't be calm! It's weird!"

"This never used to happen." He mutters under his breath.

"What?"

"Kasiya—Kiara," He corrects himself with I give him a hard look. "I promise you, I am real. I am not a mummy, but I was mummified on this day, one hundred years ago. If you calmed down and let me explain, then this would all make sense."

I stare at him for several seconds. Then I shake my head. "Nope. This is too weird. I'm out."

Before he can get another word in edgewise, I shove him away from me as hard as I can and hightail it out of there. My frantic footsteps echo all around me as I fly through the lobby of the museum, my mind racing. By this point, I have no idea how I haven't run into anybody. The museum might be closed, but there's usually always a security guard or two patrolling the perimeters and checking everything was safe and... not alive.

I make beeline for the front doors, my breathing growing more and more frantic the closer I get to freedom from this nightmare.

I could really use with a security guard who isn't a live mummy around about now.

A live mummy.

"Kiara, wait." A hand hooks around my wrist, tugging me back just as I'm reaching for the door. No! Squeezing my eyes shut for a moment to compose myself, I begrudgingly turn to face him, ripping my hand out of his grip. "Please, listen to me. I am real. I'm not a mummy. I was mummified, but I'm not a mummy. Trust me."

"Trust you? Trust you?" I echo in disbelief. "Why the hell should I trust you? I have no idea who you are! I'm still not entirely sure you're real!"

"Would you like me to prove I'm real?" He asks, raising an eyebrow at me. Before I can form a response, the small pterodactyl skeleton on the front desk suddenly shakes itself and takes off into the air, transforming in that one fluid motion into a living, breathing dinosaur.

I cry out in surprise, slapping my hands over my mouth as I stare in amazement at the dinosaur soaring around in the air. My gaze slowly returns to the mummy, quickly turning accusatory. "What did you do?"

He smiles a little, gesturing to the pterodactyl. "Proving to you that I'm real."

"How does this prove that you're real? If anything, it proves the complete opposite!" I yelp, ducking out of the way as the pterodactyl swoops right over my head. "There's a dinosaur flying around me right now! That is not normal!"

"Fine." Rolling his eyes, he grabs my wrist and, ignoring all my incredibly vocal protests, places it on his chest above his heart. I freeze. My mouth drops open. "Now do you believe me?"

"Your heart." I whisper, hardly believing what I'm feeling. But it's indistinguishable: the familiar tha-dump of a living heart. "It's beating. How is your heart beating? You're supposed to be dead."

"Like I said. I'm real." He says shortly. I drop my hand, backing several steps away from his burning gaze.

"How?"

"That's not important right now." He replies dismissively. My eyebrows shoot up.

"It's kind of the most important thing right now!"

The mummy ignores me, stepping forward. "We don't have much time to dwell on the past, Kiara. We must leave."

"Woah, woah, woah. We?" I take a huge step back, holding my hands up in the air. "What the hell do you mean by 'we'?"

"I need your help."

"Help with what?" I ask incredulously. "And why my help? We literally only just met. I cut off your hands!"

"Nafretiri chose you." He replies cryptically.

"Nafre—what now?"

He pauses and smiles a little, the smile not reaching his eyes. He holds his arm out, and a small golden shape slithers down his arm to coil up in his palm. It raises itself up until it's looking me in the eye. I gasp in surprise. It's the arm bangle! "Nafretiri."

"That thing's alive too? What, does everything you touch come to life?" The snake hisses, it's eyes narrowing. I gulp, grimacing at it. "Sorry."

"She is not a thing. She's more of a... pet." He responds after a moment's hesitation. The snake looks back at him, her tongue darting in and out of the air — almost like she's agreeing with him. "And to answer your question, no. Not everything I touch comes to life. Nafretiri is unique."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"She chose you. That is why I need your help. She chose you."

"You know, you can repeat that a million times and it still won't make any more sense." I reply dryly. Both the mummy and the golden shimmering snake in his palm collectively narrow their eyes at me. "Why did she chose me? What did she chose me for? And what the hell does this have to do with you? Why exactly do you need my help?"

"She chose you because you are the only one who can help me. She would not have woken for anyone; you are... unique." He says after a pause, smiling a little. "Which is why I need your help."

"With what?"

"My curse. I need your help to break my curse."

"Your... curse?" I burst out laughing, holding a hand to my head as I stare at him in disbelief. "You're kidding right? This is a joke. Did Hazel hire you to prank me or something? Because I swear, that girl has a perverted sense of humour, and this ran out of funny way back when your hands got ripped off your arms right—"

"This is not a joke, I promise." He reassures me, solemnity creasing his handsome features. "You are the only one who is able to break my curse. My fate rests solely in your hands."

I stare at him. "Okay, the funny is now in the negatives and I'm starting to seriously consider the fact that you're not kidding. And if you're not kidding, then you're definitely crazy, because only crazy people say that they're cursed and bring dinosaurs back to life!"

He doesn't say anything for several seconds, slowly walking towards me in the same manner one would when they're faced with a spooked deer. "I am not crazy, and I am not kidding. But we do not have a lot of time, so I need you to stop panicking. We must get started."

"Get started on what? Breaking your curse?" I ask incredulously. He nods gravely. Another disbelieving laugh tears through my lips. I start to back up, holding my hands up in the air. "This is crazy. You are crazy. Like, crazy crazy. And I've entertained the crazy up until now, because crazy is basically epitomised in my best friend, but now it's officially too weird for me."

"Kiara, wait—" He holds his hands up, alarm registering in his expression.

"No. You just... stay away from me. No more freaky snakes bracelets, or flying dinosaurs, or dismembered hands. Just... leave me alone, okay?" I reply, pointing at him as I increase my speed. He opens his mouth to say something else. But before he can get another word out, I've already spun on my heel and bolted out into the crisp summer night.

I find my father leaning against the driver's side of the car waiting for me. His gaze wanders aimlessly around his surroundings as he holds his phone to his ear, frustration clear on his expression. I skid to a stop in front of him and bend over, bracing myself on my knees as I pant loudly. I surreptitiously check over my shoulder. Relief washes over me.

He didn't follow me. I'm safe.

"Kiara! There you are!" My dad pockets his phone, giving me an exasperated look. "I've been calling you for the past five minutes! Where have you been?"

"I'm sorry." I gasp out, my lungs burning. "I... got... distracted."

"By what? Taking photos of another museum exhibit? Please tell me you weren't taking photos of another museum exhibit. I really don't have the energy to lecture you again."

I straighten, giving him a dead look. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me." He deadpans, raising an eyebrow at me. I sigh, throwing my hands up in the air in defeat.

"Your mummy came to life, chased me through the museum and then made Iris' pet dinosaur come to life."

My father stares at me, before barking out a laugh. He opens his car door and motions for me to follow suit, shaking his head with mirth. "I think you've watched Night in the Museum a few too many times, Ki."

"Told you you wouldn't believe me." I mutter, rolling my eyes as I cross over to the passenger side of the car. Just as I'm opening the door, I cast a furtive glance over my shoulder, searching the shadows for a familiar bandaged shape. But apart from the rustling trees, there's nothing — or more specifically, no-one — illuminated under the flickering yellow street lamps. I shake my head, chuckling at myself as I hop in and slam the door shut behind me.

What am I thinking? Of course there's not going to be a mummy hiding in the shadows. Whoever I ran into at the museum was probably just some crazy freak trying to scare me. Or my over-reactive imagination. Or both. Either way, it wasn't real. I wasn't chosen by some strange snake bangle to save some strange mummified dude from some strange curse.

It wasn't real.

"Kiara." My dad's tone breaks through my mental therapy session. I glance over to see him watching me with a funny look on his face. "Are you okay?"

"Of course I'm okay, Dad. Why do you ask?"

"Weren't you going back to get your bag?"

"Yes." I frown. "Why?"

"You don't have it." He replies slowly. I stiffen, slapping my forehead with my hand.

"Oh, crap!"

... wasn't it?

— — —

The one thing that I have always loved about staying with my father over the summer is that neither of us ever have any energy, or even just an ounce of motivation, to cook dinner. So, ever since my parents finalised their divorce and my father moved to Washington, my father and I had made a tradition of slowly making our way through every take-out store there was in Washington, ordering a different meal from a different cuisine every single night. Some nights, the food was absolutely abysmal, and we'd end up chucking it all out and eating crisps and dip for dinner while in absolute hysterics over our bad life choices. The other nights though, when we actually managed to find a decent take-out shop, we'd sit on the small balcony attached to his apartment and eat our food under the stars, with my father pointing out the constellations with his chopsticks. Some of my most treasured memories consisted of those nights, where I could escape from the ever-present pressure my mother had forced on me ever since I was eight years old, and just relish in the things in the world that I loved: my father, food, and the great big fat world.

So, even though it was clear to both him and I that I wasn't as okay as I swore I was, he still dropped me off by myself at his apartment while he went off to scour the streets for our latest adventure, neither of us even so much as entertaining the idea of breaking our little tradition.

I let out a long breath as I walk into his apartment, lazily flicking on the lights. Now that the shock of what happened has worn off, I just feel tired, drained of all energy. Not only that, I feel completely bamboozled. Did I imagine everything that happened in the museum? The mummy, the dinosaur, even the snake? It's not exactly a secret that I have an over-excitable imagination — I wouldn't be a journalist worth my salt if I didn't imagine every possible reason or outcome for a scenario — but even for me, that all still seems a little over the top. Yet despite that, a small part of me can't help but consider the crazy possibility that I didn't imagine it all up, and it wasn't some idiot trying to scare me.

But if that crazy possibility was, in fact, possible... then what the hell does that mean?

I rub my hands over my face vigorously, brushing my hair out of my face. No. I'm not doing that. I'm not entertaining that possibility. People aren't cursed, and mummies don't come back to life. I'll go back to the museum with my father tomorrow to find the lid of the sarcophagus fastened shut, the snake armlet safely in it's box, and no dinosaurs flying around the lobby. And that's that.

Feeling satisfied with the logical conclusion I've reached, I nod to myself and walk into my room, already preparing to throw on my pajamas and watch mindless reality t.v. shows until my father comes back.

But then I spot something that has roots me to the spot. Tendrils of fear slide down my spine.

There's someone sitting on my bed.

The shadowy figure glances up at the sound of my footsteps, and slowly turns to face me. I let out an ear-piercing shriek, jumping up about a mile into the air.

"What the hell are you doing here?!"