“No.” The answer was immediate and definite. There was no way she was going to let Isis get her fingers into another pie. Her mother was stretched thin enough as it was, and the fact that Bast could tell meant that it was probably worse than she thought. Isis was a master at hiding weariness and irritation, Bast figured it was a queen thing, so if she knew how tired her mother was it was bad.
“No, she’s Sumerian. You know how they are about other pantheons. I sneak in, I sneak out. No offense, Mama, but you’re a terrible sneaker.” Which wasn’t entirely true. They weren’t as insular as they used to be, and Nanshe was basically running a halfway home for wayward deities. Her friend would probably adore her mother. But Isis needed something else to worry about like she needed a hole in the head.
“Besides, it’s probably better if you get some rest or something.” She laid down beside Isis in a calculated move, pretending that she was just a touch sleepy herself. “Doubt the world is going to end if you nap for a couple hours. You know Fatima won’t let that happen anyway. They’ll have to all check with her and get her approval before they can do something that big.”
Bast wiggled, as though trying to get comfortable, cuddling closer to her mother in the process. “If you want, I’ll open up the shades so we can nap in the sunshine. That’s the best way to do it, you know.”