Lillian awoke with a start. She listened, stunned, to the cacophony of a bustling city. This didn’t sound like the sleepy suburbs of Mt. Vernon.
She slid her hands out over her bed, surprised to find nothing between her body and the hard floor but a thin reed mat. A thin white sheet of linen covered her. She wrapped herself in it and got up to look out the window. Sniffing the humid air, she caught the scent of orange blossoms.
At the window, she lifted a curtain of the same white linen. She was surprised to find herself looking down several stories. Below her, the chaotic traffic of cars and pedestrians filled streets lined with office buildings, stores, and . . . temples. She blinked. There were no temples in Mt. Vernon. She knew. She’d lived there all her life. . . .