03 The Fate Of The Muse - Marina's Tales (17 page)

“This poor angel lost her arms
and
her
head,” observed Shayla.

“Yeah,” I explained, “They think it was in a
huge earthquake or something. It’s a statue of the goddess
Nike.”

She scoffed at me, “You mean like the shoe?”
she laughed.

“Exactly like the shoe,” I replied.

“Let’s go shopping,” said Shayla.

We took a cab to a popular boutique district
and wandered around for a few hours. I could feel the time slipping
by rapidly, each minute bringing me closer to the inevitable
confrontation that I both feared and dreaded.

“Are you hungry?” I asked her when we passed
a charming sidewalk bistro.

We sat down at a little metal table and
watched an endless procession of sophisticated and urbane Parisians
pass by. The people of Paris was dressed with a good deal more care
than you’d ever see in a California beach town, and each woman
seemed to have put some real effort into her hair and makeup before
she ventured out into the street. Even the simplest of outfits was
accessorized with a colorful scarf or piece of jewelry, and their
shoes were a far cry from the flip-flops and sneakers most people
in Aptos sported.

“French women are really pretty,” Shayla
observed, “Do they dress up like that all the time?”

“You’ll have to ask Evie,” I replied.

We ordered as best we could with the help of
a surprisingly friendly waiter, and ended up with a rustic pâté
platter, served with toast and tiny sour pickles, along with
enormous mounds of crispy pomme frites.

“They’re way better than at home,” Shayla
said, gobbling them down, “I never knew that they’d have french
fries in France!”

I laughed, “Uhm, think about it…”

She burst into sudden raucous laughter, and
then stopped, whispering conspiratorally, “I don’t get it. How are
you s’posed to eat them without catsup?”

Shayla remembered that it was Cruz’s
birthday, and we called him, passing the phone back and forth
between us. He’d already seen some reporting on the Paris shows and
was excited about Shayla’s success. I heard them bantering back and
forth, and she promised to appear in his debut show no matter how
famous she became, thinking she was joking. Only I knew how close
they both were to realizing their dreams.

After lunch I decided to shop for a birthday
gift for Cruz, figuring that something from Paris might take the
sting out of being left behind and missing out on fashion week. We
prowled around until I finally settled on a designer messenger bag,
crafted in the most beautiful chocolate brown leather.

“Ooh, let’s look in here!” Shayla cried,
pulling me into a lingerie boutique. Evie had always professed a
specific fondness for French lingerie, and I could see why. The
quality of the construction was unquestionably fine, and the array
of different styles was overwhelming. Undergarments of every shape
and color were displayed on headless mannequins.

“More missing heads,” Shayla laughed, “You’d
think the French have something against them!”

“You have no idea,” I said acerbically.

“Try this on,” Shayla thrust some hangers at
me.

Some of the skimpier bustiers and garters
made me blush, but Shayla was delighted, pulling out piles of
teddies and bra sets to try on.

“We better get going,” I said nervously.

Shayla looked down at me with amusement, “Oh
puh-leese! This stuff is sooo cute! You should at least pick up a
nightgown or something.” She held up a lacy chemise in black,
waving the hanger at me, “Ethan might like this better than a
stretched out old T-shirt.”

I snorted, but she did have a point. She’d
seen my sleeping attire on all the nights she’d taken refuge at
Abby’s house, and it wasn’t exactly what you’d call pretty. I took
her advice and started snooping around for something I could see
myself in, quickly getting myself lost in a sea of silk and satin.
I finally chose a beautiful slate blue peignoir set; a short
nightgown trimmed in lace with a matching robe as sheer as liquid
smoke.

I was giggling at some of the get-ups Shayla
was unearthing, the council meeting completely off my mind, when a
movement in the window caught my eye. I looked up to see the man
from the Louvre, and the instant our eyes met, he looked away and
kept walking. It could have been a coincidence, but the mere
thought that we were being followed was enough to ruin my fleeting
moment of lightheartedness.

“What’s wrong?” asked Shayla, noticing my
frown.

“I think that guy followed us here from the
museum,” I said, nodding to the window.

Her eyes narrowed, and she stormed out the
door to look up and down the street. She came back in with a shrug,
“He took off.”

“We need to go,” I announced, rushing to pay
for our purchases and peeking out of the store cautiously.

Once we were safely in the cab she patted my
arm, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I turned to look behind us, setting
my jaw determinedly, “I will be.”

Once I got through this day it would all be
over. I could just go home and focus on school, painting, and
surfing. I vowed to spend more time with Ethan; to stop wasting my
precious energy on petty jealousy and focus on building our life
together. I’d learn how to manage my anger, and maybe even find a
way to put my unwanted muse powers to their best possible use. Yes,
I vowed, if I could just get through this one meeting it would all
be smooth sailing from now on.

I really wanted to believe it, and if I
closed my eyes and concentrated, I could see Ethan standing in
front of the beautiful home he’d build someday. I just prayed that
I was fated to be the one standing by his side when that day
finally came.

CHAPTER TWELVE

COUNCIL

Evie had laid out an outfit for me, and I
slipped on the chic dress she’d chosen, donning a pair of heavy
gold Versace cuffs like armor. I applied my makeup as deliberately
as war paint, smoothing my hair back and pinning it up. I
scrutinized my reflection in the mirror, satisfied that I looked
like someone who fit right in with the high fashion crowd. Dressed
to the nines, polished and pampered, the girl in the mirror looked
back at me with worried eyes.

I slipped on some oversized sunglasses and
set out to do battle.

Boris had a car waiting in front of the
hotel, and he escorted us to Shayla’s second fashion show. We were
seated between a pampered American heiress and an Italian film
star, both of whom could scarcely take their eyes away from Evie.
This time I was too preoccupied to be amused by the spectacle,
anxious for the meeting to commence so I could go home and see
Ethan. I planned to call him as soon as we finished, and I couldn’t
wait to tell him that it was all over.

I missed him desperately, but I also craved
the comfort of a good long surfing session. I thought about the
wave in my dream and licked my lips, expecting salt, but tasting
only waxy lipstick.

Daydreaming about surfing with Lorelei had
seen me through many a boring high school lecture, and I soothed my
nervous mind with thoughts of my mermaid sisters. I decided I would
go out to see Nerissa and Nixie as soon as I got home. Telling Evie
about it had only raised more questions, and given my newfound
powers of telepathy, perhaps with a little effort I could pry some
answers out of their pretty little heads.

As awful as our ordeal at Peter’s hands had
been, a new mermaid was created out of it. Maybe it was meant to
be, and Peter was doomed to die for his crimes. Like seeds that
would only sprout when the forest was burned down around them, it
was possible that the creation of a new immortal had to come out of
another’s destruction.

I was lost in my musings, pondering the
bizarre nature of mermaid reproduction, when the lights dimmed and
the throbbing beat of the music filled the room. Shayla opened the
show, strutting out boldly, sporting an outrageously fringed
leather jacket, paired with the shortest of short skirts that
showed off her long, strong legs. The crowd went silent,
mesmerized; they had obviously read all about the latest runway
star. The designer was ecstatic– this kind of buzz was priceless,
and she had clearly put Shayla front and center to milk it for all
it was worth.

A procession of colorful and luxurious
clothes paraded by, and by the time the show ended it was clear
Shayla had scored another tremendous success. She was bold, fresh
and unaffected, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she had the
crowd’s undivided attention.

She walked the last outfit slowly and
dreamily, demurely sporting a spectacular shell pink bridal gown,
her hair piled high on her head and adorned with a crown of
handpainted silk roses. She looked ethereally beautiful, like a
fairytale princess, and a hush fell over the room. The crowd
finally recovered, standing to deliver another ovation.

“We leave here in about fifteen minutes,”
Evie whispered in my ear, “Why don’t you go congratulate Shayla
while I say hello to a few people.”

We went backstage after the show and parted
ways. I turned around to see Evie almost imperceptibly shift into
star mode as she stepped into a whirlwind of air kisses from her
rich and fashionable friends. I headed for the dressing room to
look for Shayla.

A young woman with a mane of glossy black
curls intercepted me, placing a hand on my arm, “Give me one
minute,” she said under her breath, looking around furtively. One
glance into her sparkling golden brown eyes made me catch my
breath. It was another one of them. I panicked, scanning the crowd
for Evie.

“Please,” she said with intensity, “I’m here
to warn you.”

I followed her around the corner of a
dressing room screen.

“Watch out for Olivia,” she hissed.

“Who?”

She spoke quickly, in a Spanish accented
voice, “Olivia knows everything. She was controlling Peter… The man
was an imbicile! Twas all her idea, and she is using the Edwards
family for her own purposes… But it backfired on them, didn’t
it?”

I stepped back, alarmed.

She scrutinized me, searching my eyes, “You
must be very powerful. You can do it too… can’t you? I can
tell.”

“Do what?” I gasped.

“The visions, the seeing of what is yet to
come.”

I was speechless that she guessed.

“I saw what Olivia has planned for you.” she
said ominously.

“
Has
planned?”

She looked over her shoulder, “Do
not
trust her!”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because it’s wrong– what they wanted to do…
What she still wants.”

I stepped back, suspicious, “How do you know
what they wanted?”

“Twas in my vision, Olivia was speaking to
that Edwards man about watching you... about having you taken in
Paris and brought to them again.”

I was dumbfounded. If she was telling the
truth, and her visions were anything like mine, then the danger
didn’t die with Peter. They were still going to try and control me.
I had to tell Evie right away.

“Leave Paris at once! Stay away from Olivia,”
she hissed at me.

I was horrified, “Who are you?”

“I’m Marissa.” She leaned forward intensely,
“Do not breathe a word to Evelyn! Olivia mustn’t think for an
instant that she suspects anything. Your phones are not secure, and
neither is Evelyn’s plane, so
do not
use it… Evelyn thinks
that Olivia is her friend, so she cannot know in advance. Your
leaving must be a surprise to both of them.”

“Why?”

“If Olivia thinks that Evelyn suspects…” she
looked genuinely afraid, and glanced over her shoulder again, “She
can be very dangerous. I believe that she had Peter’s mother killed
to gain control of him and the Edwards fortune.”

My eyes flew open, “Why should I believe
you?”

Her eyes met mine, and something in them
moved me, “Because it’s the truth. I have nothing to gain, and if I
get caught–”

She turned on her heel and sped off just as
Shayla and her friends rounded the corner, giggly and glowing with
post-show relief.

“That was intense!” Shayla screeched,
throwing her arms around me, “You’re not gonna believe what just
happened!”

She went on to tell me breathlessly how her
mention of surfing in the interviews had attracted the attention of
a powerful booking agent. She had landed the lucrative and coveted
Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition, and it was her absolute dream
job.

“And get this! It’s a surfer themed edition
and they’re shooting it in
Hawaii
!” she squeaked out the
last word.

“Uh, great,” I said, still trying to process
what I’d just heard.

Shayla’s hands dug into my arms, “They wanted
a girl who could really shred in the pictures and not just
stand
there
with the boards!” She jumped up and down, unable to
contain her excitement, “They’ll be like, dudes there too! Surfers
are gonna be like, props for the models!”

She threw her head back and laughed at the
thought; I could tell it was sweet revenge for the years of
condescension she’d gotten as the only girl surfer in Aptos.

“That’s great Shayla,” I was truly happy for
her. At least things were looking up for one of us.

She took me by the shoulders, suddenly
serious, “They shoot on Thursday, and they wanted me to do it so
bad they’re chartering a jet that leaves tomorrow morning. Just for
me! Jacques made sure that they’d have me back for the weekend, so
we can be back by Saturday… Please, please, please come with
me!”

“Hawaii? I didn’t even pack a swimsuit…”

Shayla rolled her eyes at me dramatically,
“Marina, we’re going to a
swimsuit
shoot!”

“I don’t know,” I said, but all I could think
of was the blue wave from my dream beckoning. I thought about
Kimo’s descriptions about surfing in Hawaii and my mouth went dry.
I would give anything to be going surfing, instead of heading out
to face the inquisition. The sound of the water came rushing back
to my mind and I felt the urge to surf so badly I started to
tremble.