Unfinished Muse (10 page)

Audrey drew closer to her target, and her
voice was soft and musical. “Relax, Sophie. Let the colors and
shapes guide you. Creativity flows through you, and you have so
many new ideas. You can do this.”

Sophie tilted her head as if she could
almost hear Audrey’s words. Her lips turned up in a dreamy smile,
and she chose a paintbrush from the selection scattered across the
floor. Dipping the tip of her brush in crimson paint, she hummed to
herself and made a spiral in the center of the table.

Audrey cleared her throat and screwed the
cap on her bottle, though she continued to hold it loosely in her
hand. “That is what we call
creating an inspiration
. Done
right, the client should mostly continue on her own momentum with
only a few minor stalls.”

We watched as Sophie alternated her brushes
and paint colors, dabbing dots and squiggles in elaborate patterns.
Each time she paused for more than a minute or two, Audrey whipped
out her bubbles and sing-songed words of encouragement. We stayed
for over an hour. I was gratified and amazed to watch the project
blossom from a plain wooden surface to a fantastical work of folk
art.

Audrey clipped her bubbles to her belt. “I
think she’s got it. She doesn’t need any more help. Time to bug
out. We’ve got more work to do.”

I didn’t say anything as we walked back to
the car. I’d been touched by what I’d seen, and I was still mulling
it over. Sophie had looked so sad and frustrated. With a few words
of encouragement—and some magic bubbles—everything about her had
changed. Her entire demeanor had opened up, her body language
becoming more positive and self-confident. And the work she did was
beautiful. She’d been a whirlwind of creative passion.

Could I possibly do a job like this? Could I
inspire people? Help them achieve great things? Make them happier
with their lives?

I didn’t notice when we arrived at the
car.

Audrey snapped me out of my thoughts. “Hit
the button. You don’t want the car doors to swing open when you’re
invisible. People will notice that, and it’s weird enough that they
won’t forget, no matter how powerful the spell is.”

I touched my belt buckle and climbed into
the car, frowning. “Why don’t we fall through the car door? How
could I affect it when I’m invisible if I’m also able to walk
through front doors?”

Audrey pulled out a tube of lipstick and
used the rearview mirror to apply it. “It’s all about intent. You
can affect things if you expect to, and they can affect you.
Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been able to sit down while were in
there. You’d have fallen through the chair. In fact, it’s easier to
affect things in a normal way than it is to walk through it. That’s
why you had to hold your breath when went inside. It helps. If
you’re concentrating too hard to make something happen, it actually
gets more difficult.”

“What about people, though? Can we affect
them?”

Audrey blotted her lipstick on a tissue and
turned to face me, scowling. “Do not touch the clients, Wynter.
Ever.” She put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb,
muttering under her breath.

“But what if they move too fast and you bump
into them? How do I keep that from happening?” The good feelings
I’d come away with now felt closer to panic.

“Simple instructions. Don’t make them
complicated. Just don’t touch anyone. Got it?” She didn’t wait for
an answer before she turned the radio back on and cranked it too
loud for us to speak.

Twenty minutes of very loud country music
later, Audrey stopped at an office building. “This is it. Keep up.”
She took off toward the revolving glass door situated between two
columns of brick.

I followed behind and stepped into the
elevator with her. She pressed the button for the third floor, then
touched her belt buckle to render herself invisible. I did the
same. When the doors opened, we stepped out and turned left, then
stepped through a door marked
Southern Puppy Love
Magazine
.

The receptionist never looked up from her
book as we waltzed past. One of the advantages of being invisible
was not requiring an appointment. Audrey took us to the last office
on the right and disappeared through the door. I stepped through
behind her.

The office was actually a conference room.
One long table filled the space, and padded, wheeled chairs ringed
the edges. Though the room could seat at least a dozen people, only
one man occupied the space with us. His dark blue eyes were
narrowed in concentration as he paced the table, stopping
occasionally to shuffle the photos, articles, and ads spread across
the dark wood.

The man’s suit jacket lay crumpled over a
chair, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. He frowned, swapped out
a photo of a shih tzu with a black lab, then switched them back. He
groaned and plopped into a chair, scowling.

“What the hell is he doing?” I walked the
length of the table, looking at the mess of papers and photos.

Audrey snorted. “He’s planning the layout
for the summer issue. What do you think he’s doing?” She gave me a
look like she thought I was an imbecile.

I gave the look right back at her. “Yes, but
why is he doing it
this
way instead of on a computer?” I
gestured at the chaos on the table. “I could name ten different
kinds of software that could do this, and half of them are
free.”

Audrey shrugged. “Some people like to do
things old school.” She rested one butt cheek on the edge of the
table. “And what makes you such an expert?”

“I’m not. I’ve just…spent some time working
in various offices.” I looked away, not wanting to discuss my past
work history.

She unclipped her bubbles and unscrewed the
lid, smirking. “Yeah. I forgot you’re a Lost, not a Legacy. I
suppose you’ve had a lot of jobs. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

There was something incredibly insulting
about how she said those words. I decided I didn’t like Audrey any
more than she liked me. I said nothing, though. All I had to do was
learn the job, then I could ignore her. At least, that was my
hope.

“Carl, you need to relax. Take a deep breath
and let the doggies speak to you.” Audrey blew a stream of bubbles
directly at the man’s forehead.

The bubbles popped on his face, and my eyes
watered in sympathy. Carl didn’t flinch.

In fact, Carl didn’t move. He continued to
stare at the layout, his expression glassy and far away.

Audrey made a sound of disgust. “Oh, come
on, Carl. I’ve still got one more client to see today.” She cracked
her neck, shook out her arms, and took a deep breath. “Carl, you’re
brilliant at this. Every issue, you pull it together at the last
minute. This is the last minute.” She blew slower this time,
creating one big bubble instead of a series of small ones. “Close
your eyes and see the layout. See the finished magazine in all its
glossy, furry glory. You know how it should look.
See it
in
your mind, Carl. See it.”

The bubble wobbled toward his wide-open
eyes, bumped into his chin and splattered. Carl closed his eyes and
rubbed his face, then sat still for a moment with his face covered.
When he opened his eyes, he leaped from his chair and spread his
arms across the table, gathering all the papers together in a
massive pile.

Audrey snickered. “Every freaking quarter.
He falls apart, I loosen him up, and he slaps together the perfect
layout. Whatever that is. Let’s go.”

“Wait—we’re just going to leave?” I watched
him slap the table with a series of photos of beagle puppies in
birthday hats playing in a kiddie pool. “What if he still doesn’t
have it right?”

“He’ll have it right. Like I said—happens
like this every quarter.” She slipped through the door.

Carl’s eyes were wide and crazed, and he
muttered to himself as he placed everything as he wanted it. She
was right. He had this. I backed my way out the door and followed
her all the way to the car.

Once we were visible and on our way again, I
turned off the radio and wiggled sideways under the seatbelt to see
her better. “I have questions.”

She scowled. “I was listening to that.”

“Answer a few questions, and I’ll turn it
back on.”

“Fine.” She tilted her head in my direction
but didn’t look at me. “Ask.”

“How do they determine who gets a Muse?
Where does the bubble juice come from? If there are only so many of
us, and we’re each bound to a city, how is the rest of the country
getting inspired? Why does—”

“Whoa, there.” She held up her hand as if to
block the stream of questions. “That’s a lot of questions. And
they’re all pretty stupid.”

I sat up straighter. “Excuse me?” This chick
in her skyscraper heels had to be the worst trainer I’d ever had in
any of my bazillion jobs.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” She
pulled the car to the side of the road and turned to give me a
scathing look. “Seriously. Think about it. Where do we work?”

“The Muse department.” Where the hell was
she going with this?

She rolled her eyes. “What company?”

“The Mount Olympus Employment Agency.”

“So, who do you think is running the
show?”

“I don’t know. Management.”

Audrey didn’t say anything. She sat there,
staring at me, waiting for something. Waiting for me.

I thought over her last question and
realized what she was getting at. “Oh.” My eyes grew wider.
“Oh!”

She nodded and put the car in gear. “At
last. A tiny bit of intelligence peeks through.”

Gods. The whole place was run by gods. Of
course it was. As much as I wanted to yank this chick’s hair out
for being so smarmy, she was right. I hadn’t been thinking, despite
all the crazy things I’d seen.

“So, gods determine who the client is?”

She signaled, then pulled away from the
curb. “Yes. Well, no. We get our orders from the Fates, actually.”
She changed lanes abruptly, and a car honked. “Back off, you
moron!”

The other car went around us, and a lady
with two kids in car seats in the back gave us the finger.

I twisted around and fixed my seatbelt. “And
the bubbles come from—what? Or rather, who?”

“Muses bring it in and refill the
dispensers. Usually it’s Polly. She hangs around more than the rest
do.”

It took another minute for me to process
what she’d said. “Muses. You mean real ones, not just people doing
the job? And Polly’s one of them?”

“Pollyhymnia. Muse of sacred poetry.”

For some odd reason, this information made
my head spin far more than walking through a door had. Or seeing
mythical creatures in my workplace.

Seriously. Real gods. And I’d talked to one
of the nine Muses that morning. I felt a little giddy, as if I’d
met a celebrity. How many other gods or demigods had I come into
contact with over the last week? Was Mrs. Moros a god? Ben from
human resources? Trina’s ex, Ian, from the elevator?

I opened my mouth to ask, but I was too
late. Audrey hit the button and blared the radio to shut me up.

Fine. I’d ask Phyllis later. And this time,
she damn well better answer my questions.

As we pulled into the parking lot of a
burger joint, I decided to try not to ask Audrey any more
questions. I’d be better off asking someone else. Let her teach me
what she had to teach me, and I’d find a better mentor on my own
later.

We crossed the parking lot, stepped over a
curb, and walked diagonally through a small field. I wondered again
at Audrey’s ridiculous shoes, but she didn’t seem to be bothered.
She strode through the weeds with purpose and out the other side to
a paved lot with a small Baptist church in the corner.

“Here?” I bit my lip. I’d already broken my
vow not to ask her any questions.

“Here.”

We hit our belts and went up the steps
through the door.

I wasn’t raised in any particular religion.
I certainly hadn’t seen the inside of many churches when I was
growing up. But I read things. I had a pretty good understanding of
the various religions available to choose from.

The irony of a Greek Muse creating an
inspiration for a Southern Baptist preacher’s Sunday sermon on
idolatry was almost more than I could bear. I had a lot less
trouble staying quiet while Audrey blew her bubbles at him than I’d
thought I would.

In fact, I spent the entire ten minutes we
were there with my back against the wall, pressing my lips
together.

The reason we were there for so short a time
was Pastor Roy Roberts was incredibly open to suggestion. Carl had
only needed a nudge because he knew how to do a layout for his
magazine. He just got stage fright before every issue. Pastor
Roberts needed every bubble Audrey blew at him, but he sucked them
in pretty quick.

When we arrived, he was sitting at his desk
in front of his computer, scratching his chin. “Idolatry. Idolatry.
When we…no, that’s not it. If you give a man…” He deleted several
lines and began again. “After the fall, Adam…” He groaned and
pounded the delete key repeatedly.

It amused me that he read everything out
loud as he wrote it.

Then Audrey stepped forward with her
Transmutational Thought Transference Bubbles, murmuring words of
encouragement.

From the moment the first bubble burst
against the side of his bald head, Pastor Roberts stopped speaking
out loud and started typing in earnest. And could he type fast. His
fingers flew over the keys at a rate that spoke of countless hours
spent typing “the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog” in Miss
Panganini’s typing class. For ten straight minutes he never paused
until, with a flourish, he hit a last key and leaned back in his
chair with a satisfied smile.

Audrey peered over his shoulder and read
what he’d written. She grunted. “Nice. He totally switched gears on
that idolatry thing and wrote about stealing from your neighbors.”
She shook her head. “Pretty big words for a man who cheats on his
taxes.” She patted the top of his desk. “See you next week,
Roy.”