Finding Her A-Muse-Ment
by Rebecca Royce
Copyright © Rebecca Royce, 2013
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
This e-book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.
Musa Publishing
633 Edgewood Ave
Lancaster, OH 43130
www.MusaPublishing.com
Issued by Musa Publishing, October 2013
This e-book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this e-book can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.
ISBN: 978-1-61937-671-7
Head Editor: Elspeth McClanahan and Elizabeth Silver
Editor: Celina Summers
Artist: Kelly Shorten
Line Editor: Helen Hardt
Interior Book Design: Cera Smith
Chapter One
Isyllus stared at the woman he had adored since coming to consciousness next to her on her eighteenth birthday. Susan Charlie. Better known to the public as Charlie Preston, whose books had appeared on the New York Times and USA Today Bestseller lists more times than any other living author.
Susie was how he thought of her.
She stared blankly at the computer screen in front of her. Her hands weren’t even poised over the keyboard, indicating that she wasn’t attempting whatsoever to put a word on the page. To her left sat a pad of paper. Using the older methods hadn’t stimulated her creativity. On the other side of her writing desk was a solitary goldfish sitting in a small portable fish bowl. She called the creature George.
Sometimes she spoke to George, but that was it. Other than that, she didn’t communicate with anybody directly. Not anymore.
Isyllus rubbed his eyes. If she didn’t start listening to him again, if she couldn’t use his presence—that was, granted, unknown to her—he would be sent away.
Never to return to her side.
He couldn’t have that. Not when they’d done so much work together, created such a brilliant collection of characters that they made people feel things when they read her words. Not when he’d fallen in love with her.
He gulped. Isyllus knew better than to even think those words. Muses did not fall for their charges. Humans lived and died. When their natural endings happened, muses were sent to spark more creativity in a new artist. Loving a human could bring only pain.
She’d never see him, never understand he’d sat next to her during her most poignant moments of creative bliss and applauded her true talent.
None of that even mattered. If Susie didn’t start doing what Susie did best, very shortly the Fates would send him to someone who did. That could be anywhere, anytime. He’d never see her again.
“Susie.” He bent down next to her. “I need you to hear me.”
It used to be that he spoke and she reacted on the page, even without knowing that she had. She could hear him. He waited a beat to see if she would.
Susie leaned back in her chair, her eyes still a blank page. Nothing. Just like it had been for days.
“You can’t stay in this house anymore. You have to at least go outside.” He pointed at the window. “It’s a beautiful day, the middle of summer. Not even the slightest bit of humidity. The kind of day you dream about.” He waved his hands in front of the computer. “Leave this. You can do it later. Go see people. Speak. Laugh. See a movie. Do something other than sit here.”
Her creativity had wavered the second she had shut herself off from the world. Isyllus couldn’t figure it out. Nothing had happened, not that he could tell.
Susie sighed and looked out the window.
“Yes.” He pointed at the outdoors again. “You need to go there. Outside. Now.”
She didn’t budge.
“Damn it, Susan.” He knew better than to shout. It didn’t help. Yet, he couldn’t help himself. Isyllus never cared before Susie and he had two thousand years of helping people before her. This time it mattered. In his bones, he felt he was meant to stay with Susie for her time on earth.
He stalked over to the computer. There was one more option. The brochure had arrived earlier in the week. She’d put it on the counter with everything else she discarded. Her bills were paid automatically online. Isyllus doubted she even knew where her checkbook was anymore. It happened to be lying in her sock drawer.
Groceries were delivered. E-mails were exchanged if someone needed her for business. She hadn’t bought new clothes in years. Everything could be done from a distance.
Except healing and fun.
He stared down at the brochure again. Wiccan Haus. The name made his brain tingle. This was the same sensation got when they worked on one of her stories, particularly Night’s Love, her most popular series. Going to the Wiccan Haus would be a very good idea for Susie.
Now if only he could get her to see that.
Susie stood up and headed for the kitchen. The clock dinged—three o’clock, which meant she’d consume one blueberry yogurt before sliding into her armchair and not moving for hours.
“No.” He shook his head. “Not today, Susie.”
She dragged more than walked past the brochure. Using every bit of power he possessed, which in the scheme of things wasn’t very much, he knocked the pamphlet onto the floor. By the time he’d accomplished the task, he collapsed. Making things move amounted to the absolute limit of his power.
Shit. Sometimes swear words just worked better than anything else did, even though he knew every word in every language. Shit just took care of it all.
Susie bent over and picked up the pamphlet. If she would just consider it, then the strain of using his power might be worth it.
“Please. Give yourself a chance. Don’t give up. Whatever it is. We can fix it.”
She sighed, biting down on her lip. Had she heard him? Would she listen? Or would he wake up tomorrow in Ancient Rome helping Pericles reconstruct the Acropolis? His heart would be forever trapped in her body with her. He would always wonder what had happened to her without ever being able to find out.
“Oh what the hell.” She walked back to the room, her hair hanging in her face. In all the years he’d known her, he’d never seen her so un-put together. Her brown hair usually had some color in it—blues, greens, purples—she’d always been dramatic. Now it lay limp and uninteresting. Her nails had always been polished and her skin healthy. The dramatic change in her made his stomach clench.
Not that it mattered one bit to him how she looked. She’d always be beautiful. Her eyes would always be the deepest shade of blue he’d ever seen. The obvious display of her internal struggle on the outside of her body is what made his hands shake. Susie had started to fade away.
She was thirty-six years old. She should be in her prime.
“Well, George, I’m not doing anything here anyway.” She spoke to the fish.
He grinned. Better she should talk to a being that couldn’t answer than no one at all.
“Maybe
this is my last chance.”
Never. He wanted to stroke her hair. Don’t ever give up on yourself.
She picked up the phone and dialed. He clapped his hands. “Good. That’s good.”
“Yes. Hello? Oh? What? How do you know my name?” She bit down on her lip. “Did you say cards?”
He had no idea what the woman said on the other side of the line but it made his head zap again. This was a good idea. The best he’d had in almost a year.
Susan gripped the fish bowl to her chest. She couldn’t leave him; she had no one to feed him. She watched as the boat entered what she would have described—had she been writing the scene—as ominous fog. She shivered.
What on earth had she been thinking arranging for this kind of trip? She hadn’t left the house in almost a year. Why had she started with a random vacation to some place called the Wiccan Haus?
Shaking her head, she tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. Her nerves were that woman’s—the one who had answered the phone and known her name even though she called from an unlisted number—fault. She’d intrigued Susan’s sense of mystery. Somehow, Susan needed to lay her eyes on this woman and her cards.
Why kind of cards were they? Tarot? Anything was possible in a place called the Wiccan Haus.
But now this might be the worst conceived plan imaginable. No way, no how would she be getting off the boat. She’d just turn around and go back home. No one could make her stay.
“It’s not scary.”
She jumped as a man, who she’d clearly been too preoccupied to notice earlier, spoke to her. He leaned against the rail at the front of the boat just five feet from where she stood clutching George’s tank.
“Think of it as inspiring. Who knows what’s on the other side of this fog?”
“Well, it better be the Wiccan Haus, or I got on the wrong boat.”
He narrowed his gaze and looked to his left before turning back to her. The stranger, who happened to be the first person she’d spoken to—except for the woman on the phone—in more months than she wanted to admit, stood at least a foot taller than she did. Not hard to do since she barely reached five feet without heels.
His brown curly hair blew slightly in the wind. He had a strong jaw and cheekbones she would have given one of her heroes. They were high and jutted out, giving his long face an angular look. His nose stood out long and proud. It worked for him. His eyebrows furrowed even more. No one would call this man pretty.
“Are you talking to me?”
Had she done something wrong? He’d spoken to her first. This was why she’d stopped communicating with strangers. Outside of her own creations, nothing made sense.
“I answered you. Didn’t I?” He took a step forward closing the space between them. “You can see me?”
She laughed, which startled her. She nearly dropped George when she covered her mouth.
He smiled, the corners of his lips moving upwards. “What’s funny?”
“I don’t know. It’s just the first conversation I’ve had in…a while…and it’s ridiculous.”
The stranger nodded. “I guess it must seem that way.”
“You guess?” She shook her head. “Wow. I’ve been out of the talking zone for too long.”
“I’m sorry. I guess you could say it’s been a tremendous amount of time since I had a conversation too. Longer than it’s been for you.” He extended his hand. “I’m Isyllus.”
“Just Isyllus. Like Madonna? One name only?”
“Oh.” He rubbed his chin.
She had the strangest urge to reach out and touch him. Susie managed to restrain herself but still the need had arisen to stroke a stranger’s face. That had to be an improvement.
Didn’t it?
“Forgive me. I didn’t anticipate this. The fog must be affecting my visibility. My name is Isyllus Zeus. How’s that?”
“Very Greek actually, which is cool. But I’m kind of thinking you made that up. If that’s true, then I think you could have done better.” She studied him for a moment, while he squirmed, shifting his feet around on the deck. “I’m glad you don’t have to name characters for a living.”
“You might be surprised at how often I’m called upon to be creative. But it’s other people’s creativity. Not my own. Apparently, I’m a bit of a dud.”
The wind blew a little stronger, and she turned around to look at the water again. The fog lifted and they were rapidly approaching a dock in the distance. Her stomach tightened. She’d meant it when she decided she wasn’t getting off the boat. No way could she handle this type of stress.
Without meaning to, she turned to study Isyllus again. He was still staring at her, not paying any attention to the landing. She’d be lost if she tried to take on some kind of healing, chanting, Wiccan weekend. But then so would the man in front of her. He didn’t go for this kind of thing either. She knew that as much as she knew her own name.
Her mind stuttered. Had she suddenly become psychic?
The boat came to a sudden stop and she banged into the railing, trying not to drop George overboard in the process. Isyllus’s hand steadied her.
“Getting off?” He motioned toward the board the captain laid out for patrons to disembark.
“How did you know I’d contemplated not doing so?”
His smile came instantly but his eyes remained sad. An odd, striking combination. “Your thoughts were written all over your face.”
“Am I so easy to read?” Her words came out a whisper.
“To me you are.”
That must be how he had known she’d been afraid of the fog. “I’ll get off if you get off.”
Her words had a ton of double entendre and her cheeks heated up. She knew nothing about him. He could be an ax murderer. Yet his eyes were sweet, and she’d had an actual reaction to him that hadn’t been negative.
He grinned before he looked away. “I’ll be there the whole time you are.”
“Okay.” She nodded. Then it was settled. “I’m coming.”
Susan shook her head again. Why couldn’t she stop doing that? It was one thing in books. Hell, her ability to craft a good piece of erotic romance happened to be why half her readers had liked her.
But in real life? No way.
Holding George tightly, she disembarked. Someone had taken her luggage when she got on.
A tall blond man greeted her when she stepped on the dock. He took her hand in his. “Welcome. I’m so proud of you for making it here. A journey doesn’t begin until you take the first step. Frequently that’s the hardest part.”
Susan’s heart fell. She’d been feeling pretty good talking to Isyllus, but now she realized just how much of a wreck she must actually be. “Do I look like the type of person for whom beginning a journey would be hard?”
“No.” Her greeter squeezed her hand more tightly. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just that you are welcome and I am sure you will find what you look for here.”
“Thank you.” She let go of his hand. “I’m Susan Charlie. Where do I check in?”
“Susie, you’re doing fine.” Isyllus spoke from behind her. “Don’t worry about it.”
“No one calls me Susie.”
“Well, now you know someone who does.”
“Susie,” the blond man spoke again. “I’m Cemil Rowan and you will be very happy here. I know it. It’s going to be a week filled with fun.” He pointed toward the Haus in the distance. “That’s where you check in.”
“Thank you.”
She wanted to wait for Isyllus but didn’t want to seem desperate to do so. Booking this trip had been about doing something to make her life better, to reclaim what she’d lost to the constant fear that plagued her all the time. Just because Isyllus had been the catalyst to get off the boat
didn’t mean she could cling to him the whole time. He had come here for his own reasons. She couldn’t interfere.
At least not every second of every day.
But maybe they’d end up in some of the same relaxation classes or something.
Behind her, Isyllus was speaking to Cemil. The farther she moved, the harder it was to hear, but still she could make out some of it.
“You can see me, too?”
Cemil laughed. “Of course. We’ve been expecting you. Good work, by the way.”
All thoughts of their conversation fled when she looked up at the Haus in front of her. Jutting out into the horizon, it was a splendid combination of browns, reds, and whites. “Like something out of a fairy tale.”
She stopped in her tracks. Fairy tales were warnings, stories told to children to make them behave. What would happen to her if she went inside? Would she ever come out? Would anyone notice if she died?
Someone touched her arm. Stunned, she looked down as Isyllus gently stroked the blue fabric of her shirtsleeve. “Come on. We’ve both made it this far.”
“Right.” She nodded. The ferry blared its horn as it pulled back from the dock. She’d be stuck there until the next one came at least. The brochure said it was once a week.
“All will be well. You’ll see.”
“I wish I had your confidence.” Remembering Cemil’s words about journeys and steps, she forced herself to move again. Nothing could be harder than deciding to do it in the first place.
“You do. You have mine and then some.” He said it like he knew what he was talking about. “You just have to let it come back to you.”
Isyllus would have no way of knowing that. Maybe he actually was talking about himself. She pondered that question while they walked in together to the front desk.
A woman wearing a nametag with the word “Trixie” sat behind the desk. Before Susan could do her usual writer’s assessment of a person’s features, the woman spoke.
“Hello, Susan. We’ve been expecting you. I’m Myron. We spoke on the phone.”
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