by R. L. Naquin
“I know what?” I frowned .
“You know. Because you’re sort of the princess of the Underworld and all. You kind of get away with stuff the rest of us can’t.” She shifted her gaze away from me and toward the suckerfish—I thought it was called a plecostomus. It had successfully cleaned a small square of glass and had moved a few feet away .
Trina wasn’t wrong. I did get away with a lot. I preferred to think it had more to do with my successful Muse record and my stubborn personality. But I knew people didn’t want to piss off Hades, either. So, there was that .
I shoved my hands in my pockets. “I don’t want to get you into trouble. I was frustrated, and I needed some answers. I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t really think about the possibility of getting you into trouble .”
She grinned. “I get into trouble every other day. They probably weren’t even surprised when it was me you asked for.” She tapped a finger on the glass, then waved at a puffer fish. “So, do you want to tell me what was so important that you broke half a dozen rules to come up here ?”
I rummaged in my purse and retrieved a folded piece of paper, smoothed it, then held it out to her. “This is my only current assignment. See the deadline at the bottom? It’s not an actual date .”
She peered at the sheet, scanning the notes. “Sure. Because he’s going to die .”
“Yeah. Thanks. I figured that out.” I peeked over the top of the paper and looked at it from upside down. “But it doesn’t say why. He’s sick, but not of anything that could kill him. At least as far as I’ve gathered so far. Fate is screwing with me, I’m sure of it. I need answers, Trina. I need to know how long I have with him. And I need to know what’s killing him .”
She lowered her hands to her sides. My assignment to inspire Gordon Gordon hung between her fingers. “Wynter, I can’t tell you those things .”
“Well, of course not. You have to look it up, first. I don’t expect you to just know it .”
She stared at the floor, her face pale. “I don’t have to look it up.” Her hand shot out, and she shoved the paper toward me. “You don’t need to know these things. Do your job. It’ll all work out.” The pleading expression on her face tugged at my heart .
But of course, I couldn’t let it go .
“Trina, please. Help me .”
She shook her head. “You have to trust me. Let it go. It’s all part of the plan .”
I narrowed my eyes. “You already know, don’t you ?”
Trina took a step back and bumped into the glass. “I may have done some work on this thread when I was in training. But I can’t tell you anything. Seriously .”
“But he’s my client. What reason could they possibly have for not giving me the information I need to do my job ?”
“None of us are allowed to know the details of the threads that knot with our own. You have to trust in the Weaver to create the best pattern for you .”
I tilted my head. “The best pattern for me? Are you saying Gordon’s life is influencing my life in some way other than work ?”
She made eye contact with me and stared at me with the most serious expression I’d ever seen on her face. “I’m not saying anything, because you’re not supposed to have information like that .”
Clever girl, telling me something without telling me anything .
I nodded. “That’s fair.” I stuffed the page into my purse. “Want to meet for lunch next week ?”
She gave me a curt nod. “Yes, I do. Thursday ?”
“Yep .”
“I’ll look forward to seeing you then.” Her voice was professional and polite, as if we’d just made plans to look over a pile of contracts together .
“My treat.” I smiled. “I think I owe you after my stunt today .”
For a moment, it looked like she was going to shake my hand, but she leaned in and hugged me instead. She pressed her face close to my ear and whispered so low it wasn’t much more than a breath with syllables. “He’s not sick. His death is from something else .”
She pulled away and took off down the hall without looking back .
Chapter 11
F illed with the knowledge that Gordon Gordon’s life was somehow tied to mine in some profound way that made it impossible for me to get answers, I returned to Mt. Olympus to mull it over. The elevator doors opened, and I stepped into the lobby .
The prospect of returning to my office or driving out to Gordon’s house for another fruitless session made me feel exhausted. I dragged my feet to an empty chair in reception and dropped into it. I had no idea what to do next .
My phone buzzed from inside my purse. I pulled it out and checked the number before answering. An eight-hundred number appeared on the display .
“Go away.” I hit the ignore button and shoved the phone back in my bag. Was there ever a good time to take a call about life insurance, home security systems, or IRS scams? If there was, today wasn’t that time .
As I dropped the phone into my bag, a pamphlet or booklet fell out. I didn’t remember putting it in there, so I opened it and took a look .
It was the program from the musical I’d gone to see with Mom and Hades. Flipping through, I remembered the odd storyline and how beautifully Phoebe had sung. I frowned. Kris hadn’t been able to find any record of Phoebe in the Underworld. Could she have transferred up here ?
“Next!” The sharp voice of the gorgon receptionist startled me .
I looked up to find her staring at me. No one stood in her queue .
“Oh, I don’t need anything.” I shook my head. “I just needed to sit for a second .”
She leaned forward over her desk. “You clearly need help. Don’t hold up my line .”
There was no use in arguing with her that I didn’t need help or that she had no one in her line for me to hold up. I ducked my head and made my way to the desk .
I slid the program across to her. “Hi, Patrice .”
She picked up the glossy color booklet. “What’s this?” Her head snakes slithered over each other, making a gentle shushing sound with their scales as she flipped through the pages. “I know you don’t think I’m concierge and will get you tickets. So, what’s up ?”
“I’m looking for the star. Phoebe Eldridge. The show I saw was her final night, and she slipped out before I could talk to her .”
“She should be listed in the Underworld, then.” She frowned at me. “They couldn’t help ?”
I shook my head. “She’s not listed down there. I thought maybe she transferred up here .”
“Are you stalking her?” She typed something into the computer and peered at the screen .
“No. Honestly, I think I owe her an apology. I didn’t even know she was an actress. And now she’s not .”
Patrice scowled at the screen, and her snakes hissed in mutual frustration. “Well, I have good news and bad news .”
“Yeah?” My heart sank. In my experience, bad news always outweighed the good .
“When I type her name into the system, she’s definitely there.” She rotated the screen so I could see it. “But there’s no information. Nothing .”
I tilted my head back and groaned. “So, what does that mean ?”
Patrice shrugged. The green skin of her shoulders peeked out from flower-shaped cutouts in the fabric of her shirt. The green of her face was several shades darker than her shoulders. I wondered if tanning made her green get darker .
“It means she’s been added to our system, but they haven’t processed her yet.” She tucked a stray snake behind her ear .
Good news and bad news. She’d called it right .
“How long does that usually take ?”
She made a weird face and shrugged. “A week. A month. Could be ten minutes from now .”
I took the program from her and put it back in my purse. “ Well , crap .”
“Sorry.” She flipped the screen back toward herself. “Check back with me in about a week. We’ll keep looking .”
> I gave her a smile, though it wasn’t a very big one. “Thanks for checking .”
She lowered her voice to a whisper. “No problem. But my line’s back, so I’ll have to put my mean face on.” She looked away as if ignoring me . “Next !”
After that, she wouldn’t even glance my way. I understood. Patrice had a reputation to uphold. I’d been terrified of her when I’d first met her .
I shuffled away from her desk, feeling defeated. Despite my efforts, I had no idea when or how Gordon would die. Phoebe’s whereabouts remained a mystery. I rubbed the spot between my eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath .
Glancing around at the people and creatures in the lobby, it occurred to me that, now that Phoebe worked somewhere in this building, she could pass me in the lobby at any time .
I was unprepared to meet her .
So, there it was. I didn’t want to be in my office, my own apartment, or my client’s house, and now I didn’t feel comfortable standing in the Mt. Olympus lobby .
“Suck it up, buttercup.” I pulled my shoulders back and lifted my chin. “Get back to work .”
I marched out the front door and went straight to Gordon’s house. If I had to sleep at his house all week, I would. I wasn’t leaving his side until I figured out how to help him—whether he liked it or not .
W hen I stepped through Gordon’s door and into his living room, I found Elizabeth with him. As usual, he paced the room and wore a mopey expression, and her dark red lips were curled in disdain .
I took a seat in the corner to watch the scene, hoping she wouldn’t wear him out and put him to bed before I got a chance to blow some inspiration his way .
“She’s been gone for years, Gordon. Why can’t you let her go?” Elizabeth took out a cigarette from her purse and held it between her fingers without lighting it. “How hard is it to give me one good magnum opus before you melt down again?” She bent her head and pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers without appearing to expect an answer .
Gordon stopped pacing and sat beside her on the sofa. His voice was soft and full of pain. “I just want a little closure. I never got to say goodbye. Can’t you understand that ?”
Elizabeth groaned and sat straight. “If I take you to see her, you’ll get to work and stop goofing around ?”
His head tipped in a slow nod. “I swear .”
She sighed and checked her watch. “I have an appointment in twenty minutes. I’ll pick you up in the morning and take you, but just this once. Get her out of your system and get this piece done for me so we can set a date with the gallery. Be ready at nine.” In a single motion, she grabbed her purse, smoothed her skirt, and rose from the couch. “For now, just try not to wear yourself out. We’re running low on your prescription, and your next doctor appointment isn’t until next week.” She frowned. “I seem to have misplaced a half-empty bottle .”
She left without saying goodbye .
I’ve disliked a lot of people in my life, but none as much as that hateful woman. What bothered me the most was that we both had the same goal. We should have been on the same team, yet every move she made undermined my efforts .
If she’d been my manager, I’d have fired her ass .
For the next ten minutes, neither of us moved. Gordon sat on the couch, hands hanging listless between his knees, while he stared blindly at a smudge on the wall below a framed black-and-white photo of Marilyn Monroe wearing glasses and reading a book .
Clearly, he was working through some things in his head. I wanted to give him a few minutes to maybe make some decisions on his own without some woman telling him what to do. When I realized my leg had fallen asleep, I decided his time was up. He needed a nudge, or we’d be sitting there all day without making a lick of progress .
I shook out my tingling leg and readied my bubble wand. “Come on, buddy. Don’t let her bully you. Pull out of this. You can do it.” I blew a large bubble straight at his forehead. It popped against his skin and left a glistening residue only I could see. “I’m not asking for a work of art right this second. How about a shower? Baby steps. You can do this.” I blew another bubble, this one even larger. It drifted toward him and burst against his unshaven cheek .
He blinked and rubbed his eyes with his fingertips, then stretched his arms over his head. “God, I smell.” He rose from the sofa and headed for the bathroom. A moment later, the water turned on in the shower .
Feeling smug, I relaxed and did a little stretching of my own, then wandered through the house from room to room being nosy. A few new sketches lay across the floor in Gordon’s workroom. None of them with the heart and passion of the picture he’d drawn of Charlotte on a train. Many were unfinished doodles of unicorns and dragons floating on the pages with no backgrounds or context. They were okay, I supposed, but none of them had any character to them. They could have been stick figures for all the emotion he’d put into them .
Sure, they were only sketches, but I’d seen his work on the Internet. What made him famous was the passion and feeling behind his work. The magic .
There was no magic here .
I left the art studio and wandered down the hall to Gordon’s bedroom. The bed wasn’t made, but I only made mine on days I changed the sheets, so I didn’t judge. The socks on the floor weren’t a surprise, either. On the other hand, the smell coming from the pile of dirty cups and dishes on the nightstand was a little offensive .
The water in the bathroom continued to run, so I shut off my belt to make it easier to snoop. I could have opened the nightstand drawers while invisible if I concentrated hard enough, but with Gordon in the shower, there was no reason for it .
The first drawer I opened had a small, mostly used sketchpad, pencils, pens, loose batteries, a mini flashlight, an empty pack of matches, hand cream, and a tin of mints. It could have been anybody’s junk drawer. Even the sketches were largely generic doodles that didn’t shed any light on my client’s frame of mind .
It wasn’t like I was a licensed therapist, anyway. Sometimes a doodle of a Martian drinking a pint of beer was exactly what it appeared to be. And if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have any idea what it did mean .
At first glance, the second drawer looked to be as uninteresting as the first one. Loose papers were crammed into the tight space, making it difficult to open all the way. I shoved my hand in and pressed down on the mess to free it. I could already see the papers were a jumble of receipts, gum wrappers, and manufacturer booklets for using the television, remote, and DVR .
I dug through the pile, hoping to find something useful. The last piece of stationary was a Christmas card from Gordon’s car insurance company dated four year ago. To my knowledge, Gordon didn’t drive. How long had he been so isolated? Apparently, less than four years .
At the bottom of the drawer, pushed to the back between an Allen wrench and a gritty tube of cherry flavored lip balm was a framed photo. I slid it out from under the pile and held it up to the light coming in from the shaded window .
Gordon, his face in a bright grin I’d have thought impossible for him, sat on a park bench with his arm around a girl with an equally shining smile. Her head rested on his shoulder, and her arms were wrapped around his waist .
There was no question who she was. I recognized her face from the fevered sketches Gordon had been drawing .
I traced a finger over her picture. “Hello, Charlotte. You’re even prettier than I expected .”
“She was mesmerizing .”
I startled, nearly dropping the picture. There I was, fully visible, locking eyes with my client while he stood in the doorway with a towel around his waist and another in his hands, drying his wet hair .
“Uh…” My voice caught in my throat, and none of the words I thought of were able to break through the barrier of fear my body had built. I couldn’t even tap the button on my belt and disappear, as much as I wanted to. As long as someone was looking right at me when I dissolved, the illusion wouldn’t work .
I was cornered .
Before I could recover myself enough to put the picture away, try to explain, or hell, bolt out the window, Gordon moved to the closet and dropped his towels on the floor .
I swallowed hard and held my gaze on his face. In all the time I’d been working as a Muse, I’d always managed to be elsewhere when people got naked, used the bathroom, or did anything intimate with their partners. It was bad enough that I spent so much time watching people who thought they were alone. I was mostly immune to nose picking, crotch scratching, and the burps and farts of solitary humans .
I was not immune to Gordon Gordon standing in his closet with a raging hard-on. My scalp was sweating and the palms of my hands itched. I stepped sideways and slipped the photo in the drawer, then slid the drawer closed, all without looking away from Gordon’s head. He’d turned away, so my peripheral vision was only picking up butt cheeks, now, but I was still in a sticky situation. My client knew I was here .
Though, admittedly, he didn’t appear to give a rat’s ass .
“Sweats or jeans?” He tapped his cheek and let out a deep, longing sigh. “Sweats it is.” He yanked a pair off a hanger and slid them on without stopping off at the dresser for underwear. He lowered his voice and stared at the floor. “Not like I’m doing anything anyway .”
He bent at the waist and grabbed both towels off the floor, then straightened and left the room .
Stunned, I hit the button on my belt and went invisible. He’d clearly seen me. We’d locked eyes. But as soon as he looked away, it was as if he’d forgotten I’d been there .
I took a deep breath, smoothed my sweating hands on my pant legs, then followed him out of the room .
Gordon sat on the living room rug, eyes closed, legs pulled up and crossed, and palms facing up on his knees. His breathing was measured and slow .
I stood for a moment watching him, waiting for him to say something or acknowledge in any way that he’d seen a strange woman in his bedroom rummaging through his nightstand .
