The Fate of the Muse - By Derrolyn Anderson Page 0,101

skinny one growled at me.

I paused, and when he made a move towards me I lowered myself down slowly. The chair faced an intricately inlaid table holding a jade box and a crystal ashtray. On the other side of the small table was a leather wingback chair, its arms terminating in carved raptor heads. The men at the door seemed to be waiting for someone, and every now and then I saw them looking over their shoulders in anticipation.

I could see into the trophy room through the arched entrance on the opposite side, with its medieval weapons and instruments of torture mounted on the wall in a gruesome display. Clearly Brad’s father was an obsessive collector; a man who liked his possessions. He was also a man drawn to the violent and grotesque.

I craned my neck to look around the huge library, and a magnificent one it was. It was filled with treasures, and lined with bookcases stretching from the Persian carpeted floor to the vaulted ceiling. Bronze busts of great historical figures populated the shelves, interspersed with thousands of uniformly displayed leather bound books, gold leaf gleaming on their spines. It was altogether too perfect– a sterile showpiece; a collection, and not a room that bespoke any great love of books or knowledge.

My eyes were drawn up to the ceiling, and I was surprised to find it as elaborately painted as the Sistine chapel, teeming with images of a beautiful youth surrounded by dancing girls.

“It’s Apollo and the muses,” a woman’s voice rang out. I turned to see Barbara Watson had entered the room. Gone was the modest business attire; now she was outfitted in a low-cut red dress, swinging a mink purse by a gold chain. Her hair was expensively highlighted, styled and sprayed into place like a helmet. She stood looking up at the ceiling while I looked up at her in shock. She was completely transformed from the humble “green” candidate that had spoken at the rally.

“My brother is very proud of this piece. He had some of the world’s finest fresco painters brought in from Italy.” She pointed to it like a docent at an art museum, “There, and there, are the two springs of Mount Helicon, sacred to the muses, and said to have been formed by the hooves of Pegasus.”

I stood abruptly, wincing with pain as the handcuff bit into my wrist, “Where’s Cruz? What have you done with him? I won’t co-operate unless you let him go.”

She smiled without warmth, the very picture of frozen insincerity. She sauntered around the library table and took a seat in the big chair. She motioned for me to sit, “The way I see it, you’re in no position to bargain.”

I sank back down, rubbing my wrist, “Let me see him.”

“You’ll discover that there will be no escaping our custody this time. The sooner you settle in and accept that fact, the better it will be for everyone concerned.”

She leaned forward in her chair, reaching for the jade box on the table and extracting a black cigarette with a gold foil tip. She rummaged in her furry purse to produce a golden lighter and lit it, inhaling deeply with satisfaction. She leaned back in the chair to exhale two thin streams of smoke out of her nostrils, reminding me of a dragon.

“Black Russians,” she said, admiring the cigarette in her hand.

“I don’t suppose they’re sustainable and organic,” I said sarcastically.

She smiled cooly, “I know it’s a loathsome habit, but I must allow myself at least one vice… mustn’t I?”

“I’m sure you have many more than one,” I told her.

She nodded with amusement, “I suppose you’re right, my dear. And what might your weakness be?”

I looked at her coldly, “Just coffee.”

“We’ll be sure to stock up,” she smiled.

“You can’t keep me chained up forever,” I rattled my handcuffs, “What do you want from me?”

“All in good time,” she said, taking another drag luxuriantly. “We need to get you moved to your new accommodations. They’re being finished as we speak, but we’re a bit behind schedule. We never expected to have our hand forced so soon… It’s really hard to believe that fate has led you right to us again.”

“You mean Brad?”

At the mention of her nephew she grew irritable, “I’m really terribly inconvenienced by this whole business. I had no intention of having any further dealings with you.” She sucked in a lungful of smoke, “Bradley,” she said sourly as she exhaled, “has always been a great