The Fate of the Muse - By Derrolyn Anderson Page 0,35

I’d never seen Cruz so bubbly. He actually reminded me of Abby for a minute.

There was a soft knock on the door and Cruz sprang up to get it. “Hey Ethan,” he said, letting him in.

“Hey,” he nodded, looking at me, “How did it go tonight?”

Cruz launched into a long winded description of the night’s fortuitous events while Ethan settled down on the couch next to me. His hands were cold, like he’d been outside for a long time, and I took them in mine and rubbed them to warm him up. He sighed and slumped back on the couch.

“How’s that for a coincidence?” Cruz said, “And I’ll turn eighteen just before the special election! She totally has my vote!”

“That’s great,” Ethan said, leaning on me.

“Yeah,” Cruz looked lost in thought, “I should go see what Madame Fatima has to say about this…”

Ethan’s head dropped down onto my shoulder, “Ugh,” he said, closing his eyes. The Madame gave both of us the creeps.

“You look tired,” Cruz said sympathetically, “I’ll leave you two alone.” He got up and headed down the hall to his old room.

“What’s got into him?” asked Ethan.

“I think it’s love,” I said.

“Then we have something in common,” he replied, reaching over to brush the hair from my face. We kissed, and he laid his head back down.

“Is Abby asleep?” he asked.

“Yes… Do you want to stay over tonight?”

“Yes,” he sounded relieved.

“I’ll just be a minute,” I went to go get changed into sweats and wash up.

I came back and took his hands to pull him up. We crept quietly down the hall and snuggled together under my big white comforter. I didn’t need to worry about things getting out of hand tonight. We had an understanding, and were re-growing the trust between us. Neither one of us wanted our first time to be sneaking around.

I thought about the events of the evening; the evidence kept piling up that my muse ability was real, and powerful. There was no use denying anything to myself anymore. Lying peacefully in Ethan’s arms, I prayed that everything would go smoothly in Paris. I had to lie convincingly to a group of suspicious muses; women that were far more experienced at it than me. Just thinking about it brought tears to my eyes.

Ethan shifted onto his side, throwing his leg over mine. Within a few minutes his regular breathing told me he was fast asleep.

“Ethan, I’m scared,” I whispered, right before drifting off myself.

The bright light streaming in the room woke me up, and I sat up to find him gone. There was a note by my bedside that said he had to get some landscaping work done before he could get to the rally, and that he’d see me there. I frowned, hating the way he was driving himself so hard. I wondered if he was burying himself in work the same way I escaped into my surfing habit. I didn’t think we really needed the money all that badly. Could it be me he was trying to run away from?

I decided to spend the morning getting my studio fully outfitted, driving out to the art store and loading up on huge canvases and paint. I hauled everything up the stairs, arranging blank canvases on my easels and laying out paints and brushes, setting up for the future as kind of a talisman against harm.

I hummed to myself as I arranged some flowers in a vase, wondering what Ethan would think about the place. I stuck some candles into pretty holders and stood back to inspect my studio with a critical eye. It looked nice.

I left behind an overnight bag, just in case, I said to myself.

I took one last look around before I locked up, sighing in frustration. I didn’t want to leave for Paris; more than anything, I wished I could stay here and get started painting. I bit my lip, for this was no time to wallow in self-pity; tonight would be a combination studio-warming and bon voyage. Besides, Evie always said that your sympathy was wasted when you gave it to yourself. There was a job to do, and I wanted to see the rally be a success more than anything else.

I squared my shoulders and headed for the Rover. Something inside of me triggered a clear memory of the past. I was about seven years old, and Evie had taken me to see a polo match. I flashed upon a clear image of Evie, fussing over