The Fate of the Muse - By Derrolyn Anderson Page 0,47
me to go out with her and her friends tonight. I hate to let her down… She’s probably nervous, you know, being away from home and everything for the first time.”
Just then a loud voice rang out in the room, getting everyone’s attention.
“Hey! BACK OFF BUD!” yelled Shayla.
Irina was squirming to get away from an overly amorous photographer’s assistant, who withdrew his hand from her rear end when everyone stopped to stare. One look at Shayla’s blazing eyes sent him slithering away.
“I think Shayla can take care of herself,” said Evie with amusement.
Shayla came up to us, a little contrite, “Sorry about that… but these French dudes really skeeve me out! I mean, they’re good looking and all, but some of them can’t keep their hands to themselves!”
“Shayla, my dear,” said Evie with an arched eyebrow, “Wait until you meet the Italians.”
Evie and I sat up late that night, sipping herbal tea and talking about how we’d handle the council meeting. When I told her that I’d been out surfing with my mermaid sisters she was predictably alarmed. When I told her what I’d discovered when Lorelei took me out to see Nerissa she nearly choked on her tea.
“A baby mermaid?” she exclaimed in shock, “Peter’s baby?”
“Maybe he had something to do with it,” I scowled, “But she’s nothing at all like him. She’s as wild and innocent as all the rest of them.”
We sat and speculated about what had happened, and what it meant about our own ancestry, always coming to only one conclusion. Mermaids and muses were the same thing, one born at sea, another born on land.
“It must be in our X chromosomes,” I said.
“There are some mysteries that even science cannot explain,” said Evie.
I told her what the mermaids thought about being “blessed”, and what they told me about my mother. Evie agreed that if my mother had indeed spent time underwater during her pregnancy with me, it might account for my ability to transform and communicate with them.
“How do you know that you can’t do it too?” I asked her.
“I certainly couldn’t make heads nor tails of the sounds they made,” she said thoughtfully. “And I know for certain that other muses have tried unsuccessfully to transform. Swimming with mermaids seems to be quite the popular fantasy.”
“It does have its charms,” I agreed.
I didn’t mention my increased capacity for telepathy; something told me that Evie had heard enough for the time being. She seemed edgy to me, and it was so unlike her that it unnerved me.
“Aunt Evie, doesn’t it make you feel like you’re cheating? Helping people the way you do?”
Her crystal blue eyes met mine, “Not at all, sweetheart. I thought I explained that you don’t make people talented… you merely enhance them– free them from self-doubt.”
“I don’t get it. What about the bad things?”
“I’m not sure how to put it,” she sighed, “I suppose you reveal what is truly there. Something about us allows people to express their honest selves.”
Yeah, I thought, and the congressman just “expressed” himself right off a cliff. I thought about Peter’s gun finding its way into my hands. No, she had to be wrong, there was more at play here than just giving someone a little ego boost. I wondered about seeing Stella’s spirit and communicating telepathically with the mermaids, deciding again, that these things were best kept to myself.
“Have you ever tried to help someone who has no particular talent?” I asked.
Evie looked at me tolerantly, “Marina my dear, everyone has a special talent… Most people just aren’t aware of it, or they suppress it out of a fear of failure. It’s a real pity that so few people in this world know what they’re actually capable of.”
I could see the truth in what she said, but there was something else that bothered me.
“Aunt Evie, how can you tell if someone really loves you? I mean, really loves you, and isn’t just attracted to… it?”
She laughed, “What difference does it make?”
“What about Harold?” I kept pressing, asking about her late husband even though I knew it made her uncomfortable, “He was different… right?”
“Yes… yes, I suppose he was.”
“How?” I demanded, “What made him different? How did you know he loved you?”
She pressed her lips together, “Harold was a wise choice for me. He protected me when I truly needed help…” She sighed, “That’s what I want for you– Don’t you see? It’s the safety and protection that wealth can afford you. You can let your guard