The Fate of the Muse - By Derrolyn Anderson Page 0,7
her arm around my shoulders. “They wouldn’t agree to wait any longer. We’ll tell Abby and your father that we’ll be attending the Paris shows together.”
“Good cover story,” I said numbly, for everyone knew that Evie was a fixture at Paris fashion week.
“Yes, well… Thank heavens I was able to choose the location, so at least I know we’ll have some decent accommodations. I’ve booked a suite at the Ritz. ”
I sighed, “What do you think they’ll want to know?”
Evie pursed her lips, “I’ve denied everything Peter said before his… accident, but I don’t think they’re buying it. I’m afraid the rumors are flying.” She heaved a sigh, “They are all women, after all… and we girls do love our gossip.”
“What exactly did Peter say?” I asked, alarmed.
“I don’t know everything,” Evie said grimly, “He was allowed to place some calls to plead his case before…uh, as we were waiting for the association to arrive. I do know what he told one member, and we can start by refuting that.” Her eyes met mine as she added, “I don’t know who else he might have contacted.”
My heart sank, for there was a possibility that he had verified some shocking tabloid rumors. Evie’s security team had taken Peter into custody in order to bring him before the council, for as the son of a recently deceased hybrid, Peter was one of theirs. The association policed itself, but before they could pass judgment and punish him, the people that he was working for beat them to it. A false suicide had been staged to eliminate him, along with all of the incriminating evidence.
Everything, that is, except for me.
So, I grappled with the looming possibility of Peter’s murderers coming back for me, combined with the grilling I was scheduled to receive from a council of fellow hybrid muses. It was almost too much to take all at once. I dropped my head into my hands as Evie rubbed my back soothingly.
“Everything will be alright,” she said, “We simply need to come up with a story and stick to it. I have many dear friends on the council, and I’m certain they’ll side with us.”
The council suspected that I was different from the rest of them, and they were right. Peter had watched me, finding out about my ability to communicate with mermaids in the hopes of using it to capture more of them. I wondered how much he’d said; for as far as I knew, I was the only one capable of speaking the mermaid’s strange language.
Evie straightened her spine and smoothed her skirt, “Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary in the past few weeks? Anything suspicious at all?” I shook my head no.
She went on, a model of efficiency as usual, “I had Boris sweep your house and car for bugs while we were at dinner. He found nothing.” I sighed, feeling a strange mixture of annoyance and relief.
“Evie?” I raised my head, casting a suspicious eye at her “Why did you choose that restaurant?”
She smiled placidly, “Oh honey, I really did want to see Megan sing again… And isn’t everything else all water under the bridge by now?”
I sighed, “For me it is… So, what was all that with Omar?” I asked, cocking a brow at her.
“Marina,” She tossed her head and smoothed her platinum blonde hair, “I may not be immortal… but I’m not dead yet!”
Evie and I talked for a while, going over some of the possible questions and coming up with a story. When the car finally dropped me off at Abby’s cozy little house I was surprised to see the lights still on and Megan’s car in the driveway next to my Range Rover. I kissed Evie goodbye, waved to Boris, and headed for the door, feeling like Cinderella staggering home after the ball.
“What was that all about?” Cruz asked anxiously, jumping up to greet me at the door. Megan sat up with a worried look.
“Nothing,” I flopped down on the couch, unstrapping my shoes, “My feet are killing me.”
“What did Evie want?” Cruz persisted.
I paused for a moment, “She’s taking me to Paris for the collections.”
“Paris!” Cruz cried, stricken, “But that’s in two weeks!”
“Yeah, “I said, “And?”
“I can’t go!” he whined, plunking down next to Megan, “That’s the week I present my portfolio to design school. And you’ll miss my birthday too.”
“Sorry,” I replied, too wrung out to bother trying to soothe him.
“I thought you couldn’t leave Ethan,” Cruz said petulantly.