PUBLISHED BY:
Cate Masters on Smashwords
The Duende and the Muse
Copyright © 2011 by Cate Masters
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
View more books by Cate Masters at
http://catemasters.blogspot.com
or select online book retailers.
To my family, without whom none of my dreams could have come true.
Special thanks to The Wild Rose Press, which first published this ebook.
Previous reviews:
WDRF Review: Memorable Good
The author weaves a great tale with a creative way of using words that makes the story refreshing to read. It sparkles and fizzes with energy and the dialogue is sparky and natural. Both characters are independent and strong and they were engaging, interesting and likeable. What more can you ask for from a story of this length? I don't think you can go wrong with this- so have a read.
Review Your Book
The Duende and the Muse by Cate Masters was awe-inspiring. I love this short story.
Bitten by Books: 5 tombstones
I thoroughly enjoyed this short story! Melinda’s hopeful ideals and Devon’s contrasting style added excitement. The characters were believable, and the settings were described clearly and were easy to visualize. This was a very nice story, easy to read, and enjoyable all the way through.
Long and Short Reviews: 4 books
The Duende and the Muse may be short, but it is well written and the story holds the attention from beginning to end. I found Melinda’s great aunts, Calliope and Euterpe, to be delightfully portrayed and would love to see a tale with them as the main characters.
Click here to read more reviews, view the trailer and more at Cate’s blog.
****
The Duende and the Muse
Melinda the Muse hums a lullaby, whispers into her student’s ear. As he sleeps, she pours moonlight across him like a blanket of opalescent mercury, sings to him so he dreams the wild, unfettered dreams of a child. Gossamer and glimmer, she floats above his head, confident her inspiration will reach him this time.
He awakens the next morning, pounding off the alarm clock. She frowns and gently chides him for acting out his frustrations. Lately he’s been writing rather haphazardly, crumpling up pages only half full. She’s been with him nearly four years, but he hasn’t had anything published. Staying positive for his sake has become more of a challenge these days.
When she hears him tell a friend over the phone that he may give up poetry and go back to medical school, she worries he’ll never realize his full potential. Not to mention she’ll look like a failure.
She pulls out her silk bag of muse tricks and peers inside at her trusty staples of musing. Old-fashioned hard work, she believes, will pay off in long-term benefits. She’s ready to give it her all.
Sprinkling some chamomile over him, she sends him soothing thoughts. When he adds with a sigh that he’s tired of searching for his elusive muse, she fumes and flits to his face.
“I’m right here!” She glares, but he can’t see her. Not in physical form. Nor can he hear her, but recognition lights faintly in his eyes.
Ungrateful fool! “I’ve been here all along. If you’d sit still long enough, you’d hear more than your iPod.” Even if the pounding beats infuse her, causing her to whirl and shake to their insistent rhythm. Euterpe, the Elder muse of music, inspired Melinda too.
But dancing should wait. Her student hadn’t finished a half-lyrical line in too long. As her patience wanes, the sprinkles morph into hot tamale bits. He blows through his lips, rushes to the fridge and pours a bottle of water into his mouth.
She tugs her silk bag closed and reattaches it to her golden belt. “There. Now maybe you’ll take me seriously.”
And he’d better do it soon. The Elders could strip her of her muse status, demote her to the props department – painting rainbows, dewdrops on roses, that sort of thing. She’s already had two warnings; a third would signal the end of musing for her. An appearl to her great-grandparents, Mnemosyne and Zeus, might get her an extension, but would also bring more disgrace upon her. Only desperate muses stoop that low.
A butterfly lands on the windowsill and opens itself wide. A neon message flashes across its wing span: Tired of unresponsive clients? Come to MuseFest! Thousands of new inspirations! Paid for by the MuseFest Committee.
Melinda wants to kiss the butterfly. MuseFest! That’s right, it’s this weekend! Oh, she loves MuseFest – a chance to catch up with friends, eat amazing food, and, of course, learn new tools of the musing trade.
Shooting a frown at her student, she sighs. I could use a break anyway.
He turns up his iPod. Her frown deepens to a scowl.
****
As Melinda’s leaving Saturday morning, her student snores in his bed. She flits to his notebook, open on the kitchen table. She sighs at the two lines of poetry scratched out.
He’ll be fine. Some time away will do them both good. “I’ll come back with loads of new ideas. You’ll be well rested and ready.” Hopefully. The promise holds an ominous ring to it.
As she lands on the windowsill, the rainbow escalator arches toward her. She steps on and is whisked toward a glowing pink and orange cloud. People below look up and smile, thinking it a beautiful sunrise. If they only knew what takes place in the stratosphere! The more colorful the cloud, the bigger the event.
This cloud’s spectacular, so MuseFest is sure to be, too. Her toes tingle in anticipation. I can’t wait!
The rainbow touches down, and she exits. The sheer scope of it makes her stop to take it all in. Exhibitor booths stretch as far as she can see. Floating down a crowded corridor, she pauses to get a glimpse beyond dozens of gathering muses, to where a salesman stands behind the counter.
He holds up a shiny javelin, clear as crystal burnished with mercury glass but glinting like steel. “With this sleek model – completely updated this year – you can get results in days, if not hours. It’s an investment in yourself that will pay off for your client, too.”
Excited chatter rolls through the crowd.
Uncertain, Melinda glances around. Gadgets aren’t really her thing. Their promises of instant inspiration don’t tempt her much, but maybe if she buys one, the Elders will realize she’s open to new methods. Hopefully they won’t think her too desperate, even if she is.
She flits to the end of the line and hides behind the two muses in front of her, hoping no one will recognize her before she can hide the gaudy thing in her silk bag.
****
Calliope sips her strawberry smoothie and issues a pleased sigh. “Great turnout this year.”
Rubbing her feet, Euterpe groans. “My feet are already sore.”
“You shouldn’t have stayed up so late dancing.”
Rolling her eyes, Euterpe smiles. “What are you trying to say, dear? That I’m too old? Please. I’ll dance circles around anyone here.”
Swirling the straw in her thick drink, Calliope titters. “For many a millennium to come, I’m sure. No, I just meant you should reserve some energy for the committee. We have much to accomplish.”
“Lighten up, honey. You’re still a muse. We have to stay current. Poetry may not have changed much since our heyday, but music expands into a new directions
all the time.” Euterpe leans closer. “Do you remember the rappers we worked on together?”
A twinkle lights Calliope’s green eyes. “Ooh yes. Now those were satisfying experiences.”
Euterpe’s tone turns husky. “In more ways than one. I’d barely finished with them when you stepped in. You slut.” With a bawdy laugh, she slaps Calliope’s wrist.
Pressing her fingers to her lips, Calliope stifles a scream of laughter. After gaining control of herself, she adds, “I’m nowhere near the slut that Erato is, but that’s par for the course. She is the muse of erotic poetry, after all.” She blows a breath and fans her face. “But my, the lengths she goes to.”
“Almost enough to bring a smile to stodgy old Melpomene’s face.” Euterpe nudges Calliope. Both had stopped inviting the Muse of Tragedy to parties eons ago. All Melpomene did was leave a wake of tears wherever she went. “I’m so glad the Committee segregated her apprentices from the rest of the festival.”
“We should have thought of it long ago.” Calliope peers through the milling crowd. “Oh look, isn’t that Melinda?”
Euterpe sets down her glass and follows her fellow committee member’s gaze. “Yes, but why is she acting so strange?”
Calliope furrows her brow. “The poor girl looks like she’s embarrassed, but why?”
“She may soon have good reason to be.”
“Nonsense. We’re only doing what’s best for her.” Calliope waves. “Yoo hoo, Melinda. Hello darling.”
“I hope Melinda shares your positive take on it,” Euterpe mutters, but forces a smile and waves at Melinda too.
****
After swiping her debit card, Melinda accepts the javelin with a shy smile, and then whips around to slide it into her silk bag. As she slides the long instrument into the tiny purse, Melinda’s thankful she spent a little extra on the bag. Cute yet functional, it’s proven to be one of her best investments. She hopes she never has to use this new gadget to find out if it’s worthwhile.
Drawing the strings tight, she sighs and glances around. Oh no. Calliope and Euterpe. They must have seen her buy the stupid gadget. She returns their waves. Guess I better face the music. Or at least, the Muse of Music, along with the Chief Muse.
She floats over and hugs each of them. When she hugs Euterpe, Melinda holds her breath. Over the last century, she’s developed a musty smell and had a brief stay in the Otherworldly Recovery Station. Everyone said it was bound to happen; she suffered an “episode” during the Sixties. Sex, drugs and rock and roll jumbled together, their individual influences indecipherable from one another. As an immortal, Euterpe survived its most turbulent times, though she took it hard when Jimi and Janis died. After such an intense decade, who could blame Euterpe for backing off her muse duties? The resulting Seventies’ pop music were less than memorable, but Euterpe made up for it in the Eighties, first with U2, and then the explosion of grunge rock. She no longer suffers flashbacks, but the musty smell lingers as a lasting reminder.
“How are you, Melinda dear?” Calliope’s shell necklace clinks against her twinkling star pin, signifying her as Committee Chair, as she leans away to assess Melinda with a smile.
“Very well, thanks. And you?” Melinda hopes they won’t interrogate her here at the smoothie bar, within earshot of her peers.
Calliope presses her lips together in a sad smile. “Are things any better?”
Melinda’s hope deflates, and she braces for the worse, especially from Euterpe. Her caustic wit is legendary. “My student and I are both working very hard and –”
Euterpe harrumphs. “Is that what you call it these days?” Her voice, raspy as any aged rocker’s, attracts the notice of some of her sister muses, who whisper behind cupped hands with knowing smiles. Melinda senses they think her a failure.
“We had high hopes for you, since you first learned to float. You graduated at the top of your class, but what good did that do?” Euterpe slurps her drink.
Calliope lays a hand on Melinda’s shoulder. “Pay no attention to the old grump.”
“Who are you calling ‘old’, you crone?” Euterpe arches a brow, but then bursts into laughter.
Melinda exchanges a glance with Calliope. Maybe those flashbacks haven’t stopped.
Calliope leans closer. “Be careful, sweetie. The Elders meet soon, and you don’t want to get a third warning.”
Clutching her silk bag, Melinda spoke softly but with confidence. “I plan to attend as many of the workshops as I can this weekend. I know I’ll learn new ideas to use on my student.” Her glimmer’s been a bit dull lately. Maybe the sessions will infuse some sheen and bring back its former brilliance.
Calliope’s wink has a conspiratorial air. “I’m sure you will.”
Melinda is startled when she notices a dark figure leaning against a booth across the aisle. He stands out like a charcoal etching against the background of soft orange and pink clouds – all harsh outlines and jagged features. Menacing yet compelling. He smiles, and lightning flashes from his dazzling white teeth, zinging through her.
She’s never seen a muse like him, but he must be one – otherwise, he wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t be stepping toward her with the intensity of a jaguar, a laserlight in his eye, teeth bared in a hungry smile.
This guy looks like a Vanity Fair ad: layered hair mussed just so, sandals with a jacket and worn jeans that hug his contours as if tailored for him. She runs her hand across her belly to quell the tiny pinpricks. She’s been so busy with work lately, she hasn’t had time to meet anyone new.
“Who’s that?” Her wings can’t beat fast enough to cool the heat rising from deep within.
Calliope turns to Euterpe, her whisper harsh. “What’s he doing here so soon?”
Euterpe narrows her eyes at Calliope as if in warning, but coolly deadpans, “A duende. They’ll let anyone in these days.”
Something’s amiss. Melinda’s stomach tightens at the silent exchange between the two Elders, but curiosity wins out. A duende? That explains it. She’s heard of them – said to be a combination of charm, magic, inspiration, fire, magnetism – and demon. Muses were warned at an early age not to take up with duendes. Tales of muse-duende liaisons were fraught with disaster, downfall and disgrace – for the muse. Duendes managed to carry on unscathed, though their methods of inspiration could be deadly for their students.
The thought vanishes faster than a flicker of sunlight on water as he moves toward her.
“Hello,” he says, in a voice whose timbre resounds within her.
“”Hi.” She stares, entranced by his dark beauty.
His smile envelops her. “I’m Devon.”
She extends her hand. “I’m Melinda. So nice to meet you.” Fire sparks in her fingers as he takes her hand in his, and then leans to kiss it. A tingling crawls up her arms and neck into her head, where it scrambles her thoughts.
His gaze lingers on her lips, and they quiver open like a rosebud blooming in sunlight.
His voice is like a hot wind in the desert. “The pleasure’s all mine.”
Oh, she doubts it. Trailing a ribbon through her fingers, she asks, “Are you here for the entire weekend?”
His glittering black eyes wander across her body, sending a shiver of molten heat to her core.
Oh, she’s in trouble. Deep trouble.
A smile flickers on his lips. “Now I wish I were. I have other business, unfortunately.”
Her voice wilts like a thirsty flower. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She clears her throat. “You know, because the sessions look so enticing this year.”
“Yes, enticing.” He leans closer, close enough to kiss her. The center of his eyes swirl like a gathering storm.
“Melinda,” Euterpe croaks from a distance. “The first session is beginning. You should get a good seat.”
When had the Elder Muses moved away? Melinda calls, “I’ll be right there.”
Devon steps backward, one sandaled foot at a time. “Enjoy MuseFest. Maybe I
’ll see you around.”
Yes, yes, please Zeus! “Maybe.” She scampers to catch up to Calliope and Euterpe, already at the tented area, where signs blink the schedule and announcements.
He’s still watching her. She can tell by the heat traveling up her thighs.
When it fades, she glances back. He’s gone.
The cloud feels so much emptier, though muses teem through the air.
****
By Sunday night, she can’t wait to return to work. Some of the MuseFest workshops have given her ideas she’s eager to try. Still, she’s sorry to leave. How stupid is she for not getting Devon’s direct wavelength connection? It had such an intense vibe. How will he ever find her?
You’re better off not seeing him again. Saddened by the thought, she hitches a ride back to her student on a passing cloud, erases some of its gloomy grey, and paints a glow on its edges. As she materializes in her student’s room in a puff of glitter, Melinda gasps at the sight of the familiar stranger.
“Devon.”
“Hello.” His voice is like the rumbling of thunder in the distance.
Her student shivers, a gleam in his eye, and mutters ahhh as if someone has opened a door to another place, an invitingly dangerous place. He scribbles some hasty notes.
“How did you find me?” Maybe he’d asked someone as he was leaving MuseFest, perhaps pointed her out in the crowd. Imagining it, happiness billows within her.
He shuffles closer, biting his lip. “The Elders.”
Melinda forces herself to take a step away from him. “They sent you?” Remembering Euterpe and Calliope’s odd behavior, ice forms around her heart. He hasn’t come to see her, then. At least, not the way she’d hoped.
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