Unfinished Muse

by R. L. Naquin

  No matter how many times I read the signs that were left, I couldn’t find one that said Muse. Twice, I slid my letter out and double checked it. It still said the same thing.

  Within minutes, everyone was gone except for Ben. He stood there looking at me and holding up his Human Resources sign. “You must be Wynter.”

  I nodded. “There’s nobody from the Muse department?”

  He gave me a reassuring smile. “My office wants to see you first. Didn’t you see my sticky note?”

  “I saw it. I just didn’t think it meant now.” My stomach felt like I’d swallowed a rock.

  Something about the expression on my face must have made him realize how worried I was. He lowered his sign and patted me on the shoulder. “Stop looking like you’re being sent to the principal’s office. My boss just wants to talk to you. Someone from Muse will come get you from HR and take you where you need to go.”

  I readjusted my purse on my shoulder. “But why me? What do they need to talk to me about?”

  Ben sighed. “Honestly, nobody told me. But I promise.” He crossed his heart. “Nobody’s going to yell at you or anything. Will you just come with me?”

  I clutched my paperwork against my chest. “Let’s get it over with, then.”

  Ben led me out the door and through a maze of hallways and corridors. After a few turns, I suspected we were following a metallic blue line embedded in the marble floor. When we arrived at a door marked Mortal Resources, Ben guided me in, then turned left toward a second door that said Human Resources. Across the hall, the frosted glass on the door said Non-human Resources.

  We stepped out of the hallway as a woman came out the other door holding a pile of folders. Half a woman, anyway. The other half, from the waist down, was the back end of a bright orange snake with large, black diamond shapes in scaly rows.

  I turned away, trying to keep my face neutral and not show how freaked out I was.

  Snake hair. Snake bodies. I’m going to lose my shit if my new boss has a snake head. That’s where I draw the line, folks.

  Ben took me through a room where a few perfectly normal-looking people waited, then stopped in front of another door.

  He gave a sharp knock, turned the knob, and stuck his head inside. “You busy? I brought Wynter Greene.”

  A woman’s voice drifted out. “No, I’ve got a minute. Thanks, Ben. Send her in.”

  Ben turned and gave me an encouraging smile. “This is where I leave you. Ms. Eunomia will get you all sorted out.” He patted my shoulder. “Good luck!”

  My heart sank as I watched him march back the way we came. I was on my own.

  I pushed the door open and peered into office.

  A dark-haired woman with an olive complexion waved me forward. “Come in. Come in. Shut it behind you and have a seat, Wynter.”

  I slid into the chair across the desk from her and waited while her long, blue-polished nails clacked on a keyboard. After a moment, she stopped and gave me a long look.

  I twitched in my seat. Her gaze felt like a prodding finger.

  “So,” she said. “You’ve made it through training and orientation. You got your assignment okay?” She glanced at the envelope I still clutched against my chest.

  I nodded. “Yes. The Muse department.” I hesitated, then sat up straighter. “Did I do something wrong?”

  Again, she fixed me with a long, prodding look. “Wynter, why were you in the Lost orientation group?”

  I frowned. “Lost?” Had I been in the wrong room all week? “They told me to follow the line to Thebes. Was that wrong?” My cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Why didn’t Mrs. Moros kick me out?”

  Ms. Eunomia opened a file in front of her, flipped through the pages, then folded her hands over them on her desk. She cleared her throat. “Wynter, on your application, you left the field blank where it asks for your father’s name. Can you tell me who that is?”

  In any other HR office, I’d have pitched a fit over the question. Here, I was mortified at not having an answer. My throat tightened, which made my voice sound small. “I have no idea. My mother won’t tell me the truth.”

  She took a deep breath. “Ah. That explains so much. Well then.” She pressed and held a button on her telephone. “Milly, would you call and ask the Muse department to send an escort for Wynter, please?” She released the button.

  A voice blasted out of the phone’s speaker. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ms. Eunomia tilted her head and gave me a smile that felt quite a bit like pity. “Let me explain what’s going on.”

  I gave her a slow nod. “Okay.”

  “There are two ways to join us here at Mount Olympus. You can manage your life so poorly that you trigger the Welcome Package that’s attached to even the smallest percentage of divine or heroic blood.”

  I sighed. “Like I did.”

  “Well, yes.” She shrugged. “It happens. A lot. That’s very common with human/god hybrids. God blood makes for volatile personalities, especially when the blood is diluted by generations of humanity.” She paused and took a sip of her coffee. “The other way is to come in as a Legacy. A person who’s a direct descendent of a god or hero within no more than three generations can and should be brought in by their divine or heroic parent or grandparent to participate in their heritage.”

  I loosened my grip on my envelope and leaned forward. “Okay. So, where do those people go?”

  She set her coffee down. “Legacies go through a single day of orientation, receive their job assignments, and go to their new departments.”

  I leaned back in my seat, my aching muscles reminding me not to get too comfortable. “That must be nice.”

  “Yes,” she said, blinking at me. “It would have been very nice for you, had your father been able to bring you directly here. We tested your DNA, as we do with each new hire. You’re a first generation mortal, Wynter.”

  My eyes widened, and my mouth opened and closed like a gasping fish out of water. “I’m the daughter of a god?” My mother was in so much trouble. “Who is he? Do I have powers? Does that make me…” I paused, grasping for the word. “A demigod?”

  Ms. Eunomia chuckled. “Demigods went out of style centuries ago, I’m afraid. You’re a regular human. The test results didn’t indicate anything out of the ordinary.” Her expression sobered. “The results couldn’t tell us who your father is, either. That’s between you and your mother.” She closed my file and gave me a sad look. “And until she does, I can’t change the status on your file.”

  “Does it matter? I’ve already been through training hell.” My left calf shot a twinge of pain up my leg as a reminder.

  She fixed me with a serious stare. “Legacies are a higher pay grade, receive better benefits, and have access to the tower cafeteria.” She paused. “I’m sure you’ll do fine in your new department, so I probably shouldn’t mention this, but Legacies who do poorly are simply transferred to a new department to try again.”

  My mouth went dry. “What about someone like me? What if I don’t do well?”

  “Without an identified god, you’re subject to the same rules as the Lost. Job failure would result in being transferred to the Underworld.”

  I had no time to react to that bit of encouraging news before someone knocked on the door, then opened it without waiting for an answer. A girl with short, dark curls, sea-green eyes, and an infectious smile bounced into the office. “Are you done? Can we have her yet?”

  Ms. Eunomia smiled. “Wynter, this is Trina. She’ll take you to your department and help you get around for the next few days.”

  I rose, giving the new girl a shy smile. “Hi.”

  She grinned. “Yay!” She threaded her arm through mine. “You’re going to love it with us.” She waved over her shoulder and tugged me out the door. “Bye, Ms. Eunomia.”

  I waved, too. It seemed expected. “Um, thanks.”

  Ms. Eunomia didn’t wave back. “Wynter?”

  I paused in the doorway. “Yes
?”

  “Talk to your mother again.” Her expression was serious. “The truth could make a world of difference.”

  Chapter 7

  I’d thought Jilly was perky. Trina made her look sluggish and pessimistic in comparison.

  The energy she expended pulling me down the hall was nothing compared to what she spent talking and waving her arms around.

  “Chelsea, hey!” She didn’t slow as we passed a woman with bat wings who was hunched over a drinking fountain with a large wrench. “Thanks for fixing that. It’s been down all week.” She craned her neck to look back over her shoulder after we’d gone by. “You’re awesome!” She gave a little wave.

  Chelsea appeared unimpressed.

  We turned a corner, and the hall spit us out into the atrium that seemed to serve as the hub for getting from one place to another. Trina pointed out the highlights as we crossed to the elevator. I had trouble following half of what she said, since she spoke in a steady stream with few pauses for breath.

  “…is the door you came in, and on the other side is the exit to the rest of Mount Olympus, where the gods and heroes and non-humans live and shop and play. I suppose you’ve already met Patrice. Hi Patrice!” She shot her arm up in a wild wave, which Patrice completely ignored. “The glass overhead is made from Egyptian sand struck by Zeus’s lightening, and the fretwork around it was made by Hephaestus himself in his forge. The dome is indestructible.” She pulled me toward a bank of elevators, pressed the up button and grinned at me. “We’re on the fifth floor.”

  I blinked. Was it my turn to talk? I wasn’t sure. I gave it a try. “How long have you worked here?” That seemed like a safe enough question.

  “About six months. My mother used to bring me in on her days off when I was a kid, so I already knew a lot of the history and how to get around. You’ll pick it up pretty fast, though. Once you get the hang of which colored line to follow, it’s all—”

  She stopped midsentence as the doors slid open. A tall guy with dark skin and a goatee stood with his hands folded in front of him, as if he were military and had been told to stand at ease.

  He gave a quick nod of his head. “Trina.”

  Trina pressed her lips together in a tight line. “Ian.”

  We stepped inside and watched the doors slide shut.

  “Still the fifth floor?” Ian pressed the button, not waiting for an answer.

  “Thank you,” I said. Well, somebody needed to say it.

  Trina stood stiff and straight, staring at the crack between the elevator doors.

  The elevator dinged at the fifth floor. Trina marched out, and I followed her. Her heels tapped on the marble floor in the silence until the elevator doors whooshed closed.

  She stopped and leaned her back against the nearest wall. “Oh, gods, that was so awkward. I am so sorry you had to see that, Wynter.”

  I frowned. “See what, exactly? Who was that?”

  She sighed. “That was my ex, Ian. Really ugly breakup. Did you see how he looked at me when the doors opened?” Her eyes grew large, and her shoulders slumped with exaggerated emotion. “So awkward.”

  He’d seemed polite and normal to me, but I wasn’t always the best at reading people. Still, I suspected Trina read a lot more into the situation than what had really happened.

  She took a few moments to gather herself together, then pushed away from the wall. “Okay.” She smoothed her hands over her tight green skirt. “I’m better. Let’s move on.”

  Two corners, a long, carpeted hallway, and a story about how Trina once helped the janitorial department to water all the plants on this floor for an entire week, and we found ourselves in front of a door with frosted glass painted in gold letters that said Muse Department.

  My stomach knotted as we stepped inside to meet my future.

  I nearly turned around and walked out once I saw my new office. I’d expected…oh, I don’t know. Something different. Something lovely and spacious, filled with a magical aura fit for something as mystical as a room full of Muses.

  What I found instead was a cubicle farm.

  My lower lip quivered as Trina led me to a desk not far from the door. I relaxed my face to erase what was likely the petulant look of a disappointed child. Showing disappointment at this early stage wasn’t going to win me any brownie points.

  The truth of having signed a three-year contract slapped me in the face as I sat in my new gray swivel chair surrounded by half-walls to keep me separated from the rest of the room. I half-expected they’d hand me a headset and ask me to start taking calls.

  I’d quit my call center job for no reason. I was right back where I’d started.

  Trina patted me on the shoulder, her voice excited. “You stay here for a sec. I’ll go tell the boss lady you’re finally here.”

  She did a little bounce on the balls of her feet, then took off between the rows of cubicles.

  I spun the chair to face my new desk. It was pretty sparse. A black phone with lots of buttons. A desktop computer, currently running a screensaver of a cartoon fish tank. A spinning office supply holder containing one blue pen, two yellow highlighters, and an eraser. A stack of trays for paperwork. I touched the surface of the desk, and my fingers came away sticky.

  I sighed. So, this was going to be my new life. Not a lot different from my old one. Possibly worse, since the PC seemed to be running on decade-old software.

  Behind me, a voice like tinkling bells laughed, then called out to me. “Wynter, I’m so glad you’re finally here. We’ve been waiting anxiously all week for you.”

  I spun around and blinked. The voice didn’t fit the person standing in front of me. The voice was melodious and sweet. It should’ve belonged to a graceful young woman in diaphanous clothing—a woman who did pirouettes for no reason, frolicked in the forest, and wore garlands of flowers that matched her violet eyes.

  It seemed nothing in this office would turn out as expected.

  The short, sturdy woman thrust a calloused hand toward me. “I’m Polly. Want to follow me to my office? We’ll get your paperwork all sorted and get to know each other.”

  It wasn’t that Polly was ugly or even unattractive. She simply didn’t match her voice. She had thick, dark eyebrows and gray eyes, her mouth was a little asymmetrical, which gave her a lopsided smile, and her nose had a bump, like she’d recently taken off a tight pair of glasses.

  She did not look like one who frolicked.

  I shook her hand and matched her tight grip. Neither of us was a limp shaker.

  As I followed Polly to her office through the maze of cubicles, three heads popped up above the barriers to watch us. Trina was one of them, and she waved her hand so hard I thought it might fly off. I smiled and waved back.

  Polly closed her office door behind us. “Have a seat.” Her lovely, lilting voice soothed my jangled nerves. The office smelled like lilacs and had a quiet, calming feel.

  I relaxed into the plush seat opposite hers. “Thanks.”

  Her eyes turned up at the corners, making smile creases, and she handed me a thick folder. “Here. Your insurance, 401k, and benefits package are in there. We’ll fill that out in here, and the rest of the package will give you an idea of what we’re about here. When we’re done chatting, I’ll send you out with one of the girls for a ride-along so you can see how an inspiration is created. Sound good?”

  I nodded, feeling the weight of the folder she’d given me. A lot of reading was ahead of me. “Sounds great.” It didn’t sound great. It sounded terrifying, and I wasn’t sure why. Benefits and 401Ks and ride-alongs. I was beginning to suspect I’d landed in a real job.

  I might be expected to care about my work.

  I thumbed through the stack of papers and pulled out the top section, stuck together with a giant clip. Everything in it was paperwork for me to fill out. The rest—a much larger stack—looked like an unbound departmental handbook. Dress codes, rules, parking information.

  A lot of info to take in.
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  Polly guided me through the paperwork, then deposited me back at my new desk to read for a bit. Honestly, I didn’t understand a damn word of what I read. The dress code section didn’t even touch on how an outfit should look. It rambled on for several paragraphs about which types of material were compatible with Transmutational Thought Transference Bubbles and didn’t stain easily.

  The parking rules talked about radiuses and angles of approach. That section also specified that I wasn’t allowed to have personalized plates on my car, and blue or brown were the preferred vehicle colors this year. I shrugged that one off. If they wanted my silver Honda to change color, they’d have to pay for it themselves. Too bad about the vanity plate though. “I MUZ U” would have been hilarious, even if I were the only one who got it.

  An hour and a half later, I realized I was still sitting there reading. I scrounged a box of raisins and a protein bar from the bottom of my purse, since no one had said anything about lunch. It wasn’t ideal, but it was probably better than whatever the snake lady was serving in the cafeteria.

  Plus, it gave me a chance to reread the section on pet management. In fact, I read it three times and still didn’t understand what Beastie Discombobulator Dust did, exactly.

  The more I read, the more I suspected my initial assessment that I’d landed a desk position was wrong. What little I understood from the handbook indicated I was in for a field job. I supposed that made sense, since I was supposed to be a Muse, but I still wasn’t clear on where the clients came from or how the job was done.

  I sighed and closed the folder, then tapped it against the desk to tidy the papers. I had a lot of learning ahead of me. I wouldn’t be able to half-ass this the way I’d done at the call center. Or the bank. Or the dry cleaner.

  A hand dropped to my shoulder, and I jumped. Spinning around, I found Polly standing behind me.

  “Ready?”

  I nodded, though I wasn’t entirely sure if I was ready for anything. “Sure.”

  She gave me a lopsided smile. “You look terrified, Wynter. This will be fun. Trust me.”

  A gangly redhead in outrageously tall high heels appeared behind Polly. She eyed me up and down as if I were last year’s coat hanging from a clearance rack. A brief look of distaste crossed her face before she settled on a polite smile. “Hey.”