Muse Unexpected

by V. C. Birlidis

  “No, they don’t usually open this room for the introduction of a new Muse into a Vasilikós. However, it is my understanding your introduction into this Vasilikós is very different.”

  “Different?” Sophie said, concerned about what was going to happen during this introduction. What have I gotten myself into?

  “Your grandmother is head of this Vasilikós and very powerful. I’m guessing the introduction of her granddaughter into our world is a big event. That’s all.”

  As they exited the room, several very short men and women walked in, carrying numerous boxes.

  “Hurry up, Julia.” The older woman at the front bellowed, her Irish accent about as thick as her tumbled, faded cinnamon curls. “We haven’t got all dae and Georgia will be expectin us to be a lot farther along than we are. Malcolm. Will you stop dawdling or you’ll be put back to catacombs duty and ya know how ya hate spiders. Oh. Hallo, Angela.” The woman walked toward the two girls while she removed a dishtowel to wipe her hands. A small pipe was tucked into a snugly tied headscarf.

  “Hi, Winnie,” Angela responded.

  At first Sophie thought her eyes must be playing tricks on her, but when the woman came closer she realized she couldn’t be any taller than four feet. Winnie had a ruddy complexion with so many freckles it would have been impossible to count them, a bulbous nose and golden eyes. One ear poked out from underneath her kerchief and the top of it came to a point. Her smile and attitude were both intoxicating and infectious, and Sophie couldn’t help but smile almost to the point of laughing.

  “Glory be to God in the highest. You must be Sophia, Callie’s girl.” She beamed at Sophie and then frowned. “Alistair. How many times must I tell you you’ll be needin’ the tall ladder to get those drop cloths down?”

  The young boy she was yelling at, who was even shorter then she was, carried a small step stool and dropped it in the doorway with a loud clatter. He left.

  “Sometimes I wonder if he even has a brain in his head. If he weren’t my sister Mary’s son…” her voice trailed off, then quicker than a blink, changed her attitude. “Ah, Sophie, look at you. The spitting image of your mother, although I suspect we’ve got a wee bit of your father in you. Yes, the smile. Your smile is like your father’s. I remember when I first saw him; it was about a fortnight before your parents met for the first time. So handsome. Had your mother not run away with him, I would have had him for myself.” Winnie winked and burst into a roaring wave of laughter.

  Sophie was surprised how loud such a little person could be.

  “So sorry to hear of his passin’. I know both you and your mum loved him very much. He was always such a kind soul, granted I only ever saw him for the briefest of moments. He would come and meet with Georgia at least once a season.”

  Sophie’s eyes widened. “Once a season? I thought Georgia hated my father.”

  Winnie paused. “Oh, but there I go, running on and on. Forgive me, dear heart. Are you enjoyin’ your new home? I run the household for Georgia. My name is Winifred, but you can call me Winnie. If there is anythin” Winnie stopped a moment to turn her attention to the returning Alistair, who wasn’t alone. A tall, dark-haired boy followed him into the room; the heavy wooden ladder slung over the boy’s left shoulder. He carried it with little effort then removed it off his shoulder and placed it down.

  “Bennett. There you are,” Winnie said. “You’re such a luv. Thank you so much for bringing the ladder. Alistair, how could you bother Bennett, considerin’ the work he has in the garden and on the grounds?”

  Sophie knew she shouldn’t stare, but she couldn’t help herself. Her heart thumped in her chest and she thought she would have to remind herself to breathe.

  Bennett wore a T-shirt that clung to his body like a second skin, its faded and cracked message about drinking some sort of Greek brand orange soda.

  Oh my God. He’s gorgeous. He needs a haircut. No, it curls so cute in the back and around his ears. It’s perfect.

  He stood well over six and a half feet tall and had the type of body that never had seen the inside of a gym but was naturally muscular. Well-defined muscles formed broad shoulders connected to an equally muscular back, forming the v-shape she knew many movie stars had paid ridiculous amounts of money to achieve.

  Bennett stretched his back, the movement lifting his shirt to expose a defined six-pack. Apparently embarrassed by the exposure, he pulled his shirt down. He wore torn grass and dirt-stained cargo shorts that were a size too big. They balanced on his hipbones and showed the waistband of his white boxers. Sophie knew any Ohioan would say he possessed the classic corn-fed farmer build.

  His mannerisms told Sophie that Bennett was the kind of person who didn’t know he was good-looking and his humility made him even more irresistible to her. He had a shy smile and as he listened to some additional instructions from Winnie, his eyes showed a seriousness that wasn’t brooding but very intense.

  When Winnie asked him a question, the boy responded with his head held tilted down, another sign of humility, and he knelt so that Winnie could give him a peck on his cheek.

  God, what I would give for a single kiss.

  Bennett glanced toward Sophie and Angela, and gave both girls a quirky, crooked smile. Angela raised her hand to wave him over.

  Her heart banged against her ribcage and she was sure it would burst out of her body. She wanted to die because she was sure she was a mess and pushed some hair away from her face. With a quick but sincere prayer she hoped she didn’t have a piece of bacon in her teeth or, even worse, morning breath.

  Bennett raised his large hand in an absentminded wave.

  “Well.” Winnie shouted beside him, pushing him toward the girls. “Don’t just stand there. Let me introduce you to Sophie, Callie’s daughter.”

  Bennett had started to walk over but stopped dead in his tracks the moment the words ‘Callie’s daughter’ left Winnie’s mouth, and Sophie watched his laidback demeanor change.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I have some tasks I need to address,” Bennett said, his voice deep and monotone, betraying the slightest Scottish lilt. Without another word, Bennett exited the room, leaving an awkward silence.

  A feverish blush rose in Sophie’s cheeks.

  Move. You’re standing here, grinning like an idiot. I have never been so attracted to someone and he blew me off. What the hell?

  “Don’t take it to heart, darlin’. Bennett is a bit shy.” Winnie said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to be gettin' back to the cleaning. I’ve got so much to do and so little time to get it done,” Winnie said, with an obvious forced cheeriness. She resumed her work, calling back over her shoulder. “Remember dear, if you need anythin’, you let me know. Pick up the phone and ask for me. Abigail. Will you ever stop dawdling around? Take those cushions out to the veranda and give them a good shake and beating. Oh, for the love of Jesus, Joseph and Mary. If you drop a single crystal from that chandelier, Alistair, Georgia will have your hide and that’s after I get through with you.”

  Two of Winnie’s assistants escorted them from the room, closing the doors to the ballroom with a soft click. Winnie’s voice, although muffled, boomed orders as the sound of tiny feet ran in different directions.

  “Is she a hobbit?” Sophie asked. She was hoping to ask about Bennett first, but didn’t want to sound too obvious and she didn’t know if Angela and Bennett were more than friends.

  “You’ve been reading too much J.R.R. Tolkien. However, she is a Hob, which is a sort of Hobgoblin. Winnie is from a clan of Hobs found on the Coasts of Ireland. They dwell in grand houses like this one, concerning themselves with the inner workings of it. To them, there is great honor given to the Hob who serves a household, no matter how small or large. Some Hobs are content being invisible and remain invisible in the outside world. Something broken one day and fixed another, without explanation, is the work of a hidden Hob. For Winnie, serving a Vasilikós, well, it’s a life-long dream. Although, you should know h
aving a Hob can be either a blessing or curse. A happy Hob means a happy house. However, those who insult and abuse a Hob often find them to be a curse because an ill-tempered Hob will not rest until complete misery befalls the owner and several generations after them.”

  “What about Bennett—” Sophie broached the subject, as the two girls took another turn and walked up a flight of stairs, only to immediately take another staircase down, but somehow ending up on a different floor.

  “Bennett is a whole other story. He’s not fond of Muses.”

  “Oh. Why?” she said, biting her lower lip.

  “Sophie, it’s not for me to say. If you want to know, you’ll have to ask him yourself. We’ll stop in here for a second. This is one of Georgia’s crowning glories. The Muse Library has a copy of each and every book ever written, including items written before books were even invented. The scroll wing is off to your left and there is a whole attached building dedicated to hieroglyphics beyond it. It makes the Vatican’s archives look like a local library branch.”

  To Sophie, the room was breathtaking. Domed ceilings soared high and made her memories of the Library of Congress pale in size and opulence. The room they stood in was circular with numerous alcoves and hallways attached to equally large or even larger rooms, offices and meeting rooms. Ornate plasterwork over the alcoves showcased reclining maidens reading scrolls and cherubs in midflight. If walls existed, Sophie couldn’t see them because every inch of wall was covered with books. In a puzzle-like movement, bookshelves folded into other bookshelves, then slid over even more bookcases, which then slid to the next lower or higher floor. Iron, marble and wood balconies attached to walkways crisscrossed throughout the height of the room, creating a lattice pattern and forming a focal point for the gold-leafed dome, which had a center mural of the stars, sun and moon.

  Sophie’s thoughts were interrupted as a woman on one of the higher balconies stopped shelving books and slammed one onto the railing in front of her. She made a loud shushing sound that drifted down to the two girls.

  “Is she for real?” Sophie laughed, turning to look at Angela and not concerned at the volume of her voice. “Who is tha?”

  Another loud shush interrupted Sophie, followed by the sound of the woman leaping onto the railing of the balcony, which seemed strange to Sophie. How the woman could keep her balance and not get sick from looking down from such a height, seemed impossible to Sophie, not to mention the woman was still holding several books Sophie assumed she had meant to shelve.

  Before Sophie could ask Angela what the woman was doing, the woman threw the books down and hurled herself away from the balcony and into the air. She dived straight down, her hair flowing behind her and the material of her long, heavy gown flapping in all directions. The woman’s loose sleeves slid backward, exposing dark, bluish skin. Sophie realized the woman had feathers as wings erupted from her forearms and formed along the back of her arms, connecting to the mid-section of her back. Sophie winced, thinking she was about to witness the woman’s guts splattering all over the place, when, the woman changed the direction of her body midair by moving her arms and flapped her wings as she descended to the ground.

  Sophie’s mouth hung open. The woman glared at the two girls as she reconstructed her makeshift beehive hairdo, securing it with two black lacquered chopsticks. The feathers that had appeared as she took flight smoothed back into place. The woman towered over the two girls.

  Sophie glanced down and noticed the woman’s dress had gathered in places, exposing her legs. Once again, she found herself staring, but couldn’t help herself because the woman’s legs were covered in the same bluish feathers and instead of feet the woman had razor sharp talons.

  The nametag on the woman’s dress had a symbol, which Sophie assumed must be associated with the Vasilikós, and below the symbol was the woman’s name, ‘Tammy.’

  “This is a library, ladies. The library of the Greek and Italian Vasilikós,” Tammy said with a rich Louisiana accent.

  Tammy had amber eyes with specks of shimmering deep red. She was clearly agitated, drumming her talons on the floor much the same way a person would absentmindedly drum their fingers.

  “We have rules in the library and ladies, those rules include complete silence. The only sounds I should be hearing are the occasional turning of pages, a polite but extremely muffled cough and the respectful yet hesitant steps of someone getting up to remove or replace a book on the correct shelf. Now Angela, did I mention anywhere in this description a casual conversation taking place in rude, loud tones?” Tammy took two steps closer to Angela, her talons clicking on the floor.

  “No, ma’am,” Angela answered back, her clipped New England accent showing both her embarrassment laced with a quiet fury.

  “Very good. And who, may I ask, are you?” Tammy asked Sophie, with a superior smirk. “Clearly you are not of this Vasilikós. Everyone who visits or resides here is given The Book of Vasilikós Rules and Regulations on a personal eTablet. Chapter 8 provides clear and concise library guidelines, including library etiquette.”

  “Tammy, allow me the pleasure of introducing you to Sophia Drago. Daughter of Callie, Muse to this Vasilikós, Granddaughter to Georgia, Grand Duchess and Leader of The Greek and Italian Vasilikós of Muse,” Angela said.

  “Yes….” Tammy said, straightening her back to reach her full height. “Georgia was kind enough to let everyone in the Vasilikós know of Sophia’s arrival.” Tammy scrutinized Sophie. “Understand, young Muse, who you are will warrant no special treatment in this Vasilikós.”

  Without pausing, Tammy grabbed several books off the table closest to her and sprang into the air.

  Sophie stood for a second and then exited the library, walking back in the direction they’d been going.

  “Well,” Sophie said as soon as Angela had caught up with her. “Excellent first impression. I’m assuming she is not a Hob, although if she were, several generations of my family and I would be in big trouble.”

  “Tammy’s the head librarian,” Angela said. “Sorry, I mean she is a North American Harpy. I believe she is part of the Dupre Clan. They lived deep in the wetlands of Louisiana.”

  “We have a Harpy as a librarian?”

  “Well, if you want the best to organize your library, you would be hard pressed not to select a Harpy. That is, if you can ever find one.”

  Sophie wondered where Georgia had found a Harpy, but then guessed a person didn’t become a Grand Poobah or whatever she was by not being resourceful.

  They continued their walking tour; eventually reaching the morning room and, much to Sophie’s relief, breakfast.

  ***

  Life continued similarly for the following two weeks, Angela continuing to discuss the next element of the Vasilikós and Sophie continuing to wonder if she would ever run into Bennett.

  “Totally MIA,” Sophie said to herself several times.

  Her mother continued to be self-absorbed in whatever she was doing and always kept their interactions to simple topics—nothing requiring any thought or, for the most part, any real involvement. A distance was growing between them, and although she knew her mother could be annoying, nagging and sometimes embarrassing, she also had thought she could always count on feeling a mother/daughter closeness with Callie. It had never failed to be comforting to her. Now, everything was different, which was a fact Sophie often repeated to herself. When she asked her mother about the graffiti painted on the exterior Vasilikós’ garden walls -- it was the word “Nothos”—her mother became irritated and flustered, and left the room. Whatever the word meant, the topic of “Nothos” was off limits.

  It was the same with Angela. They had discussions about the Vasilikós, discussions about the catacombs, discussions about the attic, and they had discussions about the gardens, although once again, to Sophie’s disappointment, Bennett was always kept off the topic list, along with the topic of the word “Nothos.”

  The impact of her first Bennett interaction
faded and he became an afterthought. The only good thing from the painfully polite situation she was experiencing was the fact her demanding and, for the most part, horrible grandmother had kept her distance.

  Now that’s a distance I can embrace. Until the loneliness became unbearable and she found herself wishing her grandmother would at least nag or yell at her. The silence, the avoidance and the isolation were bad enough, but the thought piercing her mind over and over again was she was being kept in the dark.

  Chapter 19

  Penny was frustrated. Her feet and back hurt, and she had fallen numerous times. She had stopped to rest and closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the feeling of the cool wind against her face. She stretched her back and stood up again, looking around. She stood on the edge of a rocky cliff, eyeing the sturdy rope bridge that lay in front of her.

  I trust that bridge about as far as I could throw Hades himself. She focused her eyes on the bridge and concentrated. Nothing happened and she put both hands on her hips and tapped her right foot.

  I am out of practice. I know the bridge is enchanted and I can’t seem to remove the spell.

  She continued to concentrate, as a dull throbbing began in the center of her forehead. Sweat poured down her face.

  “This is ludicrous,” she said in frustration, turning her back on the bridge. Taking a few deep breaths she cleared her mind. She began twirling in place, allowing her arms to swing in the air. The energy was building inside her again. When she knew the time was right, she thrust her arms upward, sending the energy burst towards the sky. The wind died away as a rumble exploded in the sky. A sudden gust of wind came from the north and swept across the bridge, blowing away the covering enchantment. What had appeared to be a sturdy bridge was now rotten, with one side almost completely broken away and walking planks that she was sure they would have trouble holding the weight of a bird.

  “Tricky, tricky,” she said in a sing-song voice and laughed. “Dear old Haddie, always one for a good practical joke, not that I was ever ignorant enough to fall for any of them.”