I Got Some Bad Muse For You

by Michael Angel

  The top layer of the stone crumbled. With a groan, the tie line swung free. The tattered end of the heavy ironwood rope smashed into the tower’s inside wall. It ground the closest shelf into glass shards and kindling.

  The wind howled in triumph and changed direction. The glowing length of rope, its end now dotted with nubs of sharp rock, swung towards Muriel like a giant mace. She ducked and felt it whistle past. The wall behind her shuddered with the impact.

  Muriel didn’t hesitate. She ran for the stairwell, pausing only to yank Breena from her hiding place. The feline hissed and fought her, but she held tightly on to her pet and took the steps three at a time.

  She ran downstairs, listening as the tie line scraped against the tower’s gears and chains on its way out the open roof hatch. Muriel threw open the front door and turned to look at the sky.

  More spinning rings of lightning sparked and crashed overhead. Breena squirmed out of her arms. Without a look back, the splashcat dashed to the water’s edge and plunged beneath the roiling waves.

  Zander’s skyboat continued its ascent. It rose above the level of the lightning storm shrinking in the distance to the size of a fingernail. Then a sunflower seed. Then a pinhead-sized poppy seed. She strained her eyes until she could barely see the vessel.

  Muriel staggered back inside as the sky began to spit rain. Half-panicked, she leafed desperately through her brother’s books until she swept them off the table with an angry shout.

  “Useless! They make no sense!” she cried in frustration. She ran up a level to her study and leaned her head against the coolness of the stone wall.

  Calm, calm! she told herself over and over again. Zander’s alive. His boat wouldn’t stay upright in this high wind unless his will made it so.

  She turned to rest her hands on the smooth surface of her writing desk. The massive piece of furniture had been carved out of a single chunk of wood, a substance nigh impossible to find within her country’s borders.

  But what rested on top of the desk was Melusian through and through. A set of mirrors, each delicately balanced upon copper frames and bases, glowed with images, barely heard sounds, or strange text from other worlds.

  Her hand moved towards the mirror that emitted the faint murmur of a busy conversation. She stopped. No, there was nothing that the mayor could do. No one in Melusia had Zander’s wizardly knowledge, let alone his power.

  But elsewhere? Who would listen? Who would understand?

  And would they come?

  Muriel looked at the mirror with the strange glowing text. The characters in the top row dissolved, and then reassembled at the bottom in her native tongue. She’d been following this contact for a while now.

  It told her of a woman who had near-limitless magical power.

  Who had the heart and courage of a hero.

  Who was moved by compassion, and the need to uphold the right.

  “Yes. That’s who can help us,” Muriel said. She set her jaw and reached out to touch the words in the mirror as a last grim thought crossed her mind.

  I only pray that you’re as good as the tales say you are.

  Chapter Two

  Jason Summer walked into the bright, open space of his study with a cell phone held awkwardly between his ear and shoulder. The screen door shut behind him with a bang as he kicked off his shiny calfskin loafers. The voice on the phone buzzed in his ear as he padded across the room’s handmade Afghan rug.

  He stopped in front of the drafting table. A blown-up color printout, its garish surface still wet with ink, sat propped on the slanted teakwood surface. His lips pursed in distaste.

  “I don’t really care how much time the graphics department spent on it,” Jason said curtly. “The tag line is just idiotic, Nora.”

  “It’s simple, it’s sweet, and it makes the point,” Nora replied. Jason could practically see his editor pinching the bridge of her nose, trying to stave off the headache. ”I don’t see your problem.”

  “It’s the same problem as the time before.”

  “The time before, I wasn’t even in New York.”

  “How could I forget?” Jason resumed his pacing and ran a hand through his short, rust-colored hair. “You’re the only person in that office who actually likes to spend your vacation crawling around under the ground.”

  “That’s right, I enjoy caving. And you know why? Because it’s one of the few places that you can’t reach me on a cell phone, Mister Summer.”

  Jason snorted and flopped down in his chair. The leather creaked as he leaned back and propped his feet on the executive-sized desk. He took a deep breath and looked out the bay window. Midmorning sunshine gilded the lawn and the purple-green rows of grapevines in the vineyard beyond.

  “Just tell them to change it. I mean, it’s not even accurate, for god’s sake. We could lose sales if a reader can’t figure out if my last name has an ‘S’ at the end or not.”

  “Is that ‘we’ the publisher? Or is this the ‘royal’ we?”

  Before he could reply, the snarling rumble of a Corvette’s engine came from outside. Jason heard the car pull up the driveway and come to a stop. The distant sound of doors opening and closing, and then the tapping of steps on the house’s hardwood floor.

  “Well now, it looks like the Mage of the Rose approaches,” Jason said with a grin, as a young woman in black suede boots, charcoal-colored jeans and silk top entered. She walked through the arched stucco entry and carefully hung the car keys on a wall hook. “Tell the graphics department that she’ll turn them into toads if they don’t change the ad to something better than ‘Summer’s gonna be hot!’”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Ask them how they like their flies served. Check with you tomorrow.” A groan registered on the line all the way from Manhattan as Jason hung up. He shook his head ruefully. “Glad you’re back, Sonja. I’ve been on the phone for the last half-hour correcting the latest screw-up.”

  “Which Jason did they get this time? The good cop or the bad one?” Sonja asked. She absently brushed one caramel lock off her forehead as she sorted through the packet of envelopes in her hand.

  “They got the good one, at least for the moment. Check out what they sent me today.”

  Sonja set the mail down, and then came over to peer at the publisher’s trade ad. Below the tag line lay a trio of book covers, laid out over a background of erupting volcanoes.

  The first cover featured a stunning brunette throwing lightning bolts from a golden staff. The second showed her fighting off a pack of dire wolves while wearing a revealing chainmail bikini. On the last, she sprawled seductively on a fur rug with a come-hither look in her light green eyes.

  Jason came over and put his arms gently about Sonja’s waist. “What do you think?”

  “That I’m going to get fat if I keep seeing this much cheesecake,” Sonja said wryly. “I appreciate the soft-soap treatment, but I don’t think the woman on those covers looks anything like me. I don’t wear a D-cup, for starters. And I don’t go around showing that much skin.”

  “You’re right about one thing. You’re a hell of a lot better looking than those covers.”

  “Flatterer.” She turned in his arms to face him.

  “Truth-teller.” He brought one hand up and ran it along the smooth contour of her chin. “Now, as for showing skin, we could always head upstairs…”

  “Mmm…I like the idea,” Sonja said, and she leaned forward, offering up her berry-colored lips. The heat was palpable between them as they kissed. She shook a finger at him when they broke apart. “After you get those pages done for the day. Enough messing around with the art department. You’ve got a deadline to meet.”

  “Let it come, then. Some writers let deadlines go by for years, and they’re doing just fine.”

  “Uh-huh. Yes, and they’ve been on the bestseller list a lot longer than you, Jason Summer. Let’s see what you’ve been up to.”

  Sonja pulled free and took a closer look at t
he desk. A Mac shared space on the polished surface, next to a 1930’s Underwood typewriter. A small sheaf of typewritten pages was spread haphazardly next to the Underwood. But a larger pile of crumpled paper lay next to the desk, mounded out of the wire garbage can and spilled across the floor like a miniature snowdrift.

  “That bad, huh?”

  Jason shrugged.

  Sonja shook her head and picked up the completed pages. She plucked a No. 2 pencil from a drawer and leaned against the desk. Jason returned to his chair, and then watched in silence as Sonja read the morning’s product. She absently chewed on the pencil between the few marks she made.

  “Never going to break you of that habit, am I?”

  “Not so long as I get to be your first reader,” she replied, smiling. “So it looks like my namesake is in trouble again. She’s almost out of spells, down to a handful of loyal men, and the bad guys are closing in.”

  “Yep. Leetah’s got the high ground, but these bad guys aren’t about to give up. They’re the mercenary troops of the evil Emperor Dyyk Taetor.”

  Sonja winced. “And you worry about people thinking your name is ‘Summers’ instead of ‘Summer’.”

  “Hush, now. See, Leetah can’t sit there and wait for rescue. She can’t surrender. Attacking would be suicide. And there’s no place to retreat.”

  “Painted yourself into the classic writer’s corner, I take it?”

  “And came up with a classic case of writer’s block. First I blamed the computer, with all the online distractions. I thought that maybe restoring the Underwood would help. But nothing worked.” Jason made a frustrated gesture at the typewriter. “Nothing flowed.”

  “It’s never the tools, Jason,” Sonja said patiently. She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Something else is bothering you. What is it?”

  He stopped and looked out the window again. Clouds had rolled in and covered the sun, turning the day cool and murky. “It’s something off our web site. Probably nothing. Don’t want you laughing at me.”

  Sonja raised her hand to her chest. “I hereby promise not to laugh at the great and egotistical author,” she intoned solemnly. “Unless, of course, it is legitimately funny to do so.” She saw his face and then became serious again. “Sorry, babe. This really is throwing you for a loop. Wanna share?”

  “I got another email from that woman. Muriel of the Melusines.”

  Sonja made a rude noise.

  “That wingnut again? Probably another fanboy masquerading as a woman. Someone who can’t find their way out of the dungeon of whatever online game they’re playing.”

  “I’m not so sure anymore. Yeah, we’ve gotten our share of weirdoes writing us. Mostly when I posted that Leetah’s character is based on you. We got an awful lot of requests for X-rated pictures.”

  “But not these messages.”

  “No. They’re…eloquent. Oddly phrased and archaic, sure, but eloquent. It really does feel like a woman wrote these. And whoever they are, they’ve read all of Leetah’s adventures – at least the ones I’ve put online. Even the material that was too dry to put in the books. Magic theory, real geekazoid stuff.”

  “Wargamer, maybe? Grognard who wants to know how many points to shave off the latest dungeon encounter?”

  “Thought so at first. She did mention something about being invaded at one point. But she keeps talking about her brother, says that we must come to help him, not her. That Leetah’s the only one who can help. So she keeps asking to talk to her, to beg her to come.”

  “Hmph. Well, are you still answering emails as ‘Leetah’s Undersecretary’?”

  “The fans like the pretense,” Jason admitted, “but this Muriel was taking it too seriously. I just emailed her back and told her that if her brother is really lost or in trouble, that she should call 911.”

  “I hope that’s the end of it,” Sonja sighed.

  “Me too, but I wonder. When I replied this time, I saw something else that’s started to bother me. Here, take a look.”

  Jason tapped some keys and the Mac’s screen brightened. He jabbed a finger at the screen when Muriel’s message appeared.

  “Do you see it?” he asked. “It’s been creeping me out. Big time.”

  Chapter Three

  Re: Message for Leetah, Mage of the Rose

  From: Muriel of the Melusines ( )

  Sent: Thors 10:07 ZT

  To: Leetah’s Undersecretary (undersec@mageoftherose.com)

  Undersecretary,

  My brother Zander’s life turns on the balance of your charitable nature. I sense that you feel these letters are mere apple polishing. I assure you they are not! If the prospect of glorious deeds shall not move your heart then I pray to the Maker that pity shall. I beg with all my heart that you shall show a scrap of mercy and either convince Leetah to help me, or at least to let her judge me on the merits.

  - Muriel of the Melusines

  # # #

  “I guess I must be dense today,” Sonja said. “I don’t see what’s creeping you out.”

  “Here,” Jason said, pointing at the top of the message. “Look at the address lines, the times sent.”

  Sonja remained silent for a moment. She absently bit her lower lip in thought. “Interesting timestamp. Is there a ‘Thors Day’ where this woman lives?”

  “If there is, I’ve never heard of the place. And what’s the deal with ‘ZT’ for the time zone? ‘Zeta Time’? ‘Zulu Time’?”

  “So she’s a fan of Mission Impossible. Or James Bond flicks. Don’t most covert ops take place at ‘Zero Hour’ or something similar?”

  “I thought of that too. Maybe it’s a sly wink at us, to clue us in that her message is a fake. But here’s the real kicker. See the part of the address field in parenthesis? That’s to tell you what the email profile name resolves to. It’s supposed to show you the account’s domain. But with hers, it’s blank.”

  “I wasn’t the one who grew up hacking at the keyboard.” Sonja shook finger at him. “In English for us commoners, please.”

  “Well, devices on the Internet are addressed with sets of numbers. Domain names are the ‘English’ version of those numbers. Like our own site, mageoftherose.com. Only thing is, Muriel’s message doesn’t have a domain.”

  “And that means?”

  “It means that this message, this email, doesn’t come from anywhere. It’s as if a letter just materialized into your mailbox out of thin air!”

  “Say she’s a wizard of some sort with computers. Could she spoof things up to make you think this?”

  “She doesn’t come across as a wizard.”

  “Well, maybe she’s the sister of one, okay? Maybe—”

  A key rattled at the screen door. Sonja scowled. She got up, and then walked stiffly into the next room. She sat at the table in the breakfast nook with her arms crossed and mouth set in a firm line.

  Jason sighed and gestured to her. Come on, he mouthed silently. Please?

  She shook her head firmly side-to-side and then looked away.

  “It’s unlocked, Corey,” Jason called. The door opened with a creak and slammed shut with a familiar bang. The figure that entered was all business and bustle, taller and heavier than Jason but with the same ruddy complexion and russet hair. “Nice suit, bro. Perry Mason would be proud.”

  “Yeah, but everybody knew that Perry only defended innocent clients,” Corey said distractedly. “Got a case coming to trial today.”

  “Well, that’s good. You can make the District Attorney sweat bullets again.”

  “Not if I lose the briefcase with my notes, I can’t. I had it when I stopped by yesterday.”

  Corey turned and went over to the sofa on the other side of the room. He started moving the pink and green throw pillows around, checking behind and under each one.

  Sonja made an irritated sound somewhere between a growl and a hiss. “I don’t like it when your brother messes up my couch.”

  “Corey,” Jason said, “Sonja doesn’t like it when
you mess up her couch.”

  His brother looked up. Corey opened his mouth to retort, seemed to think better of it, then said evenly, “Then you can tell Sonja that I’m sorry, but I need to find my damned legal briefs.”

  “Sonja, he’s sorry, but he needs to find his legal briefs,” Jason recited. He leaned forward and added, “Come on. This has gone on long enough. Will you two bury the effing hatchet and stop making me play Pony Express boy?”

  “I’m not talking to that man,” Sonja insisted.

  “Give it up, bro,” Corey chimed in.

  Jason shook his head. His brother had moved on to disassembling the pillows on the set of love seats when Sonja spoke again.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, is he going to tear up the whole damned house?”

  “He’ll probably do that for starters, then use a crowbar to start pulling up the floorboards,” Jason replied. “All of the men in the Summer family are like this. Very much into seeing a job through, even if we mess things up along the way.”

  “Fine, then.” Sonja said, under her breath. “Tell him that I saw a black briefcase under the kitchen table this morning. It’s got to be his.”

  “Corey,” Jason said, “Sonja says she saw your stuff under the kitchen table.”

  “About time you told me,” Corey grumbled.

  He turned on his heel and strode past Sonja without even glancing at her. Corey grabbed the briefcase, popped it open to reassure himself that the right papers were inside, and then left out the back.

  Jason rushed out on Corey’s heels. He came around his brother’s side at a half run and stood before him, palm up.

  “Whoa there. Hold up. Can I ask you something?”

  “If it’s quick. I’ve really got to get going.”

  “Just tell me one thing. What is it with you and Sonja? What do you have against my girlfriend?”

  Corey flushed a little. He looked away over the fields, listening to the distant gushing sounds of the sprinklers watering the rows of grapes. “Look, bro. I know what she means to you. I know...trust me, I know…everything that she’s done for you. For us.”