Muse (Descended From Myth) (2 page)

“Right. Would you like me to cure cancer and end world hunger while I'm at it?” she smirked. “I'll talk to her. I can't make any promises though. You know how she feels about the Talents. She's probably convinced th
at we'll never see you again.”

“You'll see me again,” I promised, tousling her hair and poking her in the ribs as she ducked back out the door. I should have known that Kat would understand. She'd be a Guardian herself if they allowed women to join. I was secretly glad that we didn't, because I suspected Mom would snap if she thoug
ht she might lose Kaitlyn, too.

I reshuffled my papers and return
ed to learning more about Anna.

My mom let out a piercing shriek and started waving the piece of paper I'd just handed her from my printer around in the air like it was a winning Powerball ticket. “Anna! Oh my gosh, you got the job! Oh, I knew you'd get it!”

Mom scooped me up in a crushing hug, while my friends clustered around congratulating me and reading the email themselves. Mom had dropped by to check on me, even though it was about an hour drive from home to our campus. She did that pretty regularly, but I didn't mind. She always brought me food and other goodies, so wh
at was there to complain about?

My friends were gathered in my apartment to hang out and work on all the upcoming projects we had going on. Okay, this was actually the first time I'd had anything of importance to work on. Usually, I did homework while the others worked on their most
recent displays of brilliance.

Brian, my best guy-friend, reached out and playfully tugged on my ponytail. “See? Aren't you glad that I made you fill o
ut the application?” he teased.

“YOU filled it out, Brian! What am I going to do if they figure out that everything on that application came from someone else?” I asked, exasperated. Brian had taken the few mumbled remarks I made in response to the application questions and turned them into something that sounded polished, intelligent, and inspired. That summarized
Brian
, not me.

Actually, it described most of my friends. I have no idea how I have ended up being surrounded by a group of geniuses. Sure, they're probably not geniuses in the scientific sense, but they all have ten times more going for them than I do. I usually feel like the only one
who isn't gifted in some way.

Brian is the writer. He's had more short stories published than I can keep track of and has already finished his first novel. I'm sure it will be an enormous success, even though he based it loosely on a weird dream that I had one night and tried
to explain to him the next day.

Samantha, the photographer, has been my friend since we played on the teeter totter together on the first day of second grade. She has an exhibit coming up at the Indianapolis Museum of Art featuring her amazing photographic collages. One of them is an image of me sitting on a bench in the park, made from thousands of tiny pictures of birds. I wouldn't pose for her camera and threatened her that if she wanted an image of me she'd have to find another way to get it because I hate to have my picture taken. I have to admit, she only did as she was told and it just kind of grew from there.

Frankie moved into our school our freshman year of high school. She spent most of that year trying to convince me that I needed to wear something other than blue jeans and graphic t-shirts. She hasn't been very successful with that, because I still can't put together a decent outfit unless she dresses me. Her drive to make me look less like the awkward nerd that I am led to her choice to major in fashion design. Fast forward about a year and she's already got her own line of clothing and a summer job as an apprentice designer at Calvin Klein.

Compared to the rest of
them
, well, I just really didn't have anything that
could
compare to the rest of them. I'm just average. Plain reddish blonde hair, average height, average weight, average grades, nothing that I could really grab onto and claim as my own. I hadn't even picked a major. Technically, it was still “undeclared.”  I had all of
two
design classes under my belt. I shouldn't have even let Brian fill out the app, but I didn't think it would actually go anywhere at the time.

I was totally surprised when my application turned into an interview, and I was stunned when the interview turned into an actual opportunity. Mom hadn't really been sure I'd land the internship; she was just supposed to say that because she's my
mom.
She was probably just as surprised as I was. For reasons that I couldn't even fathom, I'd been given an opportunity that hundreds of girls my age would have killed for. In two days' time, I was supposed to be at a house perched on the banks of the Ohio River. I was supposed to step in as the new assistant/intern to one of the most sought after interior designers in the country, maybe even the world, Tylinda Irons.

I interrupted the impromptu celebration going on around me. “Guys, you know this has to be a mistake, right? There's no way that I should be the one who got this spot.”

Frankie rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh my God, I knew you were going to start this crap, Anna!” She waved her pale, willowy arms in the air, flicking her perfectly waved golden blonde hair over her shoulder as she did so. “Can't you just accept that sometimes good things happen to good people?”

             
“I know that! Stop twisting what I'm saying!” I shot back at her. “I've already had a ton of good things happen to me. I'm just saying I can't believe I'm the most qualified student for this spot. That's all!”

Everyone else just brushed off my concerns and told me I was being paranoid. I needed to appreciate opportunities when they presented themselves, blah, blah, blah. Mom finally took off after the pep talk, making me promise
to check in with her regularly.

Frankie and Samantha headed for my room to raid my closet and do all my packing. I'd have to go through everything with them six times to make sure they packed stuff I could actually wear without dying of embarrassment. Some people can pull off bizarre, high fashion outfits, but I just wasn't one of them. If I wore the multi-colored, mismatched outfits that Frankie did, I'd just look homeless.

Brian sat down at the counter top and slid a can of pop toward me. “Want to talk about it some more?” he asked kindly.

Inside I was having a full-blown panic attack, but I didn't want to drag everybody down by going on and on about my insecurities. “Nope, I'm good,”
I lied, sipping the cold soda.

“You know they aren't expecting
you
to be the one to design this stuff, right? It's just an internship, Anna. You're supposed to be there to learn. All you have to do is assist the designer. You're awesome at helping me come up with ideas. There's nobody I'd rather talk to when I'm stuck on a story. You don't have anything to worry about,” Brian reassured me.

I tried to accept the compliment gracefully and change the subject. “Why don't we rent a movie and pick up some pizza while they plan out what I'm going to wear for the next two weeks?”

“Deal,” he agreed immediately. If Brian wasn't writing, he was thinking about food. Or possibly ogling Samantha, since he's had an unrequited crush on her since middle school. “You're driving, though,” he added, tossing me my car keys.

“I figured that was a given since you don't have a car, loser!” I shot back, grabbing my phone and wallet too. “Hey, you two, we'll be back with food!” I yelled down the hall, but all I heard in response was the sound of my plastic clothes hangers clicking
off the hardwood floor. Great.

After a long night of packing and another long day being prepped and drilled by my friends about every possible aspect of interior design, I found myself sitting on a private bus full of production equipment and crew members. It still seemed surreal; this was all happening so fast. After a few boring hours, the bus driver pulled into the Holiday Inn where the production and construction crew were staying during the project. Judging from the tarps, ladders and buckets and such covering them, the few vehicles in the lot must belong to the contractors who have been called in to help with the remodel. I gathered up my overstuffed backpack and duffel bag and trudged off the bus into the hotel like I was headed to my own execution. Forcing a weak smile at the driver, I brushed past an older production guy who was lingering outside the bus door. He seemed to be having a harder time than the rest of the crew stretching out the cramps and stiffness from riding for so many hours. I paused for a moment
, readjusting my bags, and managed to remember my manners. “Are you okay?” I asked him quietly, trying to be discreet so that I didn't embarrass him in front of the other crew members

The poor old guy looked positively baffled that I'd spoken to him, and finally stammered, “Oh sure, I'll be fine, Miss. Don't you worry about me any. Would you like some help with your bags?”

“Nope, I've got them. Thanks, though,” I answered automatically. I couldn't see how it would make sense for
him
to be carrying bags for
me
instead of the other way around, but I sensed that it would just offend him if I offered. So, I just smiled politely and trudged toward the hotel's main entrance.

One of the production scene managers was handing out key cards and checking off names in the lobby. She smiled brilliantly at me and pointed to her list. “Anna Saint-James? I have you on the third floor just across from Ms. Irons. We can't wait to see what fresh ideas you'll bring to the table!” She was almost painfully perky as she handed me a k
ey card and a packet of papers.

I couldn't wait for some fresh ideas either. I packed into the elevator with four other crew members and waited until I made it into my hotel room before collapsing into a full scale freakout. My luggage dropped just inside the door, as I flung myself across the single bed. I lay there, trying to take deep breaths and hold back the tears. Finally, they spilled out anyway, so I stopped fighting and gave in. I curled into a ball around the fluffy white hotel pi
llow and cried myself to sleep.

I jerked awake about two hours later, disoriented and confused. Groaning, I remembered why I was here. I'd let myself wallow long enough; it was time to suck it up. If somebody was stupid enough to give me this big of an opportunity, the least I could do was take advantage of it and stop feeling sorry for myself. Orphaned at the age of two, I had real reasons to feel sorry for myself. But I had even more reasons to be thankful.

Unlike most foster kids, I hadn't been shuttled from home to home. Instead, I'd landed with the James family, and they had accepted me as one of their own immediately. I grew up with a stay-at-home mom. Dad was an attorney, but he went on to become an Appeals Court Judge. I had a stable, loving childhood, even if I couldn't remember my biological parents. When the James family adopted me, they wanted me to honor my parents' memory. Instead of just changing it, they blended my two last names to become Saint-James. After all, my name was the only thing I had left of my parents, so it made sense to hang on to it. My adoptive parents taught me to look for the good in any situation and to work hard on the important things.

My adopted sister Stacy is a few years older than I am, but we've always been close. I've missed her since she's moved away, but she finished her political science degree and found a job as a speech writer and campaign manager for California's next governor. It made perfect sense for her to be there, and we still talked on the phone pretty often. If Stacy was here, she would remind me that our parents didn't raise quitters.

I picked up the packet of papers I got in the lobby and started studying up on the production schedule and project notes. The project seemed like a fairly straightforward remodel of a two story, wood structure home. The homeowner’s main request was to add a larger bathroom space for their twin daughters and to expand the master suite to accommodate their view of the river. That all seemed fairly simple. I jotted a few notes and tried to form a good mental picture of the before and after of the house.  I like to move when I'm thinking, so I changed into a pair of sweat shorts and a t-shirt and decided to go for a short jog and sweat out some project ideas at the same time. I stuck some cash into my shoe so that I could grab a sandwich somewhere on my way back and double checked my directions with the clerk at the front desk. I can't claim that I'm a dedicated runner, but I do try to exercise every day and my body really needed a good stretch after the bus ride and my blubbery nap. Stretching in the parking lot, I started off at a slow pace towards the small central plaza.

I hadn't gotten very far from the hotel when I started feeling a cold, prickly sensation on my neck and the strange feeling that I was being followed. The sun was warm and bright and plenty of seemingly ordinary people were out and about in the downtown square, but still I felt like someone was staring a hole through my back. I finally creeped myself out enough about it that I made a last minute decision to swing into a little cafe with sidewalk seating, just to see if there was anyone behind me. I felt very “secret agent” about my little maneuver, but if one of the six or so people wandering on the street behind me was an ax murderer, then I sure couldn't tell. I still felt a little prickly, so I waited around for about fifteen minutes just watching the crowd and sipping the ice water the waiter brought me when I refused to order anything. Finally, I got fed up with my paranoia, tossed a dollar bill down on the table and took off as fast as my legs would carry me. After all, if I couldn't spot whoever was watching me, then I
could damn sure wear them out.