Unfinished Muse (8 page)

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.

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.