Muse Unexpected Read online

  She sat up and glanced over at the temporary husband she’d made out of pillows.

  “How I hate it when you travel,” Callie mumbled to her pillow husband, as she climbed out of bed and ran fingers through her hair. It was time to shatter her daughter’s dreams of another fifteen minutes of sleep.

  She hoped the sound of her footsteps, the flip flop of her slippers muffled by the ancient gold shag carpeting, would serve as warning enough for Sophie.

  “Sophie?”She knocked gently on the bedroom door. “It’s time to get up, sweetie.”

  She leaned her sleepy head against the door.

  “Honey, I don’t hear you getting up.”

  Callie was more tired than she’d realized. Her Greek accent was heavier, a clear sign of exhaustion. She never slept well when Angelo was away.

  Coffee. Momma needs her medicine. She heard Sophie groan and turn over in her bed.

  “Turning over is not the kind of movement I’m talking about.” She sighed.

  Another game of morning chicken, Sophie? Lord, give me strength.

  “Sophia Maria! Up! Now!”

  “I’m up. I’m practically out the door,” Sophie shouted. The sound of a stuffed animal hitting the opposite side of the bedroom door was a clear sign Sophie was serious.

  “That’s better,” Callie said, yawning again and making her way downstairs to the kitchen. As she began making her morning pot of Greek coffee, she thought of the argument she'd had last night with Sophie. On a scale of one to ten, the argument had been a fifteen. Sophie had managed to push the right buttons, which meant she was putting herself down—and that was something Callie couldn’t tolerate. Hearing her daughter proclaim she was built like a stereotypical, heavy-set Greek waitress and then ask Callie if she wanted fries with her Gyro was enough to send her blood boiling. If only she could give Sophie a little push, a dash of inspiration, but using her powers wasn’t allowed. Wasn’t inspiring others what Muses were expected to do?

  She wondered for the millionth time what the point was of possessing supernatural powers at her fingertips, if she wasn’t able to use them.

  But she knew the answer to her question. It was the deal she'd made. She was no longer a supernatural being in charge of inspiring mortals to reach their true potential and keeping them on the path Fate had meant them to be on. She had, in small quantities, used her powers, but not for herself or for Sophie. One of her talents was cooking and through her cooking she could change the course of a person’s life. So when asked by the PTA to help raise funds through a silent auction, by offering to cook a meal for 10, not including the cost of food, she couldn’t resist the opportunity. Sure, maybe she was showing off, but weren’t the gods themselves guilty of letting their egos get the best of them? Sometimes she couldn't help it, and the $5,600 she'd raised purchased a lot of band uniforms. She was sure the ends justified the means. A small, brief flicker surely couldn’t attract anyone’s attention.

  “Besides, a leopard never changes its spots, especially this leopard.”

  She heard Sophie walk into the kitchen and turned as the girl threw her things down into a vacant chair. Her daughter walked across the avocado and gold linoleum, opened the dark brown 1970’s ‘sun tan’ refrigerator and pulled out the gallon of milk.

  Pouring a cup of Greek coffee for herself, Callie grabbed the box of corn flakes and sat down next to Sophie.

  “Your father will be back tonight. Plan on being home for dinner.”

  “Okay,” Sophie replied, pouring milk over her cereal.

  “Wow.” She paused, mid-sip of her coffee. “No, ‘do I have to?’ No, ‘but Bippy or Buffy is having a barbecue?’ Not even a ‘but it’s a Friday, Mom.’”

  “All right, I get it. Really subtle, Mom,” Sophie said, stopping mid-bite and looking up. “There is a party, but I think I would prefer being home when Daddy gets here. This last trip has lasted way too long. I’ve missed him and, to be honest, I can’t deal with the living hell you would make my life if I wasn’t here.”

  Callie smiled, brushing off a few imaginary crumbs off the table. “And who says you can’t teach a teenager new tricks? Well, I’ve missed him, too. I hate it when he travels. I can’t protect…”

  Sophie laughed. “Yeah, like your spaghetti sauce creates an impenetrable force field. Which is nothing compared to your exploding—”

  “Stuffed grape leaves?” she said, throwing a napkin at Sophie.

  She reached out to give her daughter's hand a squeeze, and Sophie slid her hand away.

  Oops. Mustn’t get too close to the teenager. Keep all hands and feet inside during the ride.

  “Stop being a drama queen,” Sophie said. “You make everything out to be some sort of Greek tragedy. Ohhhhhhhhh, the gods are angry at us. Booooooooooo.”

  Callie's smile dropped and Sophie winced.

  “How many times must I tell you we don’t joke about such things? Whether or not you believe in something doesn’t mean it is open season on another person’s belief systems. It isn’t a smart thing to do, to mock Fate.” She lifted her hand and pointed at her daughter. “The Fates…”

  Sophie rolled her eyes. “Oh my, the Fates? The three old hags with one eye, stirring a caldron? Jesus, Mom, enough. Give it a rest. You’re such a freak sometimes.”

  “That’s Clash of the Titans and all I’m saying is that it isn’t right to make fun of things you don’t understand and even if you don’t embrace it, it is still part of your heritage.”

  Sophie placed her spoon down and crossed her arms in front of her.

  “Honey, I’m sorry," Callie said. “I guess I’ve been watching My Big Fat Greek Wedding again and I’m feeling a bit homesick for Greece."

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t joke about my heritage and I’m gonna be late.” Sophie jumped up, grabbing her book bag and giving her mother a quick kiss.

  “Remember, home tonight,” she called after her, as she watched Sophie shut the wooden gate. She noticed the gate’s paint had begun to peel and made a mental note to stop by the hardware store later to pick up some paint.

  Oh, what I would give to bring back days when everything I did wasn’t an embarrassment to her.

  Lately, everything from the way Sophie crumbled her clothes into her dresser, to the cluttered mess Sophie’s room had become, drove Callie crazy. A few weeks ago, she found several dresses shoved to the back of Sophie’s chest of drawers, dirty clothes mixed in with clean ones and a lost peanut butter and jelly sandwich squashed between the wall and Sophie’s bed. It had been there so long she wasn’t sure if the mold was jelly or the jelly was mold.

  Callie reached down and retrieved her copy of the Columbus Dispatch. On the front page was a story about a murder, with the words ‘Cult Killing’ as the headline. Below the headline was a picture of several bodies draped in bloodied sheets and a close-up of one of the victim’s arms showed a symbol branded onto it. The picture was blurry and Callie couldn’t make out the symbol.

  It looks like… Don’t be ridiculous, Callie. It couldn’t be.

  She stared at the picture a little longer before letting go of a memory she had long since forgotten.

  There is no way that Greek word is branded into that person’s arm.

  Callie remembered the stories of the senseless killing. When people were hunted because they were different.

  But it was hundreds…no thousands of years ago. I refuse to let my imagination get the best of me.

  Callie made up her mind to toss the paper away before Sophie got home, when something in the yard caught her eye. It was a shadowy figure and she turned her head to see who it was, but nothing was there.

  Add to my daughter’s long list of embarrassments that her mother is starting to see things.

  She chuckled to herself, in spite of a sudden drop in temperature making her teeth chatter. It was strange, considering most of the spring had been surprisingly warm. She grabbed the frost-covered doorknob and stopped, her attention being drawn to a smal
l section of garden to her right. A fragile-looking butterfly fluttered past her and landed on a tulip. She couldn’t recall ever seeing one this early in the spring. The insect’s wings, which had some of the most vivid colors she had ever seen, were dazzling in a shaft of sunlight that had broken through the morning cloud cover. She watched it continue to beat its wings, at first slowly and then faster and faster.

  It knows I’m watching it. She was mesmerized by it, as the colors in its wings moved like a kaleidoscope, blinding at first and then hypnotic. She knew she had to be dreaming because the butterfly was quickly growing larger. It was now the size of a large crow.

  She recalled reading somewhere that hallucinations were a warning sign of strokes and wondered if she were about to have one.

  “That and the scent of buttered toast.”

  The butterfly liquefied into an oil-like red substance that dripped onto the creeping phlox and tulips. The colorful flowers faded, shriveled and sizzled, like someone had poured acid on them. Callie’s mouth went dry as she watched everything coming into contact with the putrid liquid shrivel and melt, adding mass to the slime. As it seeped onto the front lawn, the liquid engulfed and devoured everything in its path, including the boxwoods lining the front walk, the weeping cherry tree Angelo had planted last fall and even the massive maple tree and river birch. All of them lost their color, shriveled and died, falling into an even larger pool of the red liquid that became brighter and seemed to throb in its hunger and intensity. It formed a small river on the opposite side of the front yard, gathering more mass as it churned, bubbled and fell back onto itself.

  The once overcast and muted sky had become ominous and threatening. A crack of lightning followed by a burst of thunder exploded above, and the river of red liquid crashed against a huge rock in the front yard, causing it to change direction and form a semi-circular whirlpool. The wind picked up, feeding the rushing liquid with additional velocity, and it rose onto itself, creating a grotesque funnel cloud with the debris from the yard swimming inside of it. As the funnel was about to collide with the far corner of the house, it fell away as quickly as it had formed, revealing a shrouded, blood-drenched figure.

  “Oh my God.” Callie said. The figure moved towards her, not on legs, but on a wave of the red substance surging several feet behind it, forming a wall that continued to consume anything near it. Its robes were made of heavy black material shredded into long pieces. Each of the strips moved, independent of the others, stretching mid-air, hungrily searching for her, their razor sharp edges whipping outward and snapping back, slicing through the air.

  The apparition reached up and pulled its hood away, exposing a disfigured face, the flesh burned and caked with blood, and two gold coins visible over its eyes. It opened what remained of its blistered lips and howled, lifting its arm and pointing a boney, burnt finger, beseeching her. It hovered several yards away before it rushed forward. Its movement broke Callie's paralysis and she scrambled back against the front door, slamming into it. She grabbed for the door’s handle, but in her haste she jammed the lock. She clawed at the door, gasping for breath. In desperation, she threw all of her weight against the door, which gave way with a loud crack, and she flew through the opening as the specter’s hand touched a strand of her hair.

  She rushed back to the door and slammed it shut. A chorus of desperate screams and screeches exploded on the other side as the thing pounded the door with its fists. The impact of the blows threw her off balance, but she grabbed the umbrella stand and slid down the door, attempting to catch her breath and calm herself. The thing let out one final scream, this time calling her name in its hoarse voice, and she pressed her hands over her ears as each word brought a searing pain to her head. Then, the screams stopped. Her ears rang as the room filled with complete silence.

  She shuddered and removed her hands away from her ears. She was drenched in sweat and her lungs demanded more air, but she held her breath as she tried to catch any sound of the thing outside. She heard nothing.

  “Nearly twenty years,” she yelled, as tears ran down her face.

  “Nearly twenty years of normal. Twenty years of nothing but PTA meetings, garage sales, of complete and utter bliss, of keeping my past in the past, denying those miserable old Fate hags and the destiny they said was mine and now I’m back to square one."

  Oh my God. The killings in Cleveland. It was the word, Nothos. Someone is hunting and sending me a message. Sophie! No, wait, she’s safe… in school. Callie closed her eyes and rested her head on her knees.

  She jumped when the doorbell rang. As a joke, Sophie and Angelo had purchased a novelty doorbell that could play hundreds of songs thanks to a memory stick. Today’s selection was “La Cucaracha.” Last week it had been the Greek standard “Never on a Sunday.” She broke out into nervous, hysterical laughter.

  She got to her knees and stood up, noticing she had bruised her thigh and with some hesitation reached over and turned the doorknob. The piece of wood that cracked when she forced the door open fell and clattered onto the cement stoop.

  Standing in front of her was a deliveryman holding a bouquet of red roses.

  “Mrs. Drago?” the man said, reading the delivery form. He didn’t bother to hide his surprise at her appearance. The look in his eyes told her she looked as crazy as she felt.

  “I’m sorry,” she began, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “I had just closed the door, when you rang. It gave me quite a shock.”

  “Oops, my bad. I have a delivery for you,” the man said.

  “Thank you,” she said behind the large bouquet. “Let me get you a—”

  As the words fell from her mouth, the deliveryman shoved the roses at her and rushed back to his truck. With some hesitation, she glanced at her front yard. It was perfect, not a single leaf out of place, and judging by the way her neighbor waved good morning to her, Callie’s yard lacked any sort of hellish visions. She kicked the piece of broken woodwork into the house. Closing the door behind her, she reached over and slid the deadbolt into its locked position.

  She walked into the kitchen, placing the flowers on the counter and then eased herself down into a chair at the kitchen table, rubbing her bruised thigh. All of a sudden she burst into laughter again, realizing the mere sight of her in the morning was enough to ward off even the most aggressive deliverymen.

  Her mind couldn’t let go of the newspaper and its horrible picture. She retrieved the paper and carried it into the kitchen.

  She shook her head as she smoothed out the wrinkled paper and began reading.

  “Those poor people. How horrible.”

  Several Cleveland teenagers had thrown a party at a fellow student’s house. No adults were present. No explanation could be given for what happened to them. Police were called to the house when neighbors complained of screaming. They couldn’t get the door open and had to break through one of the windows. The bodies were found throughout the wrecked house. Each teenager had a dog collar around his or her throat. The leather of the collar was embedded into the throat of each victim, demonstrating each had been tortured before his or her necks were crushed. Each had the same brand, written in Greek, on their right wrist.

  “Nothos,” Callie said, recalling the definition of the word. “Mutt, mongrel. That which is considered beneath the gods to see. Those deserving the wrath of Olympus by their mere existence. The living scourge.”

  I don’t know what to do. The Omen. A black omen. By all that is holy, I will kill who ever...

  “But, my past is behind me. I drive carpool. I’m a member of the PTA. I recycle. I collect cans for Cat Welfare. I donate $18 each month to ASPCA. I have a damn gate to paint. I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

  She paused. Shoot…shoot…shoot. What was it trying to tell me? Those poor children. It all has to be connected. What am I going to do? What the hell. Who….

  “Stop it, Callie. You’re babbling like a hysterical little girl. Nobody gives a damn about your carpool. People
are being murdered. Maybe it isn’t connected. Maybe it was just a mindless apparition.”

  Don’t be stupid, mindless apparitions don’t just appear out of nowhere. Something was coming.

  Her instinct told her they were all in danger.

  She breathed in and out slowly, hoping it would calm her heart. She wondered what Sophie would have thought of the Greek tragedy she had experienced a few seconds ago and a sinking feeling settled in her stomach. She had to figure out what it all meant.

  She rested her chin in her left hand and drummed her fingers on the table, tossing around the image of the omen in her mind. She glanced at her cup, filled with the thick Greek coffee and wondered if she should do what she was thinking about doing. Her ‘special abilities’ weren’t easily switched on and off. Powers like hers had an addictive and seductive quality.

  But, this is different. Thanks to someone, I have no choice.

  Reaching for her cup of coffee, she doubted she even remembered how to do a coffee grounds reading that would allow her to see into the future. She took the last sip and put the saucer on top of the small cup. Placing one hand on the bottom of the cup and one on top of the saucer, she closed her eyes to concentrate. After about a minute, she sighed. Nothing. She closed her eyes again and furrowed her brow, concentrating harder. Still, nothing had happened, and she opened her eyes again, feeling panicked. She wondered if her powers had been ‘a use it or lose it’ type of thing and then smirked at the thought. Could she have turned herself into a mortal?

  “Bull. My mother must be laughing her tightly-wound head off. I was born a Muse and I remain a Muse.”

  She closed her eyes again, cleared her mind and focused. It started as a tingling sensation, as the familiar pinpricks of warmth started in her core and spread throughout her body. Her entire being was drawing energy from the room and conducting it towards her hands. She couldn’t help but feel thrilled that her abilities were still intact and she opened her eyes and saw the familiar sparks of light shooting from her hands, flooding the entire kitchen.