Unfinished Muse (4 page)

Bastard. Nice. I’d thought that word had
gone out of style other than as a general name for people who cut
me off in traffic. I’d have to try it out in front of Mom and see
if it helped me get any more information out of her about my
father.

I didn’t know what I’d expected. More call
center work, I supposed. General office drone stuff. Maybe
placement in a retail location. I didn’t know for sure. When I
heard
employment agency
, I assumed it would be temp work.
This was something else altogether.

The departments were familiar, but only from
stories, not as actual jobs. The Furies department dispensed
justice. The Fates department was responsible for planning—though I
was hazy on what they planned. The Muse department provided
inspiration. Graces, Oracles, Dreams, Cupids…my head spun with all
the possible jobs I might be placed in. None of them seemed
inviting. And the sad truth of it was, I wasn’t particularly good
at anything.

Chances were, I’d wash out and be assigned
to the cafeteria. If that happened, Phyllis was getting a good
pruning.

When the movie was over, the lights came on
by themselves, and we all looked around. Mrs. Moros wasn’t in the
room, and she’d given no instructions as to what to do. We waited.
Gradually, first in whispers, then a little louder, the crowd grew
restless.

Hal was the first to make a decision. He
hauled himself out of his chair, stretched, then gathered his
things. “We waited. I know it’s only three, but I’m done. See you
folks in the morning.”

The door swung shut behind him, and we sat
frozen with indecision. One person wasn’t enough to cause a mass
exodus.

A woman with dark hair and thick glasses
stood and gathered her purse. “My kids will be home soon. If she’s
not going to give us further instructions, I could use the time to
scrape some dinner together.” She turned to a younger woman next to
her. “You need a ride?”

Before the two women were out the door,
three more people were packing up to go.

I didn’t want to be the first to leave, but
I sure didn’t want to be the last, either. I waited until a group
of five was walking out and ducked into the crowd. Nobody stopped
us. It seemed ridiculous that I worried some supernatural creature
would come storming after us waving a spiked club for leaving
orientation early, but the possibility wasn’t as out there as it
would have been when I’d first arrived.

At the lobby, I split off from the group and
grabbed Phyllis.

“There you are!” Her leaves fluttered at me
in a disconcerting way. “What took you so long? The film should
have been finished a half hour ago.”

I blinked. “Nobody said we could leave.”

Her voice was worried. “Were you the first
to go?”

“No.”

Her leaves rustled in a sigh of relief.
“Good. You weren’t the last, either?”

“No. Why?”

“You did well, then. It was a psychological
assessment. There will be a lot more this week. Looks like you’re
doing great, though! Are you ready to go home?”

I tucked her under my arm, thinking of all
the things one could do to damage a houseplant. Over-watering.
Under-watering. Chemicals. Fire.

I bit my lip. Phyllis was a talker as long
as it suited her. But when it came to information I might find
useful, she hadn’t said a damn word.

I could jam her down the garbage disposal.
Drop her in boiling water. Borrow a cat and let it pee in her
dirt.

I knew I’d never do anything to harm her,
but it was comforting to think about it while I was mad at her for
holding out on me.

Phyllis quivered with excitement. “See you
tomorrow, Sadie!”

The rubber tree waved at us as we walked out
the door.

~*~

I was not late on the second day. My hope was to get
through the entire week without being noticed again by Mrs. Moros.
I kept my thoughts as quiet as I could, took notes, and didn’t
squirm.

Fear is the ultimate motivator.

After another vile lunch on day two, our
tiny captor sent us to Crete for our first real assessment tests.
Not the real Crete, of course. It was a huge lecture hall with
writing surfaces that folded out of the armrests. The right
armrests, not the left.

Which meant, as a lefty, I had to turn
halfway in my seat to use the damn thing, but that wasn’t anything
new to me. I was a little disappointed that a company as old as
Ancient Greece had the same lack of regard for the downtrodden
left-handed souls of this world as did the American school
system.

Mr. Randall, a skinny man with a mop of
black hair on his head, controlled the room. He had an overbite,
which left his front teeth peeking from beneath an excellent ‘70s
porn ‘stache. He spaced out our group of thirty-two, presumably so
no one could cheat, and furnished us each with a thick stack of
papers and a pair of number-two pencils.

Trying not to be too obvious, I glanced at
my lap to be sure I was fully clothed. Yesterday had proved to be
real, but today might as easily be a naked-testing dream.
Unfortunately, my black skirt was right where it was supposed to
be. Hard to believe I was actually disappointed not to be naked in
public. Nope. I was going to have to take the Ancient Greece
version of the SATs.

The first section of the test was on the
gods, goddesses, and heroes of Greek mythology. Believe it or not,
I did pretty well on that part. Mom had raised me on stories of
angry goddesses, heroic deeds, and disobedient mortals, much like
other kids were brought up on fairy tales. Staring at the questions
on my sideways desk, it occurred to me that my entire life had been
a series of clues to my mysterious heritage, and that maybe the
reason I hadn’t lost my mind over the crazy shit I’d seen the last
few days was due to my mother preparing me for it all.

Really needed to pay her a visit.

My number-two pencil flew over the page and
filled in the lettered bubbles. A) Perseus. C) Hera. D) All of the
above. A) Andromeda. I wasn’t simply doing pretty well. I was
sailing through it. Mom was either getting flowers or a rant from
me when I saw her. Probably both.

Long before Porn ‘Stache Randall called time
on the first section, I’d already finished and checked over my
answers. A few people around the room groaned. Papers shuffled.

“Please turn your booklets to section two.
Do not begin until I instruct you to do so.” Randall the
Whisker-faced clasped his hands behind his back and sniffed so hard
I worried his moustache would disappear up his nose. He perched on
the edge of a desk and stared at his watch long enough to make
everyone uncomfortable in the silence. “Go!”

The first question in the new section popped
the self-satisfied bubble of elation I’d been floating in.

Q1:
Under what circumstances would you
reveal yourself to your client?
A. You and your client are
already acquainted in everyday life. B. The client is in mortal
peril. C. Revelation would assist in completion of the assignment.
D. The given assignment is flawed and requires alteration. E. All
of the above. F. None of the above.

I hovered my pencil between mortal danger,
all of the above, and none of the above. How the hell was I
supposed to know anything about company policy? The question didn’t
even mean anything to me in the first place. Clients?
Revelation?

Greek mythology had been a fun little trivia
quiz, but this made no damn sense at all. I thought I was training
for some sort of office job. Possibly even factory or retail work.
Clients? I sucked at working with clients.

The best I could hope for was to wash out
before the end of the week so I wouldn’t have to follow through
with any of it. But then, I’d be back to where I’d started, with no
job, no money for the next month’s rent, and the very real threat
of having to move in with my mother. Again.

I sighed and chose “All of the above.” Then
I erased it and chose “Mortal peril.”

The rest of the questions weren’t much
easier or less mysterious. Several questions dealt with the
etiquette of mounting a winged horse. Another wanted my opinion on
love at first sight. Three questions were devoted to my possible
knowledge of arts and crafts, and two had to do with Ouija boards
and tarot cards.

There was no rhyme or reason to the section.
None. And the answers could have been any of the choices given.

When Moustache Randy called time, I’d only
made it through three-quarters of the section. On the bright side,
that was it for the day. I’d expected more sections, but apparently
two were enough.

We all filed to the front and handed over
our bizarre tests and our number-two pencils. Oddly enough, Randall
seemed more concerned that he should receive
all
the pencils
than he was that the tests came in.

“Mr. Turnbrook.” His beady eyes followed a
short, blond man on his way out the door. “
Two
pencils, if
you please.”

Mr. Turnbrook—I thought his name was Steve,
but I wasn’t sure—rummaged in his back pocket and found the second
pencil. “Sorry.” His brow wrinkled, and he shrugged as if he’d
genuinely forgotten but didn’t see what the big deal was.

Randall sniffed again. That moustache
must’ve had a hell of a root system to stay anchored like that.

Under Randall’s watchful eye, I dropped both
pencils into the box on the table and placed my test booklets and
answer sheets in their proper piles. My steps were measured and
careful as I left the lecture hall. If I didn’t keep control of
myself, I’d bolt down the hall, through the building, and out to my
car—possibly cackling like a crazy woman the entire way.

A few people gathered in a group, griping in
hushed voices. I grimaced at them on the way past to express
solidarity, but I didn’t stop. In the reception rotunda, I scooped
up my potted companion and strode out the door without a word.

“Well, that was rude,” Phyllis said as I
shoved her into the car and wedged her in between the bucket seats
so she wouldn’t topple over in traffic. “You didn’t even give me a
chance to say goodbye to Madge.”

I didn’t have any idea who Madge was. As far
as I’d seen, Phyllis had been sitting by herself on a shelf with no
humans or plants around her. I didn’t care enough to ask, though,
and pulled away from the curb without a word.

“I had a lovely day, thank you for asking,
Wynter.” Phyllis slapped me on the arm with one of her braches. “I
know you’re listening. Don’t make me sing to you, sweetheart. Tell
me how your day was.”

I glanced at her quivering leaves and back
at the road. “It was a big, fat, stupid waste of time. How the hell
should I know whether you’re supposed to feed marshmallows to a
flying horse after it’s taken a dump? Why would I ever need to know
that?”

Phyllis’s leaves shook and she emitted an
odd, high-pitched giggle. “Are you concerned about your score?”

I scowled. “No. I just don’t see why they
made me answer questions that made me look stupid.”

“Oh, honey. Everyone looks stupid when they
take that test. That’s part of why they give it.”

I snorted. “Excellent. You’ve dragged me
into a workplace that intentionally demeans me. I might as well
sling burgers. At least there I might retain some dignity.”

Phyllis sighed. “Be patient, Wynter. By
Friday, the assessments will be over and you’ll get your
assignment. I’m terribly excited for you!”

“It’s only Tuesday. Can you at least tell me
what to expect tomorrow?”

She was quiet for a moment. “I suppose it
won’t hurt to tell you a little.”

“Thank you.” Finally, we were getting
somewhere. “More tests?”

“Of sorts.”

I turned onto the turnpike and headed east.
“What does that mean?”

“Tomorrow is a little different.” She drew
her words out, obviously stalling.

My grip on the steering wheel turned my
knuckles white. “Different how?”

“Well…tomorrow is the physical
challenge.”

I dropped my head back against the seat.
“Seriously?”

She sighed again. “Of course, dear. If they
don’t assess your physical abilities, how can they tell which jobs
won’t kill you?”

Chapter 4

An hour later, I pulled into my mother’s driveway,
grabbed my talking plant, and stepped out of the car.

On my way up the walkway, I nodded at a
ceramic garden gnome riding a lawn flamingo. “Frank, good to see
you, buddy.”

For a split second, the sun glinted off the
statue and made it look as if he’d winked. I glanced away quickly
and kept walking. Frank gave no other indication of coming to life
and answering me—he never had before when I’d greeted him but my
understanding of what was real and what was make believe had become
a little skewed. If my mother’s tacky yard decorations were about
to come to life, I didn’t want to be around to see it.

A person can only take so many impossible
things in a single week.

As always, I paused at the front door and
debated whether to walk in or knock. Mom always made faces at me if
she had to answer the door, reminding me that I have a key for a
reason. But what if she had a boyfriend in there and they were
getting freaky? Or she’d decided to become a nudist—again. Or had
the furnace cranked up and was in her underwear doing hot yoga?

I raised my knuckles to knock, then changed
my mind. Whatever my mother was doing, it was bound to be something
most other moms wouldn’t be doing. She’d think nothing of throwing
the door open, stark naked, while the neighbors watered the lawn
across the street.

She wasn’t an exhibitionist, really. And she
wasn’t vain. She simply had this odd way of assuming that whatever
she was currently into would be interesting—or at least considered
perfectly normal—to everyone else.