“Yeah, well, I don’t think where I got it is important. I think what matters is that as soon as I opened it, I knew this first page was about a woman I’ve seen before.”
That gets his attention. His eyes zero in on me as he asks, “What woman?” He eases around next to me so he can get a better look at the page in question.
“That’s the thing. I don’t know her name. But she was dressed all in white and she had a peacock feather in her hair.”
“A what now?” Frankie asks, right before he chokes on his own saliva.
“A peacock feather. You know, the beautiful green-and-blue birds.” I give his outfit a very deliberate side-eye.
“I know what a peacock is,” he answers, but as he says it he’s looking at every possible thing in the room that isn’t Fifi, Arjun, or me. “I just don’t know who you’re referring to.”
“You sure about that?” Arjun speaks for the first time, and it’s obvious he finds Frankie’s odd behavior as suspicious as I do. “Why don’t you read the first page and—”
“I don’t need to read the first page. I just know I have no clue who you’re referring to.”
“Her name begins with anH,” Fifi tells him. “Right, Ellie?”
“Yes. H—” Once more I try to say her name and once more something blocks me.
“Stop!” Frankie says, looking faint. “Don’t ever do that again.”
“Don’t do what, exactly?” Arjun asks.
At the same time, Fifi demands, “I thought you didn’t know who she was.”
“I didn’t. I mean, I don’t.” As he stutters, Frankie turns a very unbecoming shade of gray. “I mean…”
“What do you mean?” I ask when he breaks off.
But he just shakes his head and says, “I’ll be back,” seconds before he disappears.
50.This Is Hera-fying
WELL, THAT WASN’T WEIRD ATall,” I say. His disappearance happened so fast that I’m still staring at the place he used to be.
“Right?” Arjun plops down on the corner of my bed. “What do you think he was so nervous about?”
“I don’t know. I just wish—”
I break off as Frankie snaps back into our room. Only this time, he’s got Calliope with him.
My muse looks a lot like she did the last time I saw her. She’s traded in her black pleather pants and jacket for a black pleather vest and miniskirt, but everything else is the same. Same black boots, same black aviators, same black travel mug she drinks from four times before she steps forward to greet me.
“How’ve you been, Eleanor?”
I didn’t think it was possible, but somehow her New York accent has gotten even thicker.
“Actually, it’s Penelope,” I correct her.
She frowns. “Are you sure?”
“Of my own name?” I answer incredulously. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”
“If you say so.” She looks at me over the tops of her black aviators. “Frankie says you’ve got a problem he doesn’t feel comfortable handling.”
“I said it was above my pay grade,” Frankie corrects her huffily. “That’s not the same thing as saying I can’t handle it.”
“Potato, po-tah-toe,” she answers airily.
