“You must be Penelope,” she says in the most New York City accent I have ever heard. “Frankie told me you were looking for me.”
21.Pleather or Not, Here I Come
MY FIRST THOUGHT ISTHEREis no way I’ve been looking for this woman—partly because I’m not actually looking for anyone and partly because she looks like she could eat me, Fifi, Frankie, and anyone else who gets in her way for dinner. Or lunch. Or a light teatime snack.
But my second thought, which comes about ten seconds after I watch her flip the top on her cup and drink what has to be at least twenty ounces of steaming-hot coffee in one very long swallow, is that there’s only one person Frankie would say that to.
“Calliope?” I have a hard—and by hard, I mean impossible—time keeping the surprise from my voice.
Her black brows lift above the rims of her sunglasses. “You were expecting someone else?”
“I don’t—I mean—I thought…”
“You mean you thought I’d look like one of the muses fromHercules?” she asks in an accent that somehow has gotten even thicker. “All toga’d up and stuff?”
“No!” My cheeks flare bright red. “Of course not!” But also, yeah, kind of. I mean, she is one of the Big Nine who’ve been around since ancient times. What else did they wear back then?
This time, instead of just lowering her sunglasses, she takes them off completely—presumably to get a better look at me. I have one moment to register just how bloodshot her eyes are, and then the glasses are back in place. “Yeah, you did. And it’s true, some of the other OGs do the toga thing. Me, I happen to find they chafe in the heat.”
“And leather doesn’t?” The words come out before I know I’m going to say them. But once they’re out, I’m so horrified I slap a hand over my mouth just in case something else decides to come out without permission.
“This is pleather, thank you very much. I’m vegan.” She tosses her head much the same way Frankie did when he was annoyed. And much like Frankie, her long black hair magically sweeps away from her face.
It must be a muse thing, because all that happens to me when I try to toss my head that way is I get a sore neck.
“Oh, right.” I nod like her words suddenly make much more sense. But then I go and ruin it by asking, “So pleather doesn’t chafe?”
I know, I should have let it go. But her assertion makes nosense, and I’ve always had trouble with questioning authority when that authority makes absolutely no sense.
This time the glasses come off and stay off as she takes her time studying me. I study her right back, trying to figure out how Fifi gets the nicest, most cooperative muse in existence, and I get Calliope: the biker muse hopped up on way too much caffeine.
“Frankie told me you were a handful,” she says after way too many uncomfortable seconds pass. “I like it.”
“Thank you?” I answer, because at this point I have absolutely no idea what else to say.
“You’re welcome.” She shoves her glasses back on her face as she glances around the rainbow-colored explosion that is currently my dorm room. “You got any coffee around here?”
“Not that I know of. I could try to find the kitchen and check, if you want?”
She looks like she’s thinking about it for a few seconds, then shakes her head. “That’ll take too much time. I have to be in London in”—she glances at the all-black watch on her wrist—“seven minutes.”
“Oh, okay. Then I guess you should just…” I trail off, waiting for her to jump in.
“I should just…” It’s her turn to stop mid-sentence, and somehow, despite being millennia old, she looks as clueless as I feel.
Which is impossible, right? I mean, sheisthe muse here.Plus, she’s Calliope. Shouldn’t she know what happens next?
We stare at each other for way too long before she finallythrows an exasperated hand in the air. “Look, kid, you gotta help me out here. I haven’t slept in three days, and I’ve got four more people to see before I have even the chance of catching some Z’s. But Frankie told me I needed to be here, so I got here as fast as I could. All you’ve got to do is tell me what you want.”
This can’t be happening again.
This. Can’t. Be. Happening. Again.
THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING AGAIN.
Not to sound like a broken record, but nothing has gone right from the second I ate that ridiculous donut hole. Not the bridge. Not the coin hunt. Not the hall assignment. And now, not even my muse.
Frankie said he’d never heard of anyone getting one of the Big Nine before. Apparently, that’s because they’re absolutely useless. I mean, Frankie made a special frame for Fifi’s labors. My muse doesn’t even know that she’s supposed to have brought me my labors.
