Finding Her A-Muse-Ment by Rebecca Royce Page A

good idea for Susie.
    Now if only he could get her to see that.
    Susie stood up and headed for the kitchen. The clock dinged—three o’clock, which meant she’d consume one blueberry yogurt before sliding into her armchair and not moving for hours.
    “No.” He shook his head. “Not today, Susie.”
    She dragged more than walked past the brochure. Using every bit of power he possessed, which in the scheme of things wasn’t very much, he knocked the pamphlet onto the floor. By the time he’d accomplished the task, he collapsed. Making things move amounted to the absolute limit of his power.
    Shit . Sometimes swear words just worked better than anything else did, even though he knew every word in every language. Shit just took care of it all.
    Susie bent over and picked up the pamphlet. If she would just consider it, then the strain of using his power might be worth it.
    “Please. Give yourself a chance. Don’t give up. Whatever it is. We can fix it.”
    She sighed, biting down on her lip. Had she heard him? Would she listen? Or would he wake up tomorrow in Ancient Rome helping Pericles reconstruct the Acropolis? His heart would be forever trapped in her body with her. He would always wonder what had happened to her without ever being able to find out.
    “Oh what the hell.” She walked back to the room, her hair hanging in her face. In all the years he’d known her, he’d never seen her so un-put together. Her brown hair usually had some color in it—blues, greens, purples—she’d always been dramatic. Now it lay limp and uninteresting. Her nails had always been polished and her skin healthy. The dramatic change in her made his stomach clench.
    Not that it mattered one bit to him how she looked. She’d always be beautiful. Her eyes would always be the deepest shade of blue he’d ever seen. The obvious display of her internal struggle on the outside of her body is what made his hands shake. Susie had started to fade away.
    She was thirty-six years old. She should be in her prime.
    “Well, George, I’m not doing anything here anyway.” She spoke to the fish.
    He grinned. Better she should talk to a being that couldn’t answer than no one at all.
    “Maybe this is my last chance.”
    Never . He wanted to stroke her hair. Don’t ever give up on yourself .
    She picked up the phone and dialed. He clapped his hands. “Good. That’s good.”
    “Yes. Hello? Oh? What? How do you know my name?” She bit down on her lip. “Did you say cards?”
    He had no idea what the woman said on the other side of the line but it made his head zap again. This was a good idea. The best he’d had in almost a year.
    Susan gripped the fish bowl to her chest. She couldn’t leave him; she had no one to feed him. She watched as the boat entered what she would have described—had she been writing the scene—as ominous fog. She shivered.
    What on earth had she been thinking arranging for this kind of trip? She hadn’t left the house in almost a year. Why had she started with a random vacation to some place called the Wiccan Haus ?
    Shaking her head, she tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. Her nerves were that woman’s—the one who had answered the phone and known her name even though she called from an unlisted number—fault. She’d intrigued Susan’s sense of mystery. Somehow, Susan needed to lay her eyes on this woman and her cards.
    Why kind of cards were they? Tarot? Anything was possible in a place called the Wiccan Haus .
    But now this might be the worst conceived plan imaginable. No way, no how would she be getting off the boat. She’d just turn around and go back home. No one could make her stay.
    “It’s not scary.”
    She jumped as a man, who she’d clearly been too preoccupied to notice earlier, spoke to her. He leaned against the rail at the front of the boat just five feet from where she stood clutching George’s tank.
    “Think of it as inspiring. Who knows what’s on the other side of this