Free Unfinished Muse by R.L. Naquin Page A

who did pirouettes for no reason,
frolicked in the forest, and wore garlands of flowers that matched
her violet eyes.
    It seemed nothing in this office would turn
out as expected.
    The short, sturdy woman thrust a calloused
hand toward me. “I’m Polly. Want to follow me to my office? We’ll
get your paperwork all sorted and get to know each other.”
    It wasn’t that Polly was ugly or even
unattractive. She simply didn’t match her voice. She had thick,
dark eyebrows and gray eyes, her mouth was a little asymmetrical,
which gave her a lopsided smile, and her nose had a bump, like
she’d recently taken off a tight pair of glasses.
    She did not look like one who frolicked.
    I shook her hand and matched her tight grip.
Neither of us was a limp shaker.
    As I followed Polly to her office through
the maze of cubicles, three heads popped up above the barriers to
watch us. Trina was one of them, and she waved her hand so hard I
thought it might fly off. I smiled and waved back.
    Polly closed her office door behind us.
“Have a seat.” Her lovely, lilting voice soothed my jangled nerves.
The office smelled like lilacs and had a quiet, calming feel.
    I relaxed into the plush seat opposite hers.
“Thanks.”
    Her eyes turned up at the corners, making
smile creases, and she handed me a thick folder. “Here. Your
insurance, 401k, and benefits package are in there. We’ll fill that
out in here, and the rest of the package will give you an idea of
what we’re about here. When we’re done chatting, I’ll send you out
with one of the girls for a ride-along so you can see how an
inspiration is created. Sound good?”
    I nodded, feeling the weight of the folder
she’d given me. A lot of reading was ahead of me. “Sounds great.”
It didn’t sound great. It sounded terrifying, and I wasn’t sure
why. Benefits and 401Ks and ride-alongs. I was beginning to suspect
I’d landed in a real job.
    I might be expected to care about my
work.
    I thumbed through the stack of papers and
pulled out the top section, stuck together with a giant clip.
Everything in it was paperwork for me to fill out. The rest—a much
larger stack—looked like an unbound departmental handbook. Dress
codes, rules, parking information.
    A lot of info to take in.
    Polly guided me through the paperwork, then
deposited me back at my new desk to read for a bit. Honestly, I
didn’t understand a damn word of what I read. The dress code
section didn’t even touch on how an outfit should look. It rambled
on for several paragraphs about which types of material were
compatible with Transmutational Thought Transference Bubbles and
didn’t stain easily.
    The parking rules talked about radiuses and
angles of approach. That section also specified that I wasn’t
allowed to have personalized plates on my car, and blue or brown
were the preferred vehicle colors this year. I shrugged that one
off. If they wanted my silver Honda to change color, they’d have to
pay for it themselves. Too bad about the vanity plate though. “I
MUZ U” would have been hilarious, even if I were the only one who
got it.
    An hour and a half later, I realized I was
still sitting there reading. I scrounged a box of raisins and a
protein bar from the bottom of my purse, since no one had said
anything about lunch. It wasn’t ideal, but it was probably better
than whatever the snake lady was serving in the cafeteria.
    Plus, it gave me a chance to reread the
section on pet management. In fact, I read it three times and still
didn’t understand what Beastie Discombobulator Dust did,
exactly.
    The more I read, the more I suspected my
initial assessment that I’d landed a desk position was wrong. What
little I understood from the handbook indicated I was in for a
field job. I supposed that made sense, since I was supposed to be a
Muse, but I still wasn’t clear on where the clients came from or
how the job was done.
    I sighed and closed the folder, then tapped
it against the desk to tidy the