Intrigue: The Night Muse Trilogy Read online

  Chapter 1: Tics and Rattlesnakes

  August 2007

  My grandma always said, “You’re more likely to get bit by a tic than a rattlesnake, Calli, so watch out.” I just nodded at her for years like I knew exactly what she was saying. I lived in Detroit, Michigan, so we really don’t have any rattlers around here. I asked her once what she meant and she said, “It’s the little things, that we are not scared of that are more likely to bite you in the ass and cause major problems down the road.” My tic bite happened on an ordinary Tuesday when the sensei of our dojo announced that we needed to welcome a new student to our karate class. He introduced him as Rafe Something-I-Didn’t-Catch because I was too busy: 1) staring at a fantabulous model of the male species and 2) letting my mouth drop open. Unfortunately, the next moment I was actually coherent, I heard my boyfriend, Thrace, remark on my drooling. I had to admit that Rafe sent my eyesight into overload, which must have disabled my hearing. He was 6 feet tall with golden brown hair, piercing hazel eyes, and even white teeth when he finally gave us a mischievous smile. He was a hottie tottie with a naughty karate body (I actually learned that one from the Urban Dictionary). It was only when Thrace not so subtly stepped on my foot that I regained my senses, and I realized that I should be starting my warm-ups.

  Sensei Magisawa put us through our paces as Rafe quietly observed us, throwing in a small smile for the females in the class. As the lesson progressed, I could almost feel every time his eyes were on me. It took massive concentration to execute my kihon (basic techniques) and kata (form) with my typical precision. My sensei has always remarked that much like a chess player—I have a gift for anticipating my opponent’s attack and countering it with the perfect move(s). It helped that I run three miles every day to keep my endurance up. Also, so I could eat chocolate and drink Mt. Dew without resorting to Plan A (Anorexia) or Plan B (Bulimia).

  As class let out and we executed our traditional bow to our sensei, there was a slight change from the norm because students either wanted to meet the new guy or talk about the new guy. I was stopped as I headed to the locker room by my friends who wanted to gossip over this unexpected turn of events that led us to such interesting eye candy. Jazmine (Jazz), also a junior at my school, remarked that she was going to offer to practice with Rafe; whereas Keyana (Key) believed that asking for private tutoring from Rafe might be within her budget. I noticed both girls and myself chose to talk about Rafe rather than going to meet him as we headed to the locker room.

  I just smiled at their remarks as I changed in the locker room until they asked me a direct question, “So Calli, what do you think?”

  I responded in my typical dry manner by saying, “I think I have a boyfriend that is pretty much going to be watching me like a hawk after my gawking today.”

  We finished packing up and headed out of the locker room. There stood Thrace ready to escort me out of class. Key smirked and instead of saying goodbye remarked, “I see what you mean.”

  Thrace looked perplexed and of course asked, “What was that about?” But before I could answer, Rafe approached us and announced that the sensei suggested he set up a time to spar with each of us. Both Key and Jazz looked delighted and immediately asked for the time directly after our next 2 practices. I, on the other hand, quietly asked Rafe if he could do a morning time.

  He set our time for the next morning at 7am and said in a charming tone, “See you tomorrow morning Calli.” He walked away amid Jazz and Key fanning themselves while Thrace frowned at Rafe’s back as he left.

  Jazz remarked, “The back view is almost as good as the front view.”

  Thrace said with a slight snarl, “Respect yourself much?”

  Jazz laughingly replied, “Oh, I’ll show him plenty of respect.”

  Thrace just rolled his eyes and asked if I was ready to go. Jazz smirked at him and said, “Good luck with that one on the way home and have a nice practice tomorrow morning—we want details!”

  Thrace hustled me out to his car in silence. Once he started his old Mustang, his interrogation began. “So it appears I might have some competition…”

  I raised exactly one eyebrow at him and remarked innocently, “For what?”

  Thrace snorted and replied, “Your favorite eye candy.”

  I smirked and stated with absolute truth, “Babe, you know my favorite eye candy has always been Shemar Moore!”

  Thrace rolled his eyes and laughed then revised his claim to be my 2nd favorite and most accessible eye candy. As far as my most accessible eye candy goes, Thrace was speaking the gospel truth. Thrace was definitely a hottie in the prep school boy way with his curly blonde hair, blue eyes, and athletic frame. I had a huge crush on Thrace for pretty much my whole life. But, I was always like his little sister until about six months ago when the rest of my body caught up to my giraffe like legs. He had just broken up with his girl of the month when Jazz and Key helped me form a game plan. Key took me to her hair stylist that managed to tame and straighten my auburn locks. Jazz took me shopping for clothes that didn’t “hide” the fact that I had boobs. And mom pitched in with contacts, so Thrace could actually see my blue-green eyes without my retro glasses. Miraculously, my transformation prompted Thrace to ask me out, which delighted both our families. The awkward girl got the fairy tale, but they don’t ever tell you what happens after Cinderella, Snow White, Ariel, and Belle got the Prince.

  I was distracted as Thrace fired his next question, “So I take it you and the other tarts are warm for Hermes form?”

  My mouth dropped opened as I said, “Who?”

  Thrace just shook his head and said, “The new guy!”

  “Oh, I didn’t catch his last name,” I stuttered out.

  Luckily, we were about to my house, so I only had to listen to a short tirade on the unknown skill of ‘the new guy.’

  Unfortunately at that moment, I suffered from Foot-in-Mouth Disease as I commented, “Well, I guess I will find out how good he is tomorrow.”

  Thrace’s eyes widened as he pulled into my drive, and his mouth hung open as he stammered, “Maybe I should drive you to your practice tomorrow morning.”

  I kindly reminded him that my dad always took me to the gym before heading to work. It was our father-daughter bonding thing.

  “Plus, you love your extra beauty sleep,” I teased.

  He slowly leaned over to my seat and nuzzled my neck while he remarked, “Hey, a guy can only get so hot.”

  He seemed more possessive than usual, so I announced, “You know my dad’s watchin us from his rifle scope, right?” He quickly scanned my house as I pulled the car door open and blew him a kiss good-bye.

  I safely entered my house where my dad was calmly sitting on the couch watching ESPN. “How’s my ninja today? Kick some ass, take some names?”

  My mom scowled and said “Lethe Edonides, language! How can we stop Calli from swearing like a sailor if you keep using profanity in front of her?”

  You knew my dad was in trouble when my mom called him by his full name. I had to admit my mom’s concern was valid. I followed in dad’s footsteps on the salty language. But I found a compromise that was inspired by my need to mock our school mascot. We’re the Fighting Falcons. So, my favorite swear words were Flock and Eyas (Falcon). It’s much more amusing when combined with other phrases like Flock Off….Flock You…. Flocker…. Eyasholes…. Jackeyas…. Eyashats and although it still annoyed my mom, she saw it as a vast improvement over my other salty vocab.

  “I will admit I appreciate her attempt at creative swear words, but mostly because it keeps you from yelling at me, Mimsy,” dad laughed.

  I thought I had it bad with Calliope. My poor mom’s given name was Mnemosyne, hence the shortened version of Mimsy. Mom just shook her head and grumbled, “There is pot roast still in the slow cooker if your dad hasn’t already ate it.” Mom was a huge fan of slower cookers—just throw some food in it before you leave for work, and magically it turns into a m
eal by the time you come home. I walked into our kitchen to pull out a paper plate and plastic wear to put my pot roast on. Since I was the one that does the dishes, I tended to use disposable dining wear as much as possible. I took my pot roast back to the living room to recount my day as I ate, which was the requirement in my family. I had mastered the art of only giving enough information to my parents, so they felt like they were informed. It was a fine line--too much information led to more interrogation and too little information leads to major snooping. Thrace believed that I had developed the rare ability to express something while revealing nothing. However, I couldn’t shake the feeling that a sorcerer with laughing hazel eyes might have the ability to see beyond all my fine lines. I smiled at that whimsical thought as I finished my pot roast and parental interrogation.