Part 32 (1/2)

Clio and Erato didn't know how to acknowledge that, so they glanced at each other nervously.

The woman beamed at the muses too. ”Thank you for giving Minerva the glimpse. She's perfect for Will.” Her smile turned sad, but then her eyes sparkled with rueful happiness.

”Of course, Lady Hill,” Clio said, ”it was a pleasure to see both of them find such...happiness.”

Erato glanced from her sister to the little brunette.

Julia nodded. ”They are. They both are. They are truly happy and so in love.”

Clio nodded and took a tentative step closer, reaching out a hand, but never able to touch the apparition. ”You can let go now,” she said calmly, rea.s.suringly.

Julia let her smile blossom. With a tiny wisp from the wind her image brightened then turned golden. She burst into sparkles of dust that swirled around Clio and Erato for a few seconds. The golden powder rose to Erva's apartment then it dissipated into nothing but a beautiful cloudless day.

Clio glanced at her sister.

Erato's eyes glistened with moisture. ”Sissy, why didn't you tell me-?”

Clio shrugged.

Erato shoved her sister's shoulder with her own. ”You know, if I didn't know any better, I would think you were getting rather sentimental. And romantic.”

Clio glowered, but then she bit her bottom lip with a small smile.

”I know that face. You're up to something else!”

Clio beamed. ”Well, I had so much fun with you, I was thinking...I know a Green Beret turned academic who is also in love with the American Revolution, particularly a pretty little British spy.”

Erato frowned. ”I know a woman much like Erva, complete overachiever, no idea of her worth, who could stand a good time with a brawny Highlander.”

”And don't forget the World War I doughboy that Odin sent back to Rome. He's been there for, well, a very long time now. Maybe we should help him back to 1917?”

Erato shook her head. ”You got to choose last time. It's my turn now.”

Clio smiled again. ”So it's settled? We'll play time-traveling stewards?”

Erato folded her arm into her sister's, and they marched down the sidewalk. ”This will be so much fun! But I really do get to pick for this next round.”

”Who's it going to be?”

Erato turned toward Clio with a coy grin. ”Well, I want to see a picture of the Green Beret before I make up my mind.”

Clio laughed.

THE END.

HIGHLANDER OF MINE.

By Red L. Jameson.

Prologue.

The muse sisters, Erato and Clio, sat beside the deserted Scottish road, A838. The perpetual slate sky set against the steely North Sea made the picture monochromatic to say the least. But the strip of color, a luscious green gra.s.s beside the road, seemed home only to the Highlands. The sisters sipped margaritas under a huge golden beach umbrella. Lounging in wicker chairs, their feet were propped on small wicker ottomans. Clad in gold jogging suits with gold sports caps, their unruly, dark red, wavy hair stuck out at cla.s.sic Greek angles. They wore gigantic, Jackie O sungla.s.ses, proving that neither of them was there for running, especially since they were giggling nonstop and waving their lime-green drinks toward the road.

”Oh, oh, oh, there's our girl,” Erato, the muse of romantic writing, nodded toward the direction of an approaching runner.

Clio, the muse of historical writing, narrowed her eyes to make out the feminine form in a dark jogging suit with a bouncing black ponytail. ”She's prettier than I thought.”

Erato shoved her sister's hand with her own. ”What? You think only historian geeks can be pretty? My girl, even if she is a nerdy genealogist, is very pretty.”

Clio arched an auburn brow, but rolled her lips inward to keep from smiling. Finally, she said, ”We seem to have a thing for geeks, have you noticed that?”

Erato shrugged, intently watching the jogger run closer. ”We'll choose a non-academic next time. Oh! She's almost here!”

Clio studied the human woman. High cheekbones with pink spread throughout-obviously the girl had been running hard. The woman's dark eyes were intense, determined. Angry. Yikes. But even through the anger, Clio noticed the soft, delicate planes of her face, the plump pink lips, the way the anger seemed turned inward rather than out. The girl needed a break, but she wasn't giving herself one.

Barely paying heed to the muses or perhaps trying hard to ignore the scene the muses created, the jogger ran by on a wildflower-scented breeze, like the Clarkia Pulch.e.l.la-Pinkfairy flowers. It was a sweet, delicate smelling blossom, native to Montana and the Dakotas. It was also a hades of a lot stronger than it looked. Clio wondered if the girl was the same.

”Did you see her a.s.s? She has such a great a.s.s.”

Clio turned to her sister, frowning, one eyebrow seriously arched now.

Erato shrugged. ”What? Like you didn't notice?”

Clio dragged her gaze back to the runner's behind. Narrow hips boasted a tight little f.a.n.n.y. All right, the girl, even if she wasn't a historian, was a hottie.

Clio inhaled deeply and patted her sister's knee. ”Time to get to work.”

Erato giggled. ”I can't wait for this glimpse.”