Dark Muse by David Simms Page B

secret. “You’re not going. Said and done.
Remember the ‘respect your elders’ thing? You need training. I’m
not about to sacrifice four pains in the butt just because they
want to go, go, go. This ain’t some videogame where you can read a
book of tricks and beat the thing! People who know what they’re
doing sometimes don’t come back.” He let his gaze hit the
floor.
    “Houston’s still there, isn’t he,” Muddy
asked. “That’s what you believe, isn’t it?”
    A wave of an old hand cut the air. “Probably
nothing left of him now. Stupid greedy fool. He had to go.
The place is magnetic—it pulls you in—you’ll see.”
    “When did you last see him?”
    Muddy swore a tear formed in that one eye.
“In nineteen-sixty-nine. He desperately wanted to do Woodstock and
blow the place wide open.”
    “Like Hendrix did,” Corey added.
    “Yep, like Hendrix.”
    “But, he never returned.”
    Sighing, Silver Eye continued. “Nope, and
people here thought he’d just picked up and headed for Chicago or
New Orleans or some blues capital. I knew the truth.”
    “What happened to him? Was it the Dark
Muse?”
    The others turned to him, a million questions
in their eyes.
    “You think he’s still alive? Him or the
muse?”
    Silver Eye’s head turned toward the wall of
photos. “The Dark Muse…it ain’t always the same. I think the
River—and what rules the other side wears them out from time to
time.”
    Muddy felt worry wash over him. “They grow
evil of that magnitude there?”
    “Doesn’t every world? When Hitler died, we
got a whole slew of new demons, no shortage of them. Did it stop
when Bin Laden got killed?”
    “There’s darkness everywhere,” Muddy said,
understanding.
    “You got it, boy. Sometimes people even go
looking for it.”
    “So what do you think happened to
him?”
    That eye, the silver one, seemed to come
alive and bore straight into him. “Probably the same thing that’ll
happen to you if you head over there before you’re ready.”
    “Okay,” the boy replied, even though he
didn’t know to what he was replying.
    “So, you’ll complete your training with
me?”
    His lips released the words before Muddy’s
brain registered the question. “Of course.”
    * * * *
    The moment they left the house and crossed
the street, Otis spoke. “So, when do we leave?”
    Muddy didn’t hesitate. “First thing tomorrow
morning. Pack your gear.”
    “We’re skipping school?” Otis sounded giddy
at the thought.
    Muddy grinned. “No one will notice. Besides,
remember what Silver Eye said? Time acts different there. We could
be gone a week and still make math class.”
    “Let’s not.”
    “Still,” Poe said. “You don’t know that for
sure. I can’t deal with a suspension.”
    “Trust me, we’ll be back in time. Why do you
think Silver Eye looks so young?”
    Corey put a big hand on his friend’s chest.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
    “Stop quoting movies.” Muddy’s focused stare
rivaled Silver Eye’s. “Even Han Solo wouldn’t turn down this
adventure.”
    “But we’re not heroes. We’re the ‘The
Accidentals.’ “
    * * * *
    Morning came without incident, but also with
little sleep. No strange sounds. No mud-caked shoes. Yet Muddy
would have liked to have encountered his mother, real or the dream
version, one last time. Their little group of misfits were about to
embark on a journey without permission into a land, or world, that
none of them understood. In a few hours, Poe, Otis, Corey and he
would disappear at the crossroads—to hopefully return—and not
alone.
    Muddy and his dad exchanged morning grumbles,
typical of a school day morning. He headed for the cereal and
coffee, hoping to get through the meal with little or no
conversation. Despite the friction between them, he couldn’t bring
himself to lie to the man who never failed him. If Muddy did, it
hurt, and as his father often told him, guilt sprouted in neon
letters all over his