Enemy of Mine by Red L. Jameson Page B

military historian.”
    While the maid spoke, Erva’s heart raced then flew into her throat. Her head throbbed, and she couldn’t breathe. She could only hold very still, worried that if she moved even a miniscule muscle, she might explode from the truth, from this moment.
    The askew cap-wearing maid rolled her eyes. “Good job, Sis. She’s freaking out even more.”
    “How—how do you know that?” Erva asked, holding her fingers to her mouth.
    “You place your fingertips along your lips when you’re anxious. I’m sorry I’m making you nervous. But, you see, Erva, I’m your muse. You, although unintentionally, called me when you read and enjoyed the history of World War II aircraft evolution. I’ve watched you grow into a woman, then a soldier yourself for four years, then, finally an academic, where your heart soars when you’re researching and writing. You’re so good at what you do. You’re inspiring, my dear.”
    Erva swallowed, but her throat was too tight. The action hurt rather than calmed her. All those words, spoken in such a soft feminine voice, she’d longed to hear for so long. And, God, how she hated it, but coming from a woman, it meant so much more. She ached to hear her mother say something akin to it. But all she’d ever gotten from her mom was something to the effect that she’d never marry now that she was thoroughly unfeminine and too smart for her own good.
    “I’m Clio, Minerva,” the straight cap-wearing muse said. She turned to the other. “And this is my sister, Erato.”
    Erva thought back to her Greek history class she took as an undergraduate. Erato was the muse of...oh yeah! The muse of erotic and romance writing.
    Erato laughed. “She’s looking at me like I’m Medusa, complete with snakes for hair.”
    Clio shrugged. “Well, you are a lot to take in, and what’s with your maid’s cap?”
    “What do you mean? What’s with it?”
    “It’s falling out, barely pinned in place.”
    Erato peeked over her shoulder at her wild red hair. “God, I hate this little cap thing.” She looked at Erva with a wide smile. “I hope you don’t mind...” She snapped, and instantly her maid’s uniform was gone. In its place was a golden toga. Erato’s hair was neatly braided and hung over one shoulder. She drew a huge breath. “Ah, that is so much more comfortable. How on earth did women wear corsets for so long?”
    “Some women needed the support.” Clio snorted and arched a brow at her sister’s chest.
    Erato cracked yet another smile at Erva. “I think my sister’s trying to cleverly point out that I don’t have much for breasts, but we’re the same size, so she’s really insulting herself as well. By the way, are yours real? Either way, they’re great.”
    Erva blinked at the spinning, constant conversation, needing to gulp for air.
    Clio growled. “You can’t ask her that! You’re ruining everything!”
    “What?” Erato shrugged and climbed on the bed Erva was glued to, transfixed while watching the bickering sisters. Erato sat with her legs bent under her, a couple feet away from Erva. “I’m giving the girl a compliment.”
    “Erva’s having a hard enough time believing this is her reality, and you’re asking about her boobs, which are real, yes. They grew almost overnight when she was seventeen. She had thought she’d be flat chested for the rest of her life, but that obviously didn’t happen. So stop talking about her breasts.”
    “I think you’re the one going on and on about them.”
    Clio growled again and raked a hand through her hair, loosening the maid’s cap. Then she made another strangled, annoyed noise. She pushed her palms out with a huff, and lifted her right hand, snapping her fingers. Instantly she was dressed similarly to Erato. At that, Clio gave a contented sigh. She then turned back to Erva with a maternal smile.
    “Anyway, where was I?”
    “You were trying to convince me this is reality. I’m not crazy.” Erva’s voice