Chapter Twelve
“I love my mate,” the cy’ote alleged,
“I mourn to leave her side,
But destiny calls to break my pledge,
To my clingy little bride.”
Lyrics from the folk song “Crossroads Coyote”
“You need to snap out of this.” Clementine leaned closer to him. “You go on in twenty minutes.”
Bill rubbed at his temple, trying to think. Johnny was a fucking moron, but what if he was right, for once? What would it be like for Bill’s animal-half if the coyote was locked away? It enjoyed its freedom, roaming untethered inside him. Without an outlet, it would feel boxed in. Be trapped and restless and furious and miserable.
Why wouldn’t it be the same for Clementine?
“Bill, what in the world is bothering you so much that…?”
“Would you be unhappy not using your magic?” He interrupted, already knowing the answer.
“Is that what this is about?” She rolled her eyes.
“I’m serious. You’re a muse. Do you need to work with an artist to be happy?”
She hesitated for a beat too long.
Shit.
“I feel fulfilled when I’m helping to create art.” She allowed and held up her palms. “But I don’t have to use my magic to do that. I’m very happy being your manager.”
He rubbed a palm over his face. Strategy usually came easy for coyotes, but this time… “I think you’re the best manager in town. I really do. That’s got nothing to do with Johnny.”
“I believe you.” She chewed on her lip for a beat. “I like working with you more than I ever liked working with him.”
His eyes jumped to hers.
She smiled. “Fate brought us together.”
He grunted, because it was ten months of careful planning and constant work that had got her here with him.
“I would never want to pressure you into anything you don’t feel comfortable with.” Clementine continued. “But I’d be happy to help you with some deeper inspiration, if you let me. I see so much potential in you.”
“I don’t…” He struggled to find the words, as images of his parents flickered through his head. “To be the musician you see in me, I’d have to sing. And I haven’t sung in front of anyone in a long time.”
Clem’s eyebrows soared in surprise. “You used to sing?”
“As a kid. For fun.” It had come naturally to him, much like guitar playing. “My momma didn’t much like it, though.”
“Why not?”
“My pa was a singer. It brought back memories.”
Clementine paused, sensing the pain and screaming and tears behind the simple words. “You don’t have to sing, until you feel ready.”
“I probably won’t ever feel ready.”
“That’s fine.”
“But you think it’ll hurt my career.”
“I don’t care about your career.” She paused. “Well, I mean, I do . I’m ambitious. That doesn’t mean I would ever want you to be uncomfortable or unhappy, though. Mostly I care about helping you reach your own creative potential, whatever that might be. A muse’s magic helps your music come out.” She pointed at his heart, even though coyotes didn’t have one. “It all comes from you.”
“Then how come Johnny’s got no more music in him, since you left?”
“He does . It’s all still in there. Creating art is hard work. Johnny had me helping him, for a long time. He needs to figure out how to do all the heavy lifting by himself, now.”
Johnny would never write another song. Not a good one. Bill knew that. He’d known it when he plotted to take Clementine away from Johnny and still he’d taken her anyway. Because coyotes stole happily ever afters from other men.
“I think…” Clementine frowned, as if she was considering something new. “I think there’s a tradeoff. I never really considered it before. But… When you work with a muse, you can more easily reach your full potential as an artist. The creativity flows. Sparks of truth and beauty are everywhere, lighting fireworks.” She spread her fingers out in a quick burst to create a small visual of explosions. “In no time at all, you’ve got the idea. The one that changes everything. And then…”
“ Ka-pow! ”Bill finished.
She nodded. “If you lose the magic and you can’t access the ka-pow! as fast…? It’s difficult to adjust. You used to run everyplace and now you have to walk. You can still climb to that ka-pow! by yourself, of course. Lots of artists do. But maybe it’s a tougher road knowing that there’s a shortcut to inspiration and you can’t take it. And maybe you can’t ever find a way to generate enough sparks, again.”
“I guess that’s why only a dumbass fires his muse.” Bill theorized.
She made a face. “I’m being serious. This could be a real problem. I don’t like to think of my magic hurting anyone.”
“Your magic didn’t hurt Johnny. He used it to build himself up and then forgot who it really belonged to. Now, he’s right back to where he was before you came into his life.”
“I’ve known Johnny a long time. He’ll see that as being hurt.”
“Well, I’m happy to show him the difference between you not helping him anymore and somebody actually hurting his spoiled ass. Just say the word.”
Clementine didn’t seem soothed by that offer. “It would be best if I dealt with Johnny. He’s acting very odd.” She pondered things for a beat. “Do you think he might have made a deal at a crossroads, to trade his old self for better music? Like in the folk song, where the coyote bargains away his True Love?”
“If he did, he got screwed over. Johnny still ain’t that talented.”
The mention of that damn song got Bill brooding even deeper, though. It reminded him of his pa and he didn’t much like thinking about old Hop. That son of a bitch had done his best to ruin Bill’s whole life.
If his father had been a worthwhile man, Bill’s mother wouldn’t have left him for greener pastures. Hopalong Kassidy had been solely fixated on his singing career. No time to be a husband or father, except when he wanted to alleviate his professional frustrations with his fists.
If Hop had been able to hold a real job and pay some child support, maybe Bill’s ma wouldn’t have remarried. Sal had been a spunky girl, but she hadn’t found much in the way of career opportunities. Her curly eyes and laughing hair had been striking enough to catch the eye of a wealthy man, however. Cordwood Sven had been a lumberjack, who’d made a nice living chopping down trees in Camelot. As the forests grew smaller and the money grew scarcer, Sven grew meaner.
If Cordwood Sven hadn’t spent all his time between his naps and drinking hating his stepson, maybe Bill’s mom never would have kicked Bill out when he was fifteen years old. For the good of the family, she said. But Sal had left Cordwood Sven pretty soon afterwards, onto richer men who enjoyed her exotic beauty. Last Bill heard, she’d married some fool who rustled little doggies for a living. Bill doubted that black-market dog herding was a growth industry, so she’d certainly drifted to the next loser by now.
If Bill hadn’t had been kicked out when he was fifteen, his life sure would’ve been easier. No doubt about that. He wouldn’t have had to shift into his coyote-form for the first time on his own, feeling scared and vulnerable in a way he never, ever wanted to again. Maybe he coulda finished school. Not spent so many years scraping by with whatever manual labor he could find. Come to Clem with less baggage and more money. Been a worthy partner for her.
One little change was all it woulda took.
Hop Kassidy, Bill’s deadbeat daddy, had fucked up everything. Nobody had seen that son of a bitch in decades and good riddance to him.
“Well, whatever’s going on inside Johnny’s head, he can’t take it out on you.” Clementine declared, oblivious to Bill’s dark memories. “I’m going to have to be more assertive with him, which is hard for me. I’ve been making excuses for him for far too long and that’s a difficult habit to break. But he is not the same Johnny he used to be, and I don’t want you hurt.”
She had no idea what Bill was really capable of. He hoped she never found out. He liked being a sensitive artist in her eyes. It made him feel clean.
Clem seemed uncharacteristically serious. “You should think about what I said, before you decide on working with me any deeper. I don’t want you to one day regret it, because you can’t leave our partnership without giving up my magic.”
“Oh, I’m not troubled about that.”
“No?But…”
“I am never leaving our partnership.” He assured her, before she could continue her protest. “Not ever , Clem. Share whatever you want to share with me. And you can take whatever you want from me in return.” He shrugged. “Not sure what that would be exactly, but you might as well have it. We’re in this together. Clementine and Bill, for all of ever-after.”
She stared at him.
He stared back.
She chewed her lower lip, asking if he was sure.
He shrugged, because he was utterly, totally, violently sure.
She slowly smiled.
His yearning for her solidified into something bordering on obsession. She was bright and joyful and innocent. It was wrong to steal her. He didn’t care.
“I think you should be my muse.” He heard himself say.
Clem’s smile grew wider. “Okay. If you’re sure that you’re sure.”
Satisfaction rushed through him. It felt like he’d found another way to claim her. “Oh, I’m positive that I’m sure.” A new worry occurred to him. “Will you be able to read my mind, if you’re helping to inspire me?”
“Of course not. Imagine it like a door between us. If you don’t open it, nothing gets through. Ideally, though, the door is open enough that ideas and emotions pass back and forth. It produces beautiful art.” She paused. “Supposedly, if an artist and a muse are perfectly matched, there’s no door at all.”
“Did you have that kind of bond with Johnny?”
“Oh no! I’ve never heard of it happening to anyone . It’s just… the ideal. The muse and the artist as one flowing unit. Whatever work they produce would be epic.”
Bill relaxed some, relieved that she wasn’t “perfectly matched” with Johnny.
Clem frowned. “I know it wasn’t a crossroads deal that changed Johnny. That’s a silly excuse, I thought up. One day, our collaboration just stopped working.” She sighed. “The door between us was closed and he didn’t even notice.”
But she could develop a strong bond, if she helped someone else.
That just wasn’t going to work for Bill.
He hated the idea of any other man forming an intense relationship with his stolen-mate. Even if the guy never touched her, that son of a bitch would have some piece of Clem that Bill didn’t. There could be back-and-forth with ideas and emotions and fuck knew what else.
Yeah, that wasn’t happening. Not ever . Bill had to stop it.
“You and I have a very deep connection, already.” Clementine went on. “At least, I feel like we do. Sometimes I look at you and I know exactly what you’re thinking. Do you ever…?”
“Yes.” He answered before she could even finish.
She grinned. “My magic will fit with you, if you’re willing to open up with me.”
He considered that. “There’s stuff in my head that I’d rather you not know. You wouldn’t like me as much, if you did.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is . I’ve got Bad thoughts sometimes.”
“You have a mischievous streak.” She allowed, looking amused and not at all discouraged. “I don’t mind it.”
“You would if you knew some of the stuff I did.”
“Like what?”
Bill was quiet.
“If you tell me, you’ll feel better about it. I promise.”
He weighed his options. Clementine needed to be a muse, because she was happy being a muse and he wanted her happy. Bill was certainly not going to let her be some other guy’s muse. The bastard would try to steal her away. Bill would, in his place. Therefore, Clem had to be Bill’s muse. There was just no way around it. And that meant he had to prepare her for at least some of the Badness lurking within him.
“Well,” he began, “I’ve caused Johnny some problems on social media. I checked and now I’ve got thousands of responses, all saying real unflattering things about him.”
“That’s Johnny’s own fault.” Clem declared loyally. “I blame him for all the problems in your relationship.”
“Oh, I blame him for a heap of stuff.”
“He never appreciated you, as a vital part of the band. …And I think he might be prejudiced against coyotes.” Clementine delivered that last bit of news in a hushed tone and with a grave expression on her face, like it would be a horrible new realization for him.
“I noticed that, too.” Bill allowed.
“It’s just appalling! I am so sorry you were subjected to that outburst earlier.”
“I’ve dealt with worse.” Bill wasn’t about to get sidetracked, because if he didn’t say this now he might never say it. “Anyway, it’s not just Johnny that’s brought out my Badness. For instance…” He cleared his throat. “I never did have much fondness for Rosalee.”
“That’s okay. I don’t like her either.” Clementine said instantly.
“I flirted with her a bit, though. You were right about that.”
Blonde eyebrows compressed. “I know.” Clem grumbled. “This morning, Luke suggested that maybe you’re still interested in her.”
Bill’s jaw flexed. “Oh, he did, huh?”
That lying little fuck.
Bill had never been a neighborly sort, but he was beginning to feel downright hostile towards that boy. His own coyote didn’t detect any danger in Luke’s scent. It was oddly calm about the kid being so close by. However, Bill’s human-side was getting a mite pissed off.
Why was Luke so interested in Clem? Was he trying to undermine Bill’s relationship with her? He seemed awful young to want to steal a mate for himself, so that wasn’t it. Coyotes didn’t have much of a sex drive until they shifted, and the boy hadn’t shifted, yet. Did he have a grudge against Bill, for some reason? Because Bill was sure as hell developing a grudge against him.
“I explained to Luke that you weren’t sleeping with her.” Clem said with a nod. “I know you’d tell me if you were.”
“That’s right, I would. I’m not sleeping with anyone, but especially not Rosalee.”
He intended to ruin the woman, actually, and Johnny was inadvertently helping him do it. Once The Yellow Roses collapsed, Rosalee’s career would be in the toilet too. And the Susannah Alabama affair was sure to be unwelcomed news for her.
Bill might’ve also set a situation into motion featuring Rosalee, Rosalee’s expensive sand-yacht, and a herd of angry jackalopes. Just to make sure he got his point across about what a downright poor life choice it was to disrespect Clementine. …In a quiet, indirect way.
“You’re not seeing anyone else, at all?” Clem persisted hopefully.
“Only you. I never meant to upset you, when I flirted with Rosalee. My intention was just getting Johnny focused on her.” It was why Bill subtly maneuvered for Rosalee to get hired, in the first place. He’d known she’d be a real good fit for his scheme to let Johnny destroy himself. Those two deserved each other.
“Well, I guess your matchmaking plan worked, since they’re dating now.”
“Dating is a nice way to put it.” He had a feeling Vulture Valente’s gossip site would use less sanitized verbs, when he exposed the texts that Bill had helpfully forwarded. “I wasn’t exactly matchmaking, either. John’s just competitive with me.”
Clem scoffed, like it was silly that the other man even tried to compete.
“I thought if Johnny was busy trying to win Roselee away and beat me in some dick-measuring contest, he’d stop spending so much time with you.”
Clementine looked confused. “Why would you want that?”
“So you’d spend time with me instead.”
She blinked. “You wanted to spend time with me and not Rosalee?”
“Of course! That woman is damn annoying.”
Clem gave a sputtering laugh. “Oh my God, she so is.”
Bill relaxed some. “You and Johnny used to eat lunch together, remember? I figured if Johnny and Rosalee began sharing their breaks, you might come sit with me and we could…” He trailed off with a shrug.
“Talk?” She finished for him.
“To begin with. Sure.”
“Oh.” Clementine pushed her curly hair behind her ear and flushed pink. It seemed like she was suppressing a grin. “Well, I see how doing all that might upset you. Pretending to have an attraction to Rosalee felt emotionally dishonest.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“I think you’re being too hard on yourself.” She leaned forward to touch his arm. “When we met, you felt drawn to me. Am I right?”
“That’s for certain.”
“Because I’m a muse!” She insisted with an understanding smile. “Our connection is bound to cloud your judgment, from time to time, and set you on mischievous paths like this Rosalee thing.” She waved it aside. “Artists are driven by passions and they’re not always light.”
“It’s not because you’re a muse.” He shook his head. “Our connection is because you’re Clementine . And I cannot stand the idea of you connecting with anyone but me.”
The atmosphere in the room shifted.
Clementine’s breathing got faster. She liked that possessive statement. She’d probably call it “poetic temperament.” Bill knew it was “territorial aggression.” Either way, she liked being the focus of all his attention. Which was damn fortunate, since he had a hard time looking anyplace but her.
“I want you to be my muse.” He reiterated. “How do we do that?”
“Like this.” She leaned forward, her lips brushing against his.
There was a spark of golden light behind his eyes. So quick and bright, Bill almost thought he imagined it. There might have been more, too. He wasn’t sure, because he was too caught up in the magic of Clem’s taste to notice plain old ordinary magic, at all.
It was probably meant to be a very quick kiss. Kisses were a common way to seal and unseal spells. But Bill wasn’t about to let his stolen-mate slip away with just a harmless peck. Her soft lips touched his and Bill lost control.
One second, her mouth was sweetly closed. The next, his tongue was surging inside.
One second, she was in her own chair. The next, she was dragged onto his lap.
One second, she was shocked still. The next, her arms were around his neck, and she was kissing him back.
Bill groaned in pure, masculine satisfaction.
The smart play would be to keep the kiss simple. Gentle. He’d never seen Clem on a date. (If he had, the asshole would’ve been ripped to pieces, his body scattered like a cyclone victim in Oz.) He knew she didn’t have a lot of experience with men. Logic said to coax her. Unfortunately, logic meant fuck-all when you’re dream girl was pressed up against you.
Bill’s control snapped. He kissed Clementine the way he’d been wanting to for months. With frantic, wild hunger. Like he belonged to her. Like he was finally home.
Her lips parted for him, kissing him back just as desperately. Her fingers slid through his hair, so she could hold onto his head. He gave a low growl of approval. Or maybe his coyote did. They were one and the same and they were both loving this.
He sucked on her perfect, pouty bottom lip, his hands clenched around the fabric of her shirt, already plotting to strip it off of her.
She whimpered, rubbing against him.
The top nearly blew off of his head.
Someone in the hallway dropped what sounded like a set of gigantic cymbals. A reverberating clang echoed through the building. Male voices bellowed. The noises of a fistfight breaking out. Someone shouted in pain.
…And the sexual haze that had fallen over the dressing room was ruined.
Clem gave a squeak of alarm and jerked back, nearly tumbling off of his lap. Green eyes were huge, as if she was astonished by what had just happened. The girl was not going to be taking her top off anytime soon.
Shit!
Bill barely suppressed a howl of frustration.
“I’m so sorry!” Clem scrambled away from him. “I didn’t expect that to happen. It’s usually a very innocent spell. Nothing that should’ve induced any lust. It didn’t when I kissed Johnny…”
“It wasn’t the spell.” Bill interrupted, not wanting to hear about her kissing Johnny. “It was you and me.”
She blinked. “You think my magic reacted to your innate artistry?”
“My what?”
“My God.” Her eyes widened. “You’re right! This reaction is probably a very important sign.”
He couldn’t argue with that. “Seems powerful important to me.” He licked the taste of her off his lips and knew his eyes were glowing.
Clem stepped closer to him again, unafraid that his coyote was stirring. “It’s exactly like those stories I was just telling you about. Where muses and artists blend their skills so perfectly, they share everything . The art those teams produce is epic!”
“Uh-huh.” Bill tried real hard to listen to her words and not stare at her pretty mouth.
“If you open up that emotional door to me -- all the way open-- maybe that could be us. Do you feel any different?”
Of course he felt different. He was harder than he’d ever been in his whole life and… Oh. Hang on. She meant because of the muse thing. “Not really.”
“Good.” She smiled. “That means my magic is already working.”
“If you say so.”
“Just be yourself. Let ideas flow and beautiful music play in your head.”
Bill rubbed the back of his neck and nodded like he actually believed he was going to have a flash of brilliance. “Sure.” He agreed.
…And began to plot how he could fake being inspired.