Page 3 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

“We didn’t hire Amaura so that she could fill your head with such silly imaginations,” Mommy says for the first time. She sounds disappointed. She sighs and turns her attention to Daddy. “It seems like we can’t find great help these days without them trying to brainwash our kid.”

I shake my head, “I asked Amaura to get it for me, though. She told me stories of angels and…Well, I thought…”

I trail off. I don’t remember what I thought. I saw the statue and wanted to take it home. Especially since Amaura told me people believe they can protect us. But as I stare at the shards of him across the floor, I’m starting to understand why she said I have to defend myself.

Daddy shakes his head and mutters something as he walks to the kitchen. My eyes sting as I try my best not to cry. Daddy hates it when I cry; he punishes me for them. I glance in his direction and feel my lips tremble.

I hope he isn't yelling at Amaura. It wasn't her fault I wanted my own little angel. I'll make it up to her if she gets in trouble. She loves it when I draw or paint for her and always begs me to make something.

I hear muffled sounds in the kitchen, but I can't listen to what Daddy says as I try to collect the angel and his pieces. I could glue him back together.

“Drop that, Briar, and come here,” Mommy says impatiently.

I swallow hard but obey. I reach for her but hear sharp noises coming from the kitchen. Shoot, did Chef Greene drop some plates again? I whirl around, about to run to see if they need help, but Mommy grabs my arm and squeezes.

I whimper, the familiar feeling of fear shooting through my skin like an unwanted visitor.

“Mommy? What’s —”

I hear a scream. I gasp at the sound.

Amaura.

“Amaura, are you okay?” I shout. I try to wiggle out of my Mommy's grip when she doesn't answer. “Mommy, let me see if she needs help!”

“We can’t have someone like her ruining all our hard work.”

What is she talking about? Her grip is becoming painful, so I try to bite her hand.

She slaps me in the face, and I stop struggling, staring at her as I hold my hot cheek. Why did she do that? I'm going to cry, and I can't do that! She's never punished me before. Daddy does that. I open my mouth to apologize, but a popping sound makes me freeze.

The noises stop.

Seconds later, Daddy comes strolling into the living room, his face disgruntled. His hair is sticking up, and his fists look red. He sighs heavily as he sits back on his armchair, rustling through his newspaper and lighting a new cigar.

As if nothing interrupted him.

“Where’s Amaura?” My voice sounds so small I'm afraid he didn't hear me. “She told me to prepare for dinner, but I must shower first. Can I get her to help me?”

“Amaura isn’t your nanny anymore.”

Huh? “I… I don’t understand.”

“She’s no longer working for us.”

“But —”

I turn my head slightly as I hear a slight noise from the kitchen again. Feeling hope swell in my chest, I tilt my body to see if Amaura will come in to announce dinner is ready.

Instead, I see Chef Greene dragging a large rectangular black bag to the kitchen’s exit. He pauses to grunt and pats the sweat off his forehead. His eyes drift to mine, and we both stop. His eyes widen at the sight of me staring at him.

And just like that, I know where Amaura is. She went where other staff members went whenever my parents decided they were untrustworthy.

Wait… No! I don’t understand. Why did they —

“Get yourself cleaned up for dinner before I give you five lashes for disobeying me, Briar,” Daddy snaps, making me jump.

Feeling my throat squeeze, I swallow my whimpers and bolt out of there, hoping they will leave Amaura’s broken gift on the floor so I can glue him back together.

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