elfs | Muse, go back to bed, please.

"Hey, Elf." She shook my shoulder. "Hey. Wake up."

"Muse? What the Hell time is it? You do know that I have to be up at eight, tomorrow?"

"That's tommorow. So, I had this idea. Do you remember that story idea you had a few years ago, the mash-up alt history with magically super-fast, super-strong knights making hell for the Medicis?"

"Yeah," I said. "Janae. I remember it." I uncharitably called it Dorothy Dunnet's Star Wars at the time. It was a fun idea, but whether or not I had the patience to write it was very much a question at the time.

"Well, now that you've finished your first draft of Iowa Stray and are almost finished the final proofs for the Treefort series, do you think, after you post the two Sterlings episodes you owe your fans, that you might consider this?" She gave me an image. An image, the wretched girl. Janae in a half leap over shattering pews in the Sistine Chapel, sword in hand, facing another male from the Ordre du David, the Vatican order that both trains and demands fealty of these people with this special gift, while a woman stands at the back, watching them. She's blindfolded, yet she seems to be in control. There were sound effects, too: mostly crunching sounds.

"What am I supposed to do with that?" I asked.

Muse grinned at me. "Figure out how to get there." She said, "By the way, that's from book three."

I hate when she says that.