Anna Forsythe

TUMB 07/13   Brownstone had asked Tyler to point him to someone who could be be funny and filthy at the same time. They also have to be good at poetry and shit.”“You want a foul-mouthed and funny poet?” Yes.

Tyler recommended Anna. When Brownstone pulled up, he was puzzled. Everything about this place suggested the occupant was not a woman who could help him win a filthy limerick contest held at a bar. He knocked on the door, and it was answered. A beautiful blonde woman stood on the other side. Her silver glasses, high chignon, stylish gray suit jacket and matching long gray skirt gave her an elegant, professional vibe with a touch of sexiness. Her smooth features made her look young, but something about the knowing look in her eyes made her seem older.A few seconds passed before James realized her irises were bright red. No red lines or thickened blood vessels spiked through the whites of her eyes, suggesting the color was natural and not the product of alcohol or drugs. “This is my natural eye color.”

As he entered the house, he saw that a minimalist design aesthetic marked the living room, with an emphasis on airy spaces and white furniture. James hated white furniture. It was too easy to spot dust and grime. James noticed a row of photographs of men lining the opposite wall, some young, some old. While the pictures on the right end of the row had obviously been taken within recent years, the age of the photos increased as he looked at the left, at least judging by the clothes and the permanent shift to black and white. Faded daguerreotypes gave way to small portraits on the end. James pointed at the paintings. “What’s with those?” “All brilliant men of great comedic talent. The paintings include some performers from the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. I’m surprised you don’t recognize some of the later ones.” .“I’m beginning to understand why you need my help, Mr. Brownstone. I’ll note I have an interest in men of great comedic talent.”

The woman all but glided to the other end of her couch, her every step elegant and sensual in a way that confused James. He might not understand women, but he knew when a woman was attractive. He normally didn’t react so strongly, though. Then he realized.

“You’re not human.” Anna let out a sigh. “That, I suppose, is a matter of definition.” “Are you familiar with the leanan sídhe?” A type of Celtic fairy. Kind of like a succubus, but they inspire artists, and most legends say that inspiration ends up costing the artist their lives. They live bright and inspired but short lives.” That’s the name humans gave my kind."

“And you live in Los Angeles?” Anna shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I? It is a city filled with men desperate for artistic inspiration. And, oh, I’ve not been here long, only forty or fifty years.” She laughed. “I do love this place, and everything’s become so much easier with the full return of magic. I’ve been alive a very long time, Mr. Brownstone. Before, when most magic was gone from Earth, it was hard. Imagine always feeling like I was on the verge of starvation, and always having to hide my nature from suspicious people who’d destroy me without understanding me.” So you went and inspiration-fucked a bunch of men and took their lives in exchange? Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?” “Something like that, yes.” Anna held up a finger. “But if I may correct a misconception I’m sure you have, I never offered my gifts to any man without explaining the cost first. All freely choose inspiration over a long life. I’ve never misrepresented myself to any of the men I’ve helped. I might have hidden my nature from the common angry peasant, but I’m not a monster preying on innocents. I can assure you, even if I were so inclined, you’re not my type. Also, I’ll have you know that it’s much easier these days. The price of my inspiration is less dangerous. A man can have his cake and eat it, now. He just has to put aside the occasional weekend or two for exhaustion. “So you don’t kill people anymore?” “I never killed people. They chose to sacrifice one thing for another, and I only explained the situation so you’ll stop thinking of me as a horrible monster.”

But I don’t get why Tyler sent me to you. He must have known I wouldn’t trade sex for information, inspired or otherwise.” “Ah, but you don’t have to.” Anna gestured again to the photos and paintings. “As you can see, I have a type, and you have to understand what it means to inspire. I’m the muse, but I didn’t put thoughts into their heads. Their own brilliance generated it. I just fed that brilliance. After spending hundreds of years around men of comedic genius, it’s hard to not have absorbed some of the knowledge.” She smiled. “I can give you advice rather than inspiration.

“In exchange for what?” “A favor in the future.” Anna held a pale hand. “I’m not involved in any strange criminal activities, but on occasion, because of my nature I can be targeted by unfortunate individuals. It’d be helpful if I could call upon the Scourge of Harriken in such a case.”

“Tyler gave me an overview of what you were looking for, but it wasn’t clear to me the exact context.” “I owe someone else a favor,” James explained. “And this favor involves me participating in a dirty limerick contest at a bar.”