Muse Paisley, The Next Day, Inside Mason's Apartment.

It was early morning, and I turned the dials of my narration chair. Thousands of years ago, the knobs and switches were made of crystals and powered by the sun and shadows, but the technology had improved.

The terrible scene of a living spaceship partially exploding wasn't real but a terrible dramatization. Mason forced me to watch the monstrosity of a documentary repeatedly because he thought he was being clever. I refuse to call, rifling through a box of files while watching TV, solving a mystery! He only used his magnifying glass twice the entire morning.

A celebrity voice boomed over the TV. The cartoon of the shuttle crash-landed on a deserted planet, accompanied by a cheesy melodramatic score. "Eighteen years ago, famed industry leader Quin Salamander and her preteen daughter, Vash, were injured because of a sabotaged living spaceship and left to die on an uncharted planet."

Footage of a man in a spacesuit played on the screen, showing space detectives examining the part of space where the ship went down.

More photos and videos flashed on the screen.

The family stood in a photo together, but Vash was not included. Dozens of images of a chubby Vash by herself flashed on the screen. Plastic surgery bandages covered her face. All but Quin's wolf royal husband were part pixie, and their wings were feathered, but Shanna's wings shimmered. A heavenly light poured over her.

Did I have to hear this again? I glared at Mason. He grinned to himself and turned up the TV's sound to full, ear-splitting volume.

"Vash was a child prodigy and graduated from a top college at twelve, but passed away on her thirteenth birthday. While many speculated Dina was Vash's and Shanna's birth mother, it proved to be a false rumor."

"Stop it! I don't need to know why Quin hired surrogates," I said to Mason.

He stretched and fluffed his pillows. "But the supposed surrogate hired for Shanna's birth was Dina. Gaining full custody of her fourteen-year-old sister might be a motive to kill her mother. The fact that Deb and her name start with the same letter is not a coincidence."

"Why are you doing this?" I asked.

"I want to save my half-sister! The corporate orphanage took her from our family due to my father's debts."

"Yes, but before you were born."

"That's not true. Did you read the notes? I visited Lexi before they moved her. Forced plastic surgery falsely guarantees adopted children blend in with the new family or orphanage, but surgeons can't hide everything." He sped through a half-hour of the documentary, and I was thankful for it.

The announcer spoke again. "Rob left university early to take care of the family business, which includes electric companies, restaurants, and corporate orphanages."

I tried to ignore the TV and focused on the decor of Mason's living space.

Playbooks, a few boxes of nonperishable food, and a laptop covered a metal desk, which was the only furniture in the room beside the bed, but at least his bathroom contained a small closet and a full tub.

He sighed to himself, not speaking.

"Two-bedroom ship quarters were only given to couples," I said out loud.

"Paisley, I paid extra for this cabin. I refuse to live with three hundred soldiers in a barrack, or worse, my mom's sewing room. Her life shouldn't be endangered because of my choices."

"You have no one to share your private space with."

"Stop telling me how lonely I am. I don't need to be reminded that I'm dateless tonight."

"There is always Commander Nickel. She's as pathetic as you are," I said bluntly. "She could probably protect you."

"Paisley! I'm busy." He went over documents from his bed over a TV tray with photos of space pandas painted on its metal front. He dictated what the announcer said next. "Both mother and daughter survived for weeks and made hundreds of distress calls before being used as fuel by their living ship. Four commanders were reassigned to The Flying Clutch after the crash for dereliction of duty."

I hated Mason. The freak was re-watching it to torture me.

He bared fangs, and it wasn't a friendly smile. "And you describe everything in my apartment every hour. I hate your pointless reminders."

"My descriptions aren't pointless," I said.

"If you believe that." Mason walked to his desk. He pulled out a bag of marshmallows, bottled water, and an electric kettle from under his bed. He prepared himself hot chocolate and located a box of dinosaur-shaped cookie sandwiches, which isn't a proper breakfast.

"Forget being shot. You're going to suffer from diabetes," I snapped.

"Health problems are not a joke. Besides, these cookies are made from oat fiber and three kinds of grains. Even the marshmallow cream and jam are healthier than the junk you eat."

"How do you know about my cheesy chip sandwiches?" I asked.

He ignored me.

A commercial for Glow Fourth and Fifth Electrical came on. Rob Salamander and his sister Shanna sang that his company lit the galaxy. Mason turned down the sound.

He pretended to be unconcerned that last night was supposed to be his memorial. His lonely existence was destined to be a tragedy. Why did Mason even bother to survive? His ashes spread across the universe, which was a fitting ending. What kind of life did he have? He hadn't been on a date in over two years. "You croak when I tell you to," I said.

Mason collapsed on his bed and kept his eyes still. His tongue hung out, and he bolted up. "In the musical, Into the Woods, the fairy tale characters had enough of the snotty narrator. If I could find wherever you are broadcasting from, I'd toss you to a giant woman or use you as a shield."

"Are you threatening my life?"

"No, Paisley, you aren't worth the guilt." He washed his mug in the bathroom before returning. "You describe my life less in your notes, and I'll be friendlier to you?"

"Mason, I wasn't even speaking, but planning out my audio. I'm the only one who should be able to read minds."

"But your thoughts and opinions are worthless." Mason stuck his tongue in the direction he thought I was sitting in.

I briefly read his thoughts. 'Paisley, every now and then, I read your simple mind despite my best efforts to tune you out. The curse causes my problems. Do you think I want to learn about your creepy crushes or how you hate cosplaying?'

"My crushes aren't creepy," I said.

"Paisley, I despise you. No real inner voice tells a person to hurt someone. You're an impostor or disease. My therapist taught me how to deal with you."

"I'm not telling you to impale anyone, and what therapist?" I fumbled for my pen, and my wings flapped.

The holographic projection inside my narration booth flickered. A subject reading the Muse's mind was rare. His former Muse, Silver-Green, claimed not to have caused Mason's abilities. Green said the weekend Muse and Mason's father used a book titled Edible Curses and Hexes. They had to be spies, but for whom? Unless Green was the spy. Who else believes in curses besides Mason?

"The curse is real." Mason winked at me and pointed. "I dealt with a sleepy weekend Muse who forgot to write the notes down, and in days you won't be able to read my thoughts unless I invite you."

"Mason, you're interfering with my job."

"Paisley, I don't care. Muse Silver-Green was kind. We chatted about musicals and weapons. Do you have a hobby? I don't read anything interesting from your thoughts."

"Mason, you should be thankful to know me. Not everyone receives a full-time Muse. Is it because you are creative?"

"Wow, your supervisors keep a lot of information from you. They don't trust you either." He stared at the TV. "The Salamander Murder Story might create a passable musical. But how long will people believe that I'm writing a real play?" Mason asked me.

"If they believed your bad acting, the killer wouldn't be after you." I stopped speaking, not sure if I wanted to find out.

"The cult and Quin's murderer might not be the same." He spoke to me. "The person who killed Quin could have bought the spaceship navigation code off the dark web and sold it to Deb's cult. Vash was a skilled programmer when she was a child. According to my grandma, the code resembled her college thesis."

"But Vash's dead," I said.

Mason's mother was framed for the murders and spent three months in prison, but even after her exoneration, Mason didn't trust her because she confided her secrets to her coworkers about her problems and not him.

"Mom is probably accidentally blabbing to the killer right now. If she wants to protect me, she needs to keep her trap shut." He hid the files in his bathroom closet.

I didn't have an answer about his mother because solving murders was not my job. We are not fully omnipotent. His mother lacked a strong enough imagination to read or follow, and our resources were thin at the moment. We weren't able to spy on everyone, all at once.

"I feel like a burden, with my mother always having to protect me," Mason said.

The narrator, not me, spoke again. "Quin Salamander's son, Rob, has taken over her business. He and others now suspect that the cult leader, Deb-Dagger, is connected to the murders."

Mason spoke to me and whispered, "Grandma and I discovered the link, and the documentary crew didn't even bother to interview us."

A younger version of Mason's mom flickered on the screen. "I'm overjoyed that I am being freed from prison."

An attractive human, Shanna Salamander, appeared in the next clip.

Her sister Dina stood behind her, long violet hair covering her ears. She straightened her glasses.

Shanna stepped forward. Her childlike voice sang out like music. "My show, The Princess Veggie Tea Party, keeps my sister Vash's memory alive."

Dina read a statement. "Even after all these years, there are still threats. For safety reasons, I'm moving her production off of the government spaceship, Stingray, and back to our home planet, Hidden Dreams. And I'd like to thank Mason Crawley for at least asking my permission to write his play, but please remember, his upcoming play is fictionalized. It's not real."

A clip from Shanna's TV show aired. She danced and sang with vegetable-shaped puppets.

After a bunch of pointless commercials, Rob Salamander sat in a chair. He looked like a plastic doll with a chiseled chin. "Stop asking about my poor mother's murder. I have enough problems with members of Deb's Light attacking the electric grid and running off with my workers."

Mason's cell phone rang. "Oh, hi, Mom. I researched the Salamander murders for my next musical. If the killer is Grandma, I'd turn her in, but I'd be conflicted about it."

"That isn't funny. My mother is a saint who kept you and your brother out of the orphanage. Your father didn't mean to cause us so much trouble. I would have lost you just like I lost your sister if I didn't have my parents' help."

"Mom, I'm kidding. Dina is the most likely suspect, but the police won't look into it because she's friends with the new king's mother. I have to go." He hung up.

Agent Lace knocked on the door. "Let me in. Dina should be in jail! She shoplifts cosmetics."

"Stop gossiping." He opened the door. "Mom, you were against me looking into this because it wasn't safe," Mason said.

She kicked the door behind her until it shut. "It's still unsafe, but I want to find where the money Quin owes me is located. We had to move back in with my parents."