Swimming as a siren had been by far the most glorious feeling she’d ever experienced. Even as she stood there, arms crossed over her chest and seawater dripping off her skin, she wanted to get back in the water.

It took all Gemma’s energy to force herself to stay on the shore, to hear what they had to tell her. But she couldn’t bring herself to step in closer to move farther away from the water that seemed to sing to her.

“Suit yourself.” Lexi shrugged when Gemma refused to move.

“It is actually quite a long story,” Penn said. “It goes back to when the world was young, when gods and goddesses still lived freely among the mortals.”

“Gods and goddesses?” Gemma raised an eyebrow.

“You’re skeptical?” Thea laughed, a dry, bitter sound that echoed off the walls. “Your legs just transformed into fins, and you’re skeptical?”

Gemma lowered her eyes but said nothing. Thea had a point. After everything she’d seen and felt the last couple of days, she would believe anything they told her. She had no choice, really. Any answer would have to be beyond her scope of reasoning to explain the supernatural things that were happening.

“The gods often lived here on earth, sometimes helping the humans with their lives or merely watching their joys and sorrows for their own amusement,” Penn went on. “Achelous was one such god. He ruled over all the freshwater, nourishing all life on Earth. Gods were the rock stars of their times, and they often had many lovers. Achelous was involved with many of the muses.”

“Muses?” Gemma asked.

“Yes, muses,” Penn explained patiently. “They are the daughters of Zeus, born to inspire and enthrall the mortals.”

“So, what does that mean?” Gemma moved closer to the fire and sat down on a large rock. “What does being a muse entail?”

“Have you heard of Horace’s Odes?” Penn asked, and Gemma shook her head.

“I’m not in Honors English, but I have heard of Homer’s Odyssey.”

“The Odyssey,” Thea scoffed. “Homer is an idiot.”

“Ignore her. She’s just bitter because she was completely omitted from The Odyssey.” Penn waved her off. “Back to your question, a muse helped Horace write some of his prose. She didn’t write it herself, exactly, but she gave him the inspiration and motivation for his work.”

“I think I get it.” Gemma’s brow remained furrowed, though, as if she didn’t completely understand it.

“A muse’s job isn’t important anyway,” Penn said, deciding to move on. “Achelous had a love affair with the muse of song, and together they had two daughters, Thelxiepeia and Aglaope. He then became involved with the muse of dance, and they had a daughter, Peisinoe.”

“Those are really ridiculous names,” Gemma commented. “Didn’t anybody go by Mary or Judy back then?”

“I know, right?” Lexi laughed. “Things are so much easier to spell now.”