Chapter 7: Unveiling the Phantom

The casino's muffled sounds seemed to fade into a distant hum as Regina Heart finally began to speak. She didn't move from her spot by the chrome pillar, but the playful confidence had drained from her posture, replaced by a quiet, almost fragile intensity. Brenda remained still, the pellet handgun still aimed, though her grip relaxed almost imperceptibly. Her eyes, however, were keen, absorbing every nuance.

"You can lower that, darling," Regina said with a faint, playful smirk, gesturing vaguely at the handgun. "The game's over. No need to point that nasty thing at me."

"I'll lower it after you talk," Brenda replied, her voice flat, her aim unwavering.

Regina let out a theatrical sigh, a dramatic roll of her eyes. "Are we going for dramatic effect, darling? Because honestly, the handgun is a little much. Even for my tastes." Then, her gaze hardened slightly, becoming more focused. "My father," she started, her voice barely a whisper against the background noise, "Reginald. Yes, he was always… absent. Not physically, not entirely. But he was a traveling performer, always on the road, chasing the next big crowd, the next gasp of wonder. He'd be gone for months, sometimes. And when he was home, his mind was often elsewhere, rehearsing tricks, lost in his own world of smoke and mirrors." She paused, a small, sad smile touching her lips. "I don't hate him for it, you know. I never did. If anything, I loved him. He taught me my first card tricks, how to make a coin disappear, how to hold an audience. He taught me the magic of misdirection."

Her gaze drifted, unfocused, as if peering into a forgotten memory. "But then, one day, he just… stopped coming back. When I hit my adolescent years. No calls, no letters. Just silence. My mother… she just said he'd found a new act, a new city. But I knew. I always knew it was more than that."

Regina's eyes sharpened, fixing on Brenda. "Three months ago, that's when it started for me. The change. The… power." She gestured vaguely around herself. "It was like waking up to a whole new layer of reality. I became a Muser. And then, Mnemosyne appeared."

A chill seemed to ripple through the air, distinct from the casino's artificial chill. The ancient name of a deity, uttered in this mundane setting, brought a new dimension to Regina's confession.

"She was… not what I expected. Powerful, yes. Ancient. But calm. Direct. She told me I was one of the individuals chosen to be her Musers. And then she said it. That I had the same potential as my father. That he was a Muser too. A Thalia Muser, just like me." Regina's eyes widened slightly, recalling the shock. "You can imagine my surprise. My father? A Muser? I thought he was just an ordinary traveling performer, a stage magician. Never someone connected to… this. This supernatural phenomenon."

She shook her head, a bewildered frown creasing her brow. "Before she faded, Mnemosyne gave me a riddle. Her words… they were so clear, Glass. Perfectly etched into my mind. But I still can't deduct what she was implying."

Regina leaned forward, her voice dropping to an almost reverent tone, despite the casual setting. She recited, a strange cadence in her voice:

"A spirit I, from earth and air,

By master's art, am bound to bear.

For tasks unseen, with grumbling low,

To serve a power I do not know.

Though freedom calls, and vengeance burns,

To distant isle, my master turns."

Brenda listened, her expression unreadable. As Regina finished the last line, Brenda, satisfied, smoothly depressed the safety on her pellet handgun and slid it back into the leather drop-leg holster on her thigh. Only then did she slowly reach into her trench coat. She pulled out a small, worn leather-bound notebook and a pen. With a decisive click, she uncapped the pen and began to scribble furiously, jotting down every word Regina had spoken, especially the riddle.

"Sounds like Shakespeare," Brenda murmured, more to herself than to Regina, her pen scratching across the paper. "Specifically, The Tempest. Prospero and Caliban. A master and his unwilling servant." She looked up, her gaze piercing. "Your father... seems like he's the Caliban in that riddle, isn't he? Serving someone, unwillingly."

Regina's eyes widened, a flicker of profound recognition and dawning comprehension. "The Tempest... Caliban..." she repeated, the words hanging in the air. "That's... that makes so much sense, yet no sense at all. Who would be Prospero? And why?" Her face was a mask of confusion, but also a sliver of hope, as if a lock had just clicked, but the key was still missing.

Brenda merely nodded, finishing her notes. She capped her pen, tucked the notebook back into her pocket, and turned, ready to leave. The conversation was over, for now. She had the lead she needed.

"Wait!" Regina's voice was sharp, cutting through the casino's drone. Brenda paused, turning slightly.

Regina stepped forward, her playful smirk returning, but now with a genuine glint of ambition. "Lend me that notebook and pen for a second, darling."

Brenda hesitated, then, with a slow sigh, pulled them out and handed them over. Regina quickly scribbled something on a blank page, tearing it out with a flourish.

"Here," she said, pressing the slip of paper into Brenda's hand. It was her phone number. "I want to form a partnership, Glass. You're clever. You're resourceful. And you understand this whole Muser business better than anyone I've met. My father... he's still out there. And I want to find him. Find out what happened. What that riddle means. We could be a formidable team."

She winked, then blew Brenda a dramatic, playful flying kiss, followed by a wave goodbye.

Brenda Glass just looked at her, her poker face firmly in place. Without a word, she turned and strode out of the casino, leaving Regina Heart alone amidst the glittering, noisy machines, a single slip of paper clutched in her hand.