Goddess of Light (7 page)

They turned a corner and saw a large crowd gathered around what appeared to be yet another of the ostentatious fountains, and Artemis wondered what glaring god would be featured atop this one. She and her brother had not ventured into this particular part of The Forum on their other brief visits, and curiosity caught her as they drew closer. The fountain was situated in the middle of a large area ringed with ornately carved columns. The shops that flanked the area were different here than at the other end of The Forum. Here they seemed to be more focused on food and wine than on selling clothing and jewelry. One especially interesting looking café caught her eye. The cheap gold lettering that so liberally proclaimed the names of the shops and boutiques throughout the rest of The Forum was absent at this particular café. Instead ancient-looking carved travertine marble letters were interspersed with living moss and trailing vines. The beautiful travertine spelled out the name of the little wine bar, The Lost Cellar.

Artemis elbowed her brother and lifted her chin in the direction of the café. “Let's go there. I'm in the mood for a bloodred Chianti.”

“When are you not in the mood for red wine?” He smiled at her as he took her arm and began steering her along the edge of the crowd.

Suddenly, the lights that illuminated the cloud-filled ceiling dimmed and shifted colors from yellow to mauve and violet. The crowd murmured in anticipation, and Artemis and Apollo halted just outside The Lost Cellar. Though they were both well above average height, it was difficult for them to see over the closely packed people. Artemis made a frustrated sound. Just before she flicked her fingers, her brother whispered, “Be gentle with them.” She winked at him and waggled her slender fingers mischievously. The people who had been blocking their view magically lost interest in the show and moved away, and anyone who tried to take their place found that standing in front of the two tall, attractive Olympians caused them to have an uncontrollable urge to pass gas—so violently that they hastily excused themselves and hurried to the nearest restroom facilities.

“Don't worry, Brother,” Artemis smiled. “Each of them will find that later tonight they will have incredibly good luck at the . . . what did you call those clanking boxes? Slot . . .” Her voice trailed off as her mind registered the look of shock on Apollo's face. She turned her head and followed his stunned gaze. Her eyes went large and round as the seated statue at the center of the spurting fountain rotated in a slow circle towards them and began to speak.

“COME ONE, COME ALL, COME TO THE MALL!”

“The horrid thing looks like Bacchus,” Artemis gasped.

“I think it
is
Bacchus,” Apollo said, careful to keep his voice low.

The statue opened its mouth and chortled grotesquely. “Ah, but tonight we have a special show for you! Nymphs, I command you dance for the Vegas revelers, two by two!”

As per his order, pairs of nymphs detached themselves from where they had been standing at the edges of the crowd and, to the delight of the watching mortals, they began a seductive dance around the circumference of the fountain in time to the canned music of bells and pipes and horns. Golden glitter haloed the lovely forest deities as they twirled and leapt and frolicked with superhuman grace.

The Bacchus statue mechanically nodded his head in appreciation. Jell-O-like, his chins wobbled as he continued to speak.

“Nymphs, the magic of your beauty is pure and true. Tell me, Apollo, what thinks you?”

At the sound of the animated statue calling his name, Apollo jerked in surprise and took a half step forward. Then his body froze as one of the lesser statues rotated and came alive in response.

“I agree they are lovely, fair and bright. Tonight I enhance their beauty with the magic of my immortal light!”

The real Apollo was struck speechless as he stared at the caricature of himself. In the next instant the music intensified as a laser show began and the nymphs stepped up the tempo of their dance to the spontaneous applause of the captivated audience.

“How dare he!” Artemis hissed, but her brother caught her arm as she started forward with fire in her eyes.

“Wait! We can't do anything here before all of these mortals.”

“Let me have my bow and but a single arrow, and Bacchus will be eternally sorry for his distasteful little jest,” Artemis said.

Apollo shook his head at the statue that was supposed to represent him. “He could have at least made it look more like me.”

“It is blasphemous.” Artemis' voice was low and dangerous.

“Is my lyre actually glowing green?” Apollo tried unsuccessfully to smother a chuckle. “And please tell me that my head is not that large.”

His sister's next words were drowned out by the bellowing Bacchus.

“Lovely Artemis, how fair thou art. It is by your royal command that the invocation shall start!”

It was Artemis' turn to stare, dumfounded, as an unflattering copy of herself came alight. It turned and lifted one thick arm. Artemis gasped as it began to speak, the mechanical female voice sounding nothing like her own.

“It is my intent and tonight I do dare, to send out through the nymphs in the shimmering air, this invocation—this summoning spell. So I cast my power and amidst you tonight it shall dwell.”

The nymphs instantly began a hypnotic humming as the canned music faded into vague background noise against their sweet voices.

“He goes too far.” Apollo's eyes darkened. No one mocked his sister, not even one of the immortals. But he was surprised to feel Artemis' hand tighten on his as this time it was she who kept him from striding forward.

“Listen to the nymphs.” Her voice was thick with tension.

Apollo put aside his anger at Bacchus and listened to the music of the nymphs. The melodic humming had a seductive, familiar tempo, and even before the semideities began to sing the words of the invocation, Apollo felt the hair on his forearms prickle in response to the invisible insurgence of power that poured into the air around them.

 

The nymphs' voices were so beautiful that the listening mortals hardly breathed.

“What are they doing?” Apollo said, feeling a sudden tightening low in his throat. “This is a true invocation ritual. I can feel the power—by Zeus' beard, it is almost visible!”

Helplessly, the two immortals watched as the nymphs continued to spin their magic web.

 

“We must stop them!” Apollo began to move forward, but once again his sister's firm grip stayed him.

“How?” she whispered. “How do we do that without causing a horrendous scene?”

Apollo's jaw tightened. “But we cannot allow them to complete the invocation. Think of the consequences of a modern moral binding the aid of a god!”

“You are the one who should think, Brother. The invocation is harmless.”

“How can you say that? The power feels magnified tenfold! The long absence of magic in this world must be acting to intensify the ritual. This binding will be unbreakable,” he said through clenched teeth.

“This binding will never happen,” Artemis insisted. “Who here knows how to complete the ritual?”

The sensuous song of the nymphs continued to fill the air.

 

“Wine from the ancient land must be poured in libation,” Artemis reminded him. “Then blood must be mixed with the wine.” The goddess's lips quirked smugly. “How many eons have passed since these mortals made blood sacrifice and libation? And that doesn't even fully bind the ritual.”

 

“A true desire of the heart must be spoken aloud as the invocation concludes,” he finished for her, and his shoulders began to relax. “You're wiser than I, Sister. No modern mortal could possibly know how to complete the ritual.”

Apollo smiled at Artemis and turned his attention back to the luscious nymphs. Now that his fears for the mortals surrounding them were alleviated, he allowed himself to enjoy the eternal grace of the ancient ritual. It was a rite so powerful that he could not remember the last time the nymphs had preformed it in the Old World.
They possess such ethereal beauty,
he thought as he allowed the spell to touch him and wrap around his spirit. Their invocation was pure and heartfelt. As usual, the nymphs desired only to please mankind, and Apollo felt the immortal essence within him respond to their plea. At that moment he wanted to stride amongst the dancing nymphs and allow the mortals a glimpse of his true power. He wanted to reveal to them the glory of a living, breathing god, and then grant those of them who were most deserving the desires of their hearts, even though he knew it was an impossible fantasy. Zeus had forbidden their meddling with humans, and he had to admit that for once he agreed with his father. Modern mortals were best off without the interference of ancient, forgotten gods. But as the nymphs' ritual washed magically around him, the thought that these mortals no longer looked to Olympus made him strangely sad. Apollo felt flushed with equal parts of power and disappointment as the ritual came to its climax.

 

As the closing words of the invocation were spoken, Apollo and Artemis suddenly felt an inexplicable pull, as if their minds had been tethered and whoever held the reins had just given them a tug. Their golden heads turned as one to stare at a small, round table that sat in the area built to look like an old-world Italian patio in front of the entrance of the little wine bar. Brother and sister watched in horror as a petite mortal who was sitting alone knocked over her long-stemmed glass, causing the delicate crystal to shatter and slosh red wine. The power lingering in the air caught the spilling wine, magically distributing it around her in a perfect scarlet circle. The mortal hastily tried to mop up the growing pool of wine with her linen napkin. Then she made a small sound of dismay as her finger caught on one of the glass shards, cutting a neat slice through her soft skin.

“No!” Artemis gasped as the mortal's blood mixed with the Italian wine.

“She can't—” Apollo began, but his horrified words were cut off as the woman opened her mouth and uttered the words that would forever alter their lives.

CHAPTER FIVE

PAMELA was definitely feeling the wine. She hiccuped softly, and almost giggled at herself.

“But, hey, I'm in Sin City. Why not?” She said her giddy thought aloud.

“You sure are, sweetheart!” The man sitting at the table closest to her called. Then he gave her a wolfish smile.

Pamela looked from the blinding whiteness of his teeth, to the strategically colored darkness of his hair and down to the glint of the heavy gold chain that nestled in the thatch of thick black hair that forested the area just under his neck. He winked at her. His two buddies leered appreciatively. Pamela grimaced and rearranged herself so that her back was to them. She opened the slick lilac-colored cover of the Special Annual Edition of
California Home & Design
that she had just bought at a mall kiosk, and buried her nose in an article on EuroStone and their hard-to-find granites, marbles, quartzites and French limestones.

Please. She wasn't
that
tipsy. Actually, she didn't think she'd ever been
that
tipsy.

When the waiter appeared with a glass of cheap Chardonnay sent from “Her gentleman friend at the next table,” she wasn't really surprised. Her sigh was long-suffering.

“Thank you, but please send it back,” she said, all of a sudden feeling much more sober. “I don't accept drinks from men I don't know.”

The waiter actually looked surprised, which Pamela found annoying. Sure, she'd been out of the dating scene for . . . her mind skittered past the actual number of years, thereby refusing to acknowledge how much of her life she had wasted on Duane. Had dating really changed that much? God, she felt old.

“Then what may I bring you, ma'am?” the waiter asked.

He'd called her ma'am. There was no doubt about it. She must look as old as she felt. Her eyes drifted back to the long, slender menu that was filled with an excellent assortment of wines on one side, and appetizers on the other. Though she'd eaten a huge salad and drank half a bottle of wine at the Italian restaurant situated next to the other fountain, the long, depressing trek around the shopping mall and the casino had left her feeling like she needed something to munch on, as well as another drink. Definitely another drink. Her eyes lit on the appetizer that was a selection of olives, cheeses and fresh bread.
Why not?
she thought. She was old. She might as well be fat and happy.