Deep Water

by Nicola Cameron

  “Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a trio of goddesses to question.” Standing, Poseidon opened a gate to his palace on Mount Olympus and stepped through, leaving a shower of blue sparks in his wake.

  ****

  Ian sat back in his chair and blew out a breath. He had known his father-in-law’s marriage was problematic, but he had no idea it was this complicated. “Okay, would someone like to fill me on the background here?”

  Bythos just stared moodily at his wineglass. Aphros sighed. “I’m sure you’ve heard about Medusa the Gorgon?”

  “Yeah, she was in Clash of the Titans. Snakes for hair, could turn men into stone if they looked at her, got her head cut off by Perseus…” Ian trailed off as mythology and the reality of his new life collided once again. “Shit. You mean she was real?”

  “Yes. Before she was transformed into a Gorgon, Medusa was a human and the chief handmaiden to our aunt Athena,” Aphros said. “And then Father saw her and decided he had to have her. He wound up seducing Medusa in Athena’s own temple. Athena was so enraged by this, she changed Medusa into a monster as punishment.”

  Ian winced. “Ouch.”

  “Well, it was hardly surprising. Athena is one of the three virgin goddesses of Olympus,” Bythos added. “Her handmaidens were expected to remain virgins while in her service. For Medusa to have sex with anyone in Athena’s temple would be a grave insult to the goddess. For her to have sex with Father, who has traditionally been one of Athena’s rivals…”

  “Yeah, I get it,” Ian said. “It would be like a White Sox fan taking a leak on Wrigley Field.”

  Bythos’s eyebrows rose. “Wrigley Field?”

  “Never mind. So your dad and Medusa had sex, Athena got pissed off and turned Medusa into a Gorgon for it. How does this involve your mom?”

  It was Aphros’s turn to wince. “Apparently she was rather fond of Medusa. When she found out that Father’s lust had driven Athena to turn the girl into a monster, Mother became so furious that she left him.”

  Ian remembered some of the more spectacular divorces among his friends and family members. Mythological monsters aside, Poseidon and Amphitrite’s fight seemed right in line with them. “And now Medusa’s been reincarnated as a guy, who just happens to be renting a cottage here this summer. I call bullshit on ‘coincidence’.”

  Bythos grunted agreement. “Hence Father’s decision to go talk to the Fates. Hopefully he can find out why this is happening now.”

  And just what kind of trouble it’s going to cause, Ian didn’t add.

  ****

  In a green cottage down the beach, Griffin Moore lay in bed and chased sleep. It had been a very long day getting from Palm Beach International Airport to Olympic Beach (including getting used to driving on the wrong side of the road), collecting the keys for the cottage from the formidable Ms. Kuttner at Atlantic Rentals, and then finding Olympic Cove. He had actually driven past the turnoff twice before finally noticing the tiny street sign.

  To his surprise the cottage turned out to be perfect, a bit big for one man but clean and welcoming. He’d dropped his bags in the master bedroom, crawled onto the blessedly comfortable bed, and gave in to jet lag and the frailty of his own weakening body.

  He probably would have slept through the night if his neighbor hadn’t knocked on the door and invited him to a cookout. But the bloke seemed friendly enough and the smell from the grill reminded Griffin that he hadn’t stopped off at a local supermarket yet. His oncologist had warned him that it was important to eat something on a regular schedule even if he didn’t feel hungry. Not eating meant that he’d land in the hospice a lot sooner than he wanted to.

  He stared into the darkness. Don’t think about it. For two weeks, you’re just going to enjoy yourself. Think about something else.

  Like that handshake from the big ginger bloke. Griffin had half-expected a bone-crushing grip from someone who looked like he played Rugby Union. What he got was like touching a live wire and seeing his life flash in front of his eyes at the same time, topped by a big whopping dose of sexual need that was so strong it was almost painful. Poor bastard doesn’t know how close he came to getting snogged.

  Which was good, because getting his arse handed to him on his first night in Florida was not on Griffin’s schedule. Then again, that probably wouldn’t have happened, seeing as he was apparently living next to two sets of gay households that were happily carrying on in ménage relationships. Not quite the all-American beach experience he’d expected when he rented the cottage, but they all seemed like nice blokes. As long as they don’t expect me to attend any underwear parties, it’ll be fine.

  He chuckled. Then again, who knows? I wanted to climb that big ginger like a tree, didn’t I? Little late in the game for a sexual identity crisis, but that’s the least of my problems right now. Turning over, he punched the pillow to fluff it up, then settled down determinedly to sleep.

  Just as he drifted off he heard someone calling his name, tugging him out of sleep. He sat up reluctantly with a small, weirdly squeaky groan and started to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

  Then froze, staring at his hands. They were small and delicate, nothing like the tanned, masculine hands he actually had. Looking down at himself, he saw a slim, feminine body nude under a thin blanket.

  After a beat the situation dawned on him. I’m dreaming. Huh. And I’m a woman in this dream. He looked again under the blanket. Nice tits. Okay, this is weird.

  His new body sat up on its own and stretched, then pulled a large, wide-mouthed pot from under the bed and squatted over it to urinate. A chamber pot. God, please tell me I’m not a maid at Downton Abbey.

  He glanced at the walls as he peed and did a mental double-take. They were made from marble blocks, cut and fitted so that there was no gap between them. Definitely not Downton Abbey, then.

  His body stood and picked up the pot, dumping the contents outside the window. She then slipped into a simple tunic before wandering out of the room. Griffin tried to stop and go back to study the walls, but this new body wasn’t responding to his commands.

  Well, damn. Resigning himself to a passenger/observer role, he watched as his hostess went into a small courtyard, heading to a rustic fountain set into the corner. There she shucked off her tunic, using the water (spring-fed, judging by the warm temperature) and a handful of sand from a nearby urn to scrub herself clean.

  In the opposite corner of the courtyard an olive tree grew, its grey branches heavy with fruit. Marble walls, olives, tunics. Is this Greece?

  His theory was confirmed when a bodiless voice said, “Good morning, my child. How did you sleep?” Somehow he knew the voice spoke in an archaic form of Greek.

  His hostess smiled brightly as she toweled herself off with a cloth. “Very well, my lady. Give me a moment to dress and break my fast, and I’ll tend to your altar.”

  “Once you are finished with that, bring an amphora of the best wine to my chamber,” the voice instructed. “I will be entertaining a guest today.”

  “Yes, my lady.” The young woman bowed towards the tree before redonning her tunic, fastening it at both shoulders with bronze pins. After depositing her towel in a basket, she headed to a small storeroom. Griffin was fascinated by the amphorae stored neatly along one wall, while another held shelves supporting a variety of bowls and baskets decorated in bold shades of orange, red, and black.

  His hostess lifted the lid of a basket and pulled out a small round bread loaf. Selecting an amphora, she unsealed it and poured the contents, wine from the color, into a plain wooden cup, taking bread and wine back to the courtyard. Seating herself at a small table in the corner opposite to the olive tree, she shredded the loaf and dipped pieces of bread into the wine before eating them.

  A fragment of a BBC documentary on ancient Greece floated into his mind, about how suspect water sources made it safer to drink wine or beer with meals, even breakfast. Weird meal or not, Griffin found he was able to enjoy the taste of the w
ine and bread along with his hostess. After a year of undergoing radiation and chemo, it felt damned good to be in a young, healthy body, even if it was the wrong gender.

  After breakfast, his hostess brought the cup back to the storeroom, picked up the amphora and headed into a short corridor that led outside. Griffin couldn’t look back, but somehow knew that he’d left a small residential compound.

  All curiosity about the compound evaporated when he saw where his hostess was going. The stately temple ahead of him was one of the iconic structures of Western civilization. He had visited the ruins a number of times on trips to Greece, but had only seen the complete building in renderings and models.

  Jesus God, it’s the Parthenon. I’m going into the actual Parthenon.

  The young woman didn’t seem overawed by the magnificent structure. She went inside and headed to the large rectangular altar, where a massive statue of the goddess Athena sat in majestic glory. There, a fire burned in a great bronze dish. Genuflecting before the altar, the young woman put down the amphora and picked up a small flagon of oil, adding a measure to the bronze dish to keep the fire fueled. Once that was done, she fetched a willow broom and started sweeping the hall clean with it.

  She’s one of the priestesses of Athena. This is amazing. Griffin knew his subconscious was probably putting it together from history specials, movies, and things he’d read about ancient Greece, but the dream was still amazingly detailed and realistic.

  When the priestess was done with her cleaning duties, she picked up the amphora and skirted the altar, going to a carved doorway directly behind it. There she paused, bowing her head. “My lady, I have your wine,” she said.

  “Enter.”

  She did, pushing through some sort of invisible barrier into a large, beautifully appointed room. At the far end were two luxurious reclining couches covered with swathes of cloth dyed a rich purple. One couch held a slender woman in a brilliant white gown. Her shoulder pins were of gold, fashioned in the shape of owls, and her pale hair had been piled on her head in a mound of ringlets bound by multiple wraps of a golden ribbon. Her oval face held the grace of a goddess, grey eyes blazing with intelligence and good humor.

  The true meaning of awestruck came to Griffin as a wave of wonder and the deepest respect washed over him, making him want to kneel in worship. This had to be Pallas Athena, the goddess of wisdom, the patroness of Athens and one of the three virgin goddesses of Olympus.

  But Athena didn’t really exist, nor did the rest of the pantheon of Greek gods. I have no idea what my subconscious is playing at, but this is fascinating.

  His hostess gracefully dropped to her knees, bowing her head. “My lady,” she said reverently.

  The goddess looked over at them. “My dear girl,” she said warmly. “Come and pour us wine.”

  His hostess tucked her toes under and rose like a geisha, padding to the couches. A low, inlaid table held two intricately chased golden cups. Concentrating, the priestess decanted wine into each cup, letting the last drop fall cleanly with a slight twist.

  Only then did she glance up at her goddess’s guest, and almost dropped the amphora. The other couch was occupied by a stunning brunette, exactly the kind of woman Griffin had always preferred. A gown of teal blue covered her lush curves, and her face held the otherworldly beauty of a nymph. Dark hair the color of fertile earth tumbled down in gentle curls, held back by a single blue ribbon.

  The brunette’s hand shot out, steadying the amphora in his hostess’s hands. “Are you…” She trailed off, staring at the handmaiden.

  Griffin could feel the burst of emotions surging through his hostess from that simple touch. Shock, and then a sudden, fierce desire that made the flesh between his legs ache. The brunette’s large eyes, the color of an autumn sea storm, widened in surprise at him.

  “Is there something wrong?” Athena asked her guest. “Amphitrite?”

  Griffin felt a little lurch of surprise. Amphitrite was one of the Nereids, as well as the wife of the sea god Poseidon. Jesus God, she’s gorgeous. He felt a warm wetness between his thighs and realized his hostess was getting aroused. Yeah, but which one of us is getting turned on?

  It didn’t seem to matter, since he had no control over the scene. With an effort the Nereid tore her gaze from his hostess. “Forgive me, Athena,” Amphitrite said, her voice low and musical. “I was struck by the beauty of your handmaiden.”

  Athena raised a grey-blonde eyebrow at that, but smiled at his hostess anyway. “Yes, she is a lovely girl, isn’t she? And one of my most valued priestesses.” She nodded. “You may go, Medusa.”

  Griffin’s earlier shock returned, tripled this time. Medusa? I’m dreaming about being Medusa?

  But his hostess simply nodded and left. As she neared the doorway she passed a polished sheet of silver hung on the wall and Griffin got a brief look at the person he was inhabiting. Amphitrite was right—Medusa was gorgeous, with large brown eyes, creamy skin now flushed high on her cheekbones with spots of pink, and a tiny rosebud mouth. Her light brown hair was pulled back simply and held with white ribbon. Mentally he replaced those locks with writhing snakes and shuddered at the thought. But right now the handmaiden looked nothing like the classic image of the Gorgon she would become.

  Heading back to the residence’s courtyard, Griffin watched as Medusa sat and poured herself a cup of wine. He could sense the handmaiden trying to understand the unexpectedly powerful attraction generated by Amphitrite, and failing. Her nipples still tingled, and the warm ache between her legs began to throb.

  To their combined shock Amphitrite picked that moment to appear at the courtyard entrance. “May I join you, my dear?” she asked quietly.

  Medusa shot to her feet, flustered. “My lady,” she said, and Griffin heard the quaver in her voice as she gestured to the courtyard’s table and stool. “It would be an honor.”

  Amphitrite came over to the table, frowning at the single stool. “But where will you sit?”

  “I’ll stand, my lady.”

  “No, that’s not right. We should be at ease for this.” Looking around the courtyard, Amphitrite spotted the olive tree. “Come, sit with me here.”

  Hesitantly, Medusa obeyed, seating herself next to the Nereid beneath the tree’s spreading branches. Griffin could feel her desire rising, along with her confusion.

  “Am I making you uncomfortable?” Amphitrite asked.

  Meekly, Medusa nodded. “I’m not used to having guests, my lady.”

  The Nereid smiled at that, and Griffin felt Medusa’s pleasure at the expression. “Please, call me Amphitrite. And you have my apologies. The last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfortable.” She leaned back gracefully on one arm, giving Medusa a thoughtful look. “The thing is, we need to talk about what happened when we saw each other.”

  Medusa’s eyes widened. “I’m not sure what you mean, my—Amphitrite.”

  The Nereid chuckled. “Well, perhaps it would help if I described how I felt when I saw you. It was as if I’d been struck by the kindest and most pleasant of lightning bolts. My heart leapt in my chest, and I was suddenly filled with joy and desire.”

  Griffin felt Medusa’s heart speed up at Amphitrite’s words, and her cheeks warmed. “I felt that as well. But I didn’t understand it,” she said shyly. “Is it the work of Eros? It can’t be—you’re a goddess and I’m just a handmaiden.”

  “You’re hardly just a handmaiden,” Amphitrite said in gentle reproof. “Athena herself said that you’re her trusted right hand when it comes to the running of her temple.”

  Medusa bowed her head, gratified by the praise. “It is an honor to serve the goddess,” she murmured. “And my life’s deepest pleasure.”

  “She knows this, my dear, and appreciates you for it. But I must now speak of what is happening between us.” The Nereid took a deep breath, and Griffin appreciated the way it made the ivory mounds peeking over the top of her gown rise. “I believe you are my agapetos, Medusa.”

/>   The handmaiden listened as Amphitrite explained the concept of destined mates. “Poseidon and I knew we were meant to be together the first time we touched,” Amphitrite continued, smiling at the memory. “And we have been very happy together. He is my heart, and I’m his. But we always knew there was someone missing in our love. The moment I touched your hand, I knew you were that missing link.”

  “I almost dropped the amphora,” Medusa confessed. “It was just as you’d said. I felt like I’d been struck by a bolt of lightning.”

  “Exactly,” Amphitrite said. “It’s how agapetos recognize one another.”

  His hostess swallowed, suddenly nervous. “But my lady, do you mean that I’m to be Lord Poseidon’s agapetos as well?” she asked. “I’ve never met him in person. And my goddess … well, you know of her issues with Lord Poseidon.”

  “Quite.” Amphitrite’s lips twisted in thought. “That will require some delicate handling, I suspect. Not to mention that Athena requires all of her handmaidens to be virgins.”

  “Yes, there’s that as well.” Medusa’s hands dropped to her lap, twisting nervously. “I was consecrated to my goddess’s service as a child. I’ve never … I mean, I’ve seen men, of course, but I’ve never spent much time with them.”

  Amphitrite eyed her thoughtfully. “Nor have you wanted to, I suspect.”

  Griffin felt the little thrill of relief that went through Medusa at the Nereid’s words. “Not really, no. I’ve been quite happy serving my Lady Athena. If being your agapetos means that I must also serve Lord Poseidon…” She bit her lip. “I don’t mean to offend you, my lady, but I don’t know if I can do it.”

  Amphitrite’s hand covered hers. “I suspect you’ll change your mind once you meet him, but that doesn’t have to happen until you feel you’re ready for it,” she said reassuringly.

  Medusa relaxed. “Oh. Good.” She blushed. “I mean, if it’s as you say and he’s also my agapetos, then I know I should meet him at some point. Just … not yet?”

  “I understand.” The smile the Nereid gave her was warm and sweet. “In the meantime, however, I would very much like to get to know you better, if you would be comfortable with that.”