Goddess of Light gs-3

by P. C. Cast

  "You think I'm going to leap into some kind of tawdry weekend Vegas affair?"

  V didn't need to see Pamela to imagine the stern line she'd pressed her lips into. "Hell no! I'm not that hopeful. Seriously, Pammy, all I'm suggesting is that it's time you loosened up and allowed the opposite sex at least a chance with you. You don't have one damn thing to do until Monday morning, so here's an idea—flirt a little."

  "Flirt?"

  "Flirt. As in engaging in coy, seductive conversation with a tripod."

  "May I call him a tripod?" Pamela giggled.

  "Only if you want to join my team."

  "It might be easier."

  "That's yet another heterosexual myth about homosexual relationships, but we're not talking about my pathetic love life, we're talking about your nonexistent love life. Pammy, it's the right time and the perfect place. You don't have to open your legs—just open your mind. See if you can interact with at least one man in more than a businesslike fashion."

  Pamela heard the undercurrent of worry in her friend's voice. Had she really only interacted with men as business associates since her divorce? She didn't even need to finish formulating the question in her mind. She already knew the answer all too well. As she thought about it, Pamela felt a little spark of anger begin to stir within her. Duane would be thrilled to know that he had turned her into an asexual workaholic. It would mean he could still control her.

  "Flirt," Pamela said.

  "Flirt," V repeated sternly.

  "Okay, you're probably right." Pamela forced cheerfulness into her voice. "I have been working too hard. I'm going to think of this weekend as a little escape from the real world, and this job as an adventure into the fantastic."

  "And maybe you'll even gamble a little?" V coaxed.

  "Maybe… a little."

  Chapter 4

  " Modern mortals are odd" Artemis told her brother as she watched a row of dowdy matrons pulling the arms of machines that twinkled and clacked and blared obnoxious things like "Wheel of Fortune."

  "It is as if the shine and the glitter of the boxes casts a spell on them."

  "Slot machines," Apollo corrected her.

  Artemis gave him a quizzical look.

  "Remember what Bacchus told us? They are called slot machines."

  "Slot machines or shining boxes, what difference does it make? Leave it to Bacchus to actually listen to mortals."

  A middle-aged woman in an appliqued sweatshirt and leggings paused to frown at the goddess before she fed her machine more money. Apollo took his sister's elbow and guided her out of earshot of the row of machines.

  "You shouldn't let them hear you speak that way. And don't be so hard on Bacchus. You know Zeus commanded him to explain the customs of modern mortals to us so that we could blend more easily with them." Apollo paused as he watched a man in a gaudy white jumpsuit encrusted with rhinestones cause a group of women to squeal in delight as he gyrated his hips and sang something about being "all shook up."

  "I, for one, am glad Bacchus understands this world. Much of it is a mystery to me."

  "Fine! If it'll make you stop sulking I'll gift the matron to make up for my harshness." With a sarcastic flip of her long, shapely fingers Artemis caused the woman's slot machine to land on a perfect row of cherries. The matron squealed and leapt to her feet as lights flashed and sirens proclaimed her a jackpot winner. Artemis looked on in disgust. "Modern mortals would be much more interesting if they were cute and made noises like puppies, instead of looking and sounding like overfed sows all ready for the slaughter."

  "They are not pets. Nor are they animals," Apollo said severely. "And Zeus commanded us not to meddle with the mortals."

  "I wasn't meddling. I was gifting. There is a distinct difference. If I was going to meddle I would have made that horrid clothing in which she has covered herself combust." Artemis' self-amused laughter was sweet music, and it caused several men to send her hot, appreciative gazes, which the goddess completely ignored.

  Her brother grunted an incoherent response.

  "Apollo, what is wrong with you?"

  "Nothing is wrong with me," he said, taking her elbow again and steering her past the busy blackjack and roulette tables and towards one of the many little bars that were conveniently scattered throughout the casino. Even though the two immortals were dressed in matching chitons that left much of their sleek bodies bare, they blended well with the colorful mixture of casino employees and Vegas revelers. People noticed their stunning beauty and the unique grace with which they moved. How could they not? But no one thought the appearance of a couple dressed as if they had stepped off the streets of ancient Rome unusual. They were, after all, at Caesars Palace in Sin City. Anything could be expected to happen there.

  Apollo reached into a fold in his tunic and extracted the paper that Bacchus had reluctantly distributed amongst the Olympians as he explained that the modern world used it as currency. He caught the waitress's attention, and though it was only his third foray to the Kingdom of Las Vegas, he ordered the drink that the immortals had already become fond of with smooth confidence, "Two vodka martinis, very cold, with extra olives. Shaken, not stirred."

  "Who are you, sweetheart?" The waitress gave him a flirtatious flutter of her suspiciously thick eyelashes. "Caesar or James Bond?"

  "Neither," he said with a bittersweet smile. "I am Apollo."

  "I could almost believe it, handsome." She leered at his well-muscled body and wiggled her way back to the bar.

  "Insignificant creatures." Artemis curled her lip after the waitress.

  "It's not that they're insignificant. It's just that they have changed."

  Artemis shook her head at her brother. "What has happened to you?"

  Apollo considered giving his sister his standard "nothing's wrong with me" response, but when he met her eyes he read within them her very real concern. He tried to make his shrug nonchalant. "Perhaps I have changed, too."

  Artemis felt a little knot of worry expand and harden. "Changed? What do you mean?"

  He didn't answer his sister until the cocktail waitress had deposited their drinks. When he spoke, his deep voice was wistful.

  "Have you ever wondered what it is that loves, the body or the soul?"

  "What it is that loves? What kind of question is that?" she sputtered.

  "The kind of question that was asked of me by a mortal, but which I could not answer. Apparently, you can not answer it either, Sister."

  Caught mid-drink, Artemis swallowed carefully while she considered her brother's disturbing words.

  "It is that damned confused mortal who inhabited Persephone's body. She has done this to you, hasn't she?" Artemis snapped.

  "The mortal wasn't confused at all. She clearly chose Hades over me. As the God of the Underworld chose her over all other women, mortal or immortal."

  "Well, I hope the silly mortal is worshiping Hades properly. He may reign over the dead, but he is a god and, no matter how odd his tastes, he deserves abject adoration."

  Apollo rubbed his brow as if he had a headache. "It's not like that between them. You should see how they are together, Artemis. There is a contentment about them that is beyond words. Perhaps beyond understanding," then he added as if it was an afterthought, "or at least beyond my understanding."

  "You've been watching Hades and Persephone?" Incredulous, she could only stare at her brother.

  "It's not Persephone. It's the mortal woman, Carolina. Hades did not desire Persephone. He loved the mortal's soul, not the immortal goddess. And, no, I haven't been watching them. At least not like you're making it sound. I have visited the Underworld as Hades' guest—several times." He finished quickly.

  So that was where he had disappeared to lately. She had just assumed he was visiting the Ancient World to oversee his oracle or to stir up something interesting, perhaps a minor war or two. Instead he had been Hades' guest in the Underworld? How strange.

  "Hades has always been different from the r
est of us. Why are you letting his eccentricities bother you?"

  "You don't understand."

  His eyes had a sad, introspective cast that continued to trouble Artemis. "Then explain it to me."

  "Hades doesn't bother me. The mortal he loves doesn't bother me. I bother me."

  "You aren't making sense."

  "I realize that. I hardly make sense to myself. All I know is that for the first time in my existence I have glimpsed something that I desire, and I have no idea how to attain it."

  Arthemis' first instinct was to scoff and to remind her brother that women were easily had, but something in the tone of his voice stayed her abrupt comment. Instead, she watched him carefully as she sipped her drink. He looked tired, and Apollo never looked tired. Was it possible that he was pining for a mortal woman? She remembered the last mortal who had refused Apollo's love. Her name had been Cassandra, and he hadn't become withdrawn and introspective then, he had become angry—so angry that he had negated the gift of prophecy he had given her. But mortals like Cassandra were the exception. Apollo was a legendary lover. Nymphs swooned when he smiled; even goddesses vied for his attention. Could desire for a mortal have so clouded his memory that he'd forgotten his own powers of seduction?

  A commotion drew her attention from Apollo. Not far from them a little group of forest nymphs dressed in diaphanous white robes were talking in excited little bursts, completely unaware that every mortal man within sight was staring hungrily at them.

  Apollo followed her gaze and smiled fondly at the bright cluster of nymphs. "It might not have been wise to allow the nymphs access to the modern world."

  "Let them have their fun; they're harmless."

  "How harmless they are would depend upon whether you are a mortal man caught in the wake of their allure," he said wryly.

  As if the handsome god's gaze called to them, several of the nymphs rushed up to Apollo.

  "My Lord! Have you heard? Bacchus has asked us to frolic for the mortals!"

  "Yes! We are to perform a ritual of invocation."

  "You should watch, my Lord!"

  "Yes, please come watch us!"

  The group giggled and posed alluringly for their favorite golden god before scampering off.

  Artemis laughed at their childlike exuberance, but when she glanced at Apollo, she saw that he was staring after the little group, and his brow was furrowed.

  "What are they invoking?" Apollo muttered more to himself than to his sister.

  Artemis nibbled at her last olive. "Blessings… fertility… good health… you know, the normal things nymphs frolic around invoking. Are you going to eat that last olive?"

  Apollo shook his head. His sister stabbed his olive with her toothpick and popped it into her mouth.

  "Zeus made it clear that we were not to use our powers to meddle in the modern world."

  "By Zeus' beard you have become as dour as dead Tiresias!" Her anger sizzled around them, causing the toothpick that she still held between her fingers to burst into flame. Annoyed, the goddess rolled her eyes and blew away the ash. "Mortal lives are like their little trinkets and playthings: fragile, easily consumed and just as easily replaced."

  "You're comparing mortals to a sliver of wood?" he said, still staring in the direction the nymphs had disappeared.

  "Why not?" She sighed and shook her head at her obviously distracted brother. "Oh, very well. Let us go make certain the nymphs don't do anything to meddle with your precious mortals." When he hesitated, she pulled him to his feet. "You never know," she whispered in mock concern. "Some unsuspecting mortal might actually blunder into the invocation and ask for our aid. I can hear them now: 'Great Zeus, send a thunderbolt to maim my neighbor's dog who barks all night…'"

  He shook his head at his beautiful sister as he reluctantly walked with her through the casino. "You should not make light of an invocation ceremony. You know as well as I how much mischief has been caused by mortals binding the gods to aid them."

  "Ancient mortals, yes, like Paris or Medea. But this is not the Ancient World. These mortals know nothing of us." Artemis watched in disgust as a balding, rotund man bought a fistful of large cigars from a scantily clad young woman who carried a tray, "All that concerns them now is…" She paused as the fat man reached forward to grope up the back of the cigar girl's short skirt when she turned away. With a small movement of her fingers, Artemis caused him to trip and fall face-forward. The goddess smiled smugly as his cigars rolled across the floor and the man cursed loudly. "All that concerns them now is shallow self-gratification," she finished. As they walked past, she stepped purposefully on one of the cigars that had come to rest near them, squashing it nicely into the ornate rug.

  "Then they differ little from the gods," Apollo muttered.

  Artemis shrugged off the accusatory tone of his comment. "We are gods. Self-gratification is ours by right."

  "But what if superior self-gratification is not enough?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

  Artemis felt her anger stir. There was obviously something wrong with her brother, but his morose, self-pitying attitude was wearing on her.

  "What do you suggest, Brother? What other life could you possibly desire besides ours? Look around you." She gestured at the mortals who scurried past them like brainless ants. "We act superior because we are superior. A mortal's life is a temporary thing. They are like butterflies without the beauty of wings. You say modern mortals are changed? The only real change I see in them is that they no longer recognize us, which tells me that they have lost even the small amount of intelligence they used to have. Look at what they worship now." Artemis paused at the end of the casino and looked out into the shopping area that was The Forum. "Their Gods are Gucci, Prada, Versace, Escada, Visa and MasterCard." She shook her head, annoyed that her brother's silly malaise had gotten so under her skin. "We're wasting time. Are we not supposed to be following the nymphs?"

  She nodded at the swirling path of golden glitter that the semideities left behind them. The mortals had, of course, noticed the shimmering trail, and many young females were laughing and dabbing the glitter on their bodies. Artemis frowned again. Their odd-looking clothing was confusing: low-slung, faded things that Bacchus had said they called jeans, and tight, middle-bearing brightly colored tops. Did these fledglings not realize how unattractive it was to display so much chubby skin? Being voluptuous was one thing; drawing attention to the one's body flaws was quite another. The goddess thought they looked like desperate young sausages.

  "You may have a point," Apollo said slowly, considering his sister's words as they made their way through the noise and confusion of the busy market. "There is definitely something missing about them. Perhaps it is the absence of gods and goddesses within their lives. But I do not think that modern mortals are all as empty-headed as you believe. Actually, they remind me of myself." He laughed at his sister's shocked expression. "They seem to be searching for something that is just out of reach."

  "You are a god. An Olympian immortal. Nothing is out of your reach," she said severely. Then her eyes widened as they made their way past a huge fountain that spewed water around naked nymphs. The central feature of the monstrosity was an enormous, scowling statue of a naked Poseidon, clutching a triton and glaring down at the shoppers. "They are lucky that Poseidon has no interest in visiting their kingdom. This naked rendition of him is definitely lacking"—she glanced at the statue's most intimate parts—"the god's true stature."

  Apollo grinned. "That's probably why he's glaring."

  Artemis smiled back at him, pleased he was sounding more like himself. Maybe her words were getting through to him at last. "Just the same, it is a good thing that Las Vegas isn't near the ocean. Poseidon can be so touchy."

  They passed a large store that boasted the logo Disney as well as a life-sized reproduction of Pegasus flying from it. Artemis peered within. "Apparently modern mortals are obsessed with Hercules, Atlantis, and lions."

  "At least they're color
ful."

  "Hercules wasn't really that handsome," Artemis said, glancing back over her shoulder at the strange shop.

  "You never liked him."

  "He was balding. I don't find bald men attractive, no matter how many labors they perform."

  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 cafe 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 cafe. 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 cafe. "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.