Goddess of Light gs-3 Read online

  "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, dumbfounded, 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.

  "Seekers of the ancient ways, think upon

  the coming again of the immortals

  and of your distant ancestors

  who once honored the old gods

  and gave blessing to field and forest, wind and

  water, earth and air. This night we invoke past times—past days. "

  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.

  "Celebrate the reawakening of the Olympians

  and the return of the ancient mysteries,

  the quickening of beauty and of fruitfulness.

  We proclaim the return of the gods

  with spell and chant and song.

  Let the aid of the ancients be invoked! "

  "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.

  "Soft and whispering winds from afar,

  greetings be unto thee …"

  "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."

  "In the names of

  Bacchus and

  Apollo and

  Artemis,

  blow the power of the Gods clear and fresh and

  free…"

  "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.

  "Immortal aid is bound

  with a spoken desire, and by a heart's sound.

  Cast doubt aside; give voice to your soul,

  for tonight the truth of love is our goal.

  May heartfelt wishes come to thee

  as it is spoken—so shall it be!"

  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 5

  Pamela was definitely feeling the wine. She hiccupped 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.

  "Please bring me the olive and cheese appetizer tray and a bottle of…" She studied the Italian reds listed under Chianti Classico with three glass ratings, and her eyes lit up as she recognized the '97 Castello di Fonterutoli Riserva. She'd stumbled on a fantastic Italian wine article in the last issue of Wine Spectator's Magazine, and she was sure that she remembered the name. "A bottle of the '97 Castello di Fonterutoli Riserva Chianti Classico."

  "Excellent choice, ma'am. From Tuscany. The wine maker boasts that in ancient times the gods themselves strode through their vineyards."

  "That figures," she muttered under her breath after he'd turned to go. "I'm trapped in a trailer park version of ancient Rome, and now I'm going to go from tipsy to thoroughly toasty on wine from a deluded wine maker."

  Pamela sighed again. She'd had such good intentions at the beginning of the evening. After V's pep talk she'd taken a long shower and towel dried her short hair into a mussed, sexy tousle. Dressing for success, she'd chosen to wear the little black dress she'd practically stolen at the Denver Saks end of season sale. She loved the way it ended in a soft, feminine ruffle a few inches above her knees. And then she'd completed the ensemble with delicate onyx chandelier earrings and a glittery purse that was as ridiculously small as it had been expensive. She'd finished with the piece de resistance—a to-die-for pair of Jimmy Choo black silk slides with mod butterflies and hearts embroidered on them in bright, retro colors.

  She'd checked her reflection in the gilded floor-to-ceiling mirror before she'd left her suite. She looked good. Very good. The black dress hugged her petite body, and the slides leant her five-foot-one-inch frame three and a half much-needed inches, making her calves look long and lean.

  Yes, she had been ready to flirt.

  Until she'd paused at the entrance to the casino to ask a nice-looking man in the casino's distinctive Romanesque uniform where she paid the cover charge. He'd laughed so hard that he'd snotted on himself.

  "Lady, you're missing the point," he'd said between chortles. "Casinos want people to come in. The more people, the more money they spend."

  He'd walked away laughing and shaking his head. Her evening hadn't gotten any better. Her dinner had been fine, but the scenery had continued to weigh on her. She'd told V that she was going to change the way she looked at this job—to shift from tasteful to fanciful. But the more she saw of The Forum, the more desperate she felt. It was just all so incredibly tasteless, inelegant, cheap and gaudy.

  No, she corrected herself, scratch the cheap. Her eyes drifted back to the enormous fountain that held the grotesquely animated images of Bacchus, Caesar, Apollo and Artemis. That had definitely cost serious money, as would the ridiculous reproduction Eddie wanted in his home.

  The waiter reappeared with her olive tray and a crystal carafe of wine the color of blood. She inhaled the rich Chianti aroma, which automatically brought to mind Marilyn's Pizza House, her favorite pizza place in the world, which was conveniently located just down the street from her design studio. Marilyn's always had a great selection of Italian reds, as well large-screen TVs that endlessly played Marilyn Monroe movies. This Chianti was definitely worthy of Marilyn. She savored the soft, lingering taste of the excellent wine with slow sips and chose a dark kalamata olive. She took a bite of thickly sliced buffalo mozzarella. It was all delicious.

  Life in The Forum, she decided with a full mouth, did have some positives. The food was excellent and the selection of wines, superb, even at a small cafe such as this one. And, she begrudgingly admitted to herself as the Chianti spread its red magic through her body, although the exteriors of the shops were gaudy and their design horrid, the interiors were couture heaven.

  Sure, her foray into flirting hadn't gone so well. But that really hadn't been her fault. The only prospect she'd had so far had been wearing a gold chain. He couldn't count. It's true that she'd been scared away from the casino by the cover charge debacle, so her gambling had been, thus far, nonexistent. But the weekend was just beginning, and she shouldn't think of it as a complete loss, at least not yet. Maybe she would just turn it into a shop-a-thon. Or at the very least a shoe-a-thon.

  The thought of buying more shoes temporarily brightened her mood, until she imagined what V would say about her being stuck in a rut and falling back on old habits instead of embracing new experiences. Pamela chewed an olive as the waiter paused at her table to refresh her glass of wine. V might be right. Maybe she wasn't trying hard enough.

  Resolutely Pamela closed the magazine and refocused on her surroundings. The crowd around the fountain had definitely thickened. A young woman who had impossibly beautiful blond hair caught her attention. She was talking to anothe
r girl whose hair was equally lovely, flowing in a thick, silver-colored wave down to her waist. Both girls were wearing costumes that Pamela supposed were meant to look as if they had stepped from the streets of ancient Rome. Sheer, cloud-colored fabric floated in seductive drapes around their lithe young bodies. One instant they appeared to be fully covered and modestly clad, then one of them would laugh and turn gracefully—almost as if she was a dancer—and a cunningly concealed fold in her robe would open to expose a glimpse of creamy skin. Also it seemed that the girls were covered in some kind of golden glitter, because as they moved through the tourists and towards the fountain, they left a sparkling trail in their wake. Pamela pulled her eyes from the duo and looked at the rest of the crowd. None of the men seemed to be able to keep their eyes from the seductively costumed women.

  It was, she decided, an excellent publicity ploy. At least from the male perspective. And wasn't that just typical? She cast her eyes through the growing group of people who were congregating around the fountain. Just as she thought, most of them were female. Yet the duos of scantily clad young women kept increasing. And did one handsome young lad equally as revealingly dressed join them? Of course not.

  "I'll bet women didn't really dress like that in ancient Rome," Pamela grumbled to herself. "They'd catch their death."

  "COME ONE, COME ALL, COME TO THE MALL!"

  Unexpectedly, the center statue's canned voice boomed over loudspeakers, catching Pamela unaware. She glanced at her watch, surprised that it was already eight o'clock.