by P. C. Cast
"Why do you punish him?"
Eddie's voice, uncharacteristically low, came from beside her. She jumped and wondered how the hell he'd gotten so close to her without being heard. Pamela glanced up at the big man, ready to insist that she didn't know what he was talking about… and the honest concern on his face stopped her dismissive words.
"I don't want to punish him. I just don't know what to do about him," she said.
"You do know that he loves you?"
Pamela blinked in surprise, and Eddie rumbled a low, subdued version of his laugh.
"You should always remember that I am an author, which is really just a storyteller who observes the world and then reshapes it into his own vision to entertain and amuse. Besides that, Phoebus does not attempt to hide his feelings for you—it is you who masks what your heart feels for him. Is that not so?"
"Yes," she said softly.
"I know it is presumptuous of me to ask, but why? He seems a man of excellent character."
She hesitated, unsure of whether she could tell him any part of the truth.
"You are safe talking to me, Pamela. What you say will not affect our business relationship. And I would like you to think of me as your friend. I have always considered it sublimely ridiculous when people say that they never mix business with pleasure. How colorless their lives must be as they trudge alone under the burden of such restrictive rules. So tell me, what is it that is keeping you from accepting Phoebus?"
She studied Eddie's eyes. They were guileless and filled with warm concern. "If I tell you the truth, do I need to be afraid that it will appear in one of your books?" she asked, only half in jest.
This time his laugh boomed throughout the courtyard. "That is always the danger when befriending an author." He leaned in and lowered his voice to a stage whisper, "but I give you my oath that I will change your name."
Making a decision based entirely upon what her gut was telling her, she blurted, "I'm scared of getting hurt. Aren't you?"
Eddie's gaze went from her to Artemis. For a moment sadness shadowed his face, then he drew a deep breath, and it was gone, replaced by a knowing smile. Without taking his gaze from the goddess, he said, "You will remember that when first we met I wanted the center statue of my fountain to be fashioned after an image of the god, Bacchus?"
"Yes," Pamela nodded, hoping like hell she hadn't said something to make him reconsider that horrid idea,
"Bacchus has long been a favorite of mine. He is not typically Olympian. Mythology reports that he was the last god to enter Olympus—Homer did not acknowledge him at all. His nature was alien to the other gods; they who loved order and beauty did not always appreciate the unique character of Bacchus or his worshipers. I understand that. I know what it is to be titled as one thing and thought of as another." He shook his head and looked fondly at Pamela. "But I digress. It is not Bacchus' story I want you to hear, but his mother's."
The big man motioned for one of the workers to bring chairs for them. She sat beside him, waiting while the author settled his girth and called for a cold glass of mead. When he asked if she would join him, she shrugged and nodded. Why not? When one worked for Eddie, one definitely colored outside the lines. After their mead arrived, Eddie took a long drink before launching into his story.
"Semele was a beautiful Theban princess. Born of mortal parents, she had the face and figure of a goddess. Unfortunately, she caught the eye of Zeus, the Supreme Ruler of Olympus. Zeus dallied with many mortal maidens, as did most of the gods and goddesses."
Here Pamela blew out a puff of disgruntled air and re-crossed her legs. Eddie smiled.
"Remember, my dear. It was a different world then. Pretend, for just a moment, that you are a lovely young girl living in ancient Greece. Born into a hardworking merchant family, you are dissatisfied with the role in life fate had allotted you. Do you cast aside your secret aspirations and quietly many as your family chooses? What if, say, a handsome man looked your way? Perhaps the eldest son of a wealthy landowner. He is out of your reach, but you find love in his arms. Suddenly you discover that you are with child. Are you driven from your household in shame as your betrothal is broken? Or do you describe how, one day while you were gathering flowers in a meadow outside the walls of the city a god appeared to you, seduced you, and fathered your child—a child who is then birthed with much ado and whose life is surrounded by mystery and magic?"
"I get your point," Pamela muttered.
"May I continue with my tale?"
"Sorry," she said, settling back in her chair and sipping her mead.
"As I was saying, Semele became one of Zeus' many mortal lovers. But she was different, and in more ways than just her extraordinary beauty. Mythology reports that Zeus was completely enamored with his young mistress, so much so that when she told him she was to bear his child he swore an oath by the River Styx that he would give her anything she asked of him." Eddie paused, sipping his mead in slow contemplation.
"Well? Then what happened?"
"Semele's heart's desire was to see Zeus in his full splendor as King of Olympus and Lord of the Thunderbolt. Zeus pleaded with his lover to take back her request. He knew that no mortal could behold him thus and live, but she would not recant her heart's desire. The Lord of Gods had sworn an oath by the River Styx, and not even he could break that bond. So, with his cheeks washed in tears of foreknowledge, he came to her one last time and revealed himself as she had asked, and before that awful, beautiful glory of his burning light, she died."
"But that can't be right. If she was dead, how was Bacchus born?"
"Because of his love for her, Zeus snatched his son from her womb as she perished and carried the child within his own thigh until it was time for the God of the Vine to be born."
Before yesterday Pamela would have reacted to Eddie's retelling of an ancient myth as little more than an amusing story. Now she knew too well that the possibility that it was much more than simple fiction was pretty good. She ached for the bittersweet tragedy of Semele, who had died because she refused to cast aside her heart's desire…
"I had no idea," Pamela said.
"Do you think Semele regretted her wish?" Eddie asked.
"Well, it killed her."
"But do you think she regretted it? Do you think she would have traded that moment of wonderful, awful fulfillment—fulfillment so great that her mortal body could not contain it—for a lifetime of safety bereft of that blinding instant of splendor?"
"I'm not sure I can answer that. What do you think, Eddie?"
"You must decide for yourself." His gaze turned from her and found Artemis. His smile was no longer tinged with sadness. "I have made my own decision."
"Aren't you scared?" Pamela found she could barely form the words.
"Of course. There are no guarantees in love, Pamela, just endless opportunities—for hurt and for happiness. But I can say without any misgivings that I would rather touch her for one instant and be burned, than to live my life in the darkness bereft of her light."
At his words something changed inside Pamela. Something within her that had been sleeping finally did more than stir and stretch. It came fully awake. She knew what living in the darkness felt like, and she also knew what it was to touch the light.
"I don't want a life bereft of his light, either," Pamela said through the catch in her throat.
Eddie looked at her and beamed. "Well done, Pamela! Well done." Abruptly, he stood, and his deep voice blasted throughout the villa. "Phoebus! Come to me!"
Pamela tried to say something—something like, "Wait, Eddie! I didn't mean I was ready to touch the blood buggering light right now!" but the author totally ignored her frantic whispers. When Apollo hurried up to them, she was mortified to realize that her face felt fiery. She was blushing like a schoolgirl. Great.
"There you are, my boy! I have a request of you."
"What can I do for you, Eddie?"
"I believe Pamela has been working too hard. I have one
strict rule: always mix business with pleasure. Our Pamela is new to this rule," Eddie said as if Pamela wasn't sitting less than a foot from him with a bright red face.
"I have noticed that about our Pamela, too," Apollo said, trying to keep his expression neutral.
"Good! Then you understand exactly what has to be done." At the golden twin's blank expression, Eddie rose and clapped him on the shoulder. "Why, take her out of here, man! Stroll with her about the resort. Visit the springs and refresh yourselves. I'll instruct James to make sure he packs a lovely dinner for you, and we won't expect to see you again until dark."
Apollo looked as stunned as Pamela felt.
"James!" Eddie bellowed, and his assistant, as usual, miraculously appeared. "Tell Robert to take Pamela and Phoebus back to the resort. Have the staff pack them an old-fashioned picnic dinner. The two of them need some time to rest and to"—he hesitated and winked at Phoebus—"rejuvenate."
"Of course, Eddie," James said before hurrying off.
"Off you go," Eddie told them. "And don't worry, Pamela, Diana and I shall finish choosing the marble for the bathrooms."
"Are you sure you don't need me to double-check things with the limestone rep?"
"No, no, no," Eddie brushed away her concern. "The man has the blueprints. Now off with you!"
Seeing no other choice, Pamela got up and began walking with Apollo through the courtyard. The doors were open, and the sun reflected off the silver hood of the limo as it pulled up and braked in front of the villa. Apollo stopped.
"Remember, Phoebus, you must slay the dragon before you win the fair maid!" Eddie shouted from behind them.
The God of Light lifted a hand and waved back at Eddie with good humor, but Pamela heard his miserable sigh and noticed how his face had instantly paled at the sight of the limo. Apollo squared his shoulders and started forward again.
"Do they have dragons in the ancient world?" Pamela whispered, walking beside him.
"Yes, but they do not have cars. I can promise you that I'd rather face the dragons."
"I'll sit in the front seat with you."
"I can't slay it?"
"I don't think that would be a good idea." Pamela tried unsuccessfully not to laugh.
Chapter 27
Hiking in and around Pikes Peak had long been one of Pamela's favorite hobbies as well as her main form of exercise. Why should she work out in the stuffy confines of a man-made gym when she had the splendor of the Colorado Rocky Mountains surrounding her? Not that she was one of those hard-core, backpacking, camping, shunning-the-conveniences-of-modern-life hikers. Scaling up the side of a sheer rock had never, ever appealed to her. Nor did sleeping on the ground and peeing in the woods. But taking a trail that wound up and around the mountain, especially early in the morning when everything was clean and still and private, was something she had been shifting her schedule to include at least four times a week ever since she had left Duane. Hiking was synonymous with freedom to her. And it didn't matter how sluggish or stressed out she was feeling at the beginning of her trek; an hour later when she returned she was relaxed and rejuvenated. V called it her "attitude adjustment time."
So the brand-new shorts, T-shirt and hiking shoes that had been set out on her bed for her brought a definite smile to her lips. She changed clothes quickly and emerged from her room in time to see Apollo, in a male version of her attire, walking down the hall towards her.
"I do not know how Eddie performs all of this magic without any immortal power," Apollo said, smiling wryly.
"The power Eddie has is called money. Lots of it. Coupled with his imagination, it equates to the modern world's version of magic. James called my room and said for us to meet him in the den."
"After you," Apollo gestured gallantly for her to precede him down the hall.
Pamela noticed that, just as in the short ride in the car, he was very careful not to touch her. She reminded herself that he was only giving her what she had asked of him, space and time, which didn't help to dispel the crappy, knotted feeling in the pit of her stomach.
James was waiting for them with a smile, a picnic basket and a map.
"I have marked a trail nearby that I thought you might particularly enjoy exploring. It begins north of the ranch house, winds through First Creek Canyon to a lovely spring-fed pool." He pointed at the end of his yellow highlighted trail. "The perfect place for a leisurely dinner. In the basket you will find plenty of water as well as sunscreen. And, though you probably won't need it, I also included a cell phone, which is programmed back to the spa information desk. Just hit star sixty-two in the unlikely event you get lost or need assistance."
"You're very thorough, James," Pamela said.
"Thank you, ma'am. Just keep in mind that night falls quickly in the desert. I believe sunset is scheduled today for 8:05 P.M." He handed Apollo the basket, bowed neatly and left the two of them alone.
They stood awkwardly in silence. Apollo was the first to speak.
"I suppose we should go."
Pamela cleared her throat. It was ridiculous that she was feeling nervous about being alone with him. She'd had sex with him. More than once. There was no reason for her stomach to feel sick and her palms to be so sweaty. None at all. She needed to get a grip.
"Okay," she pointed at the basket. "Sunscreen first."
Apollo raised an eyebrow at her.
She sighed and undid the clasp on the top of the picnic basket. So much for behaving normally. The situation was definitely not normal. The man standing before her didn't know what the hell sunscreen was because he was Apollo,
God of Light. Jangled nerves were probably the only normal thing about this situation. She peeked into the basket. Organized as well as always prepared, James had placed the tube of forty-plus sunblock right on top. With an open, curious expression, Apollo watched her spread the creamy lotion on her arms and face.
"It smells of coconut. What it is?" he asked.
"It's sunscreen. It blocks the harmful rays of the sun from our skin."
He looked utterly baffled.
"Mortals can be burned by too much light. Remember Semele?"
Apollo blinked in surprise.
"Eddie's been giving me lessons in mythology."
Apollo raised both of his golden brows. "Be careful what you believe of the stories told and retold in your world. I have it on excellent authority that many of them are highly inaccurate."
"Yeah, I've already figured that out. They say Artemis is a virgin."
He barked a laugh. "Which proves my point. Now tell me truly, does this lotion that smells of coconut have the power to block the light of an immortal?"
"I doubt it, but it will save you from getting a nasty sunburn."
"Sunburn?"
"Think of it like shaving. It should be simple to understand, but it can mess you up if you're not used to everything that goes with it. Sunlight is like that for mortals."
Looking grim, he took the tube from her, squeezed some into his hand, sniffed it and then spread it on his arms and shoulders. Pamela watched him, and she felt suddenly, inexplicably sad. Apollo, God of Light, should not have to protect himself against the sun. A vision of the last time they made love flashed through her mind. He had been a flame, burning with immortal passion. He was the sun.
Apollo didn't belong here. She could give in to the desire of her heart and allow herself to love him, but she could not delude herself into thinking that their story would have an ending any happier than Semele's mythic love for Zeus.
"Don't forget your face," she whispered.
"Thank you," he smiled, drenching his face in the white liquid, "I would have forgotten. This is all rather new to me."
Her stomach clenched again, but she returned his smile. "I think that will do." Pamela recapped the tube and put it back in the basket, which Apollo picked up, and together they walked out the front door of the lodge.
"Do you know which way is north?" Apollo paused to ask her. When she gave
him a startled look, he grinned like a little boy. "I am only teasing you. I'm without my powers, not without my brain."
"Well, that's comforting," she mumbled but grinned back at him as they crunched down the pebble-covered drive and angled to their left, weaving between the scattered adobe buildings that made up the rest of the chic little spa, restaurant, and well-supplied gift shop. It was hard to believe that just outside the resort the oasis gave way to the brutal beauty of the desert. Their trail was flanked by wild tufts of long-armed orange flowers, interspersed between fragrant purple plants that reminded her of lavender, as well as the familiar pointed, rubbery leaves of yucca clumps. It was cooler here in the canyon, and much greener, as if the desert had saved up all its softness and sweetness and focused it here.
They said little as they made their way through the heart of the resort. Apollo didn't take her hand or link her arm through his. When he spoke to her he was polite, even witty, but the passionate undercurrent that had been an almost tangible part of everything he said or did since they had met at the little cafe table at The Lost Cellar was gone, or at least well-subdued—and Pamela felt its loss keenly.
She thought about what Eddie had said to her, and the way his face changed whenever his gaze rested on Artemis. The big man knew the hurt he chanced, but he believed what he gained was more valuable than what he might lose. There are no guarantees in love, Pamela, just endless opportunities—for hurt and for happiness. It was a new and frightening concept for Pamela, but she had never been a coward, and she had rarely taken the easy way out.
Apollo spotted the little wooden sign made in the shape of an arrow on which was carved First Creek Canyon.
"I prophesy that First Creek Canyon is this way," Apollo said, dramatically holding one hand to his temple.
"Watch it," she smiled at him. "You're gonna get struck by lightning or something."
"Zeus," Apollo grunted.