Goddess of Light gs-3

by P. C. Cast

  "No! Whatever you have in mind, I can assure you that I am up for it." Apollo said hastily.

  "Ah, but only if you promise that you will not literally be 'up' for it." Eddie stepped into the room. "Bradley has the blueprints of the bathhouse to finalize with your help—but only if you stay abed and continue to rest."

  "You have my oath," Apollo said, already sitting up straighter, his attention caught by the long, slick papers Bradley was unrolling and laying out on the drafting table.

  "Come, Pamela," Eddie said. "We shall leave the bathhouse to the experts. The goddess awaits us in the car."

  As they left the room, Apollo's gruff "The car is something that I will not miss today…" followed them down the hallway.

  "Thank you, Eddie," Pamela said, squeezing the big man's arm.

  He smiled down at her. "You are quite welcome, my dear. Phoebus does not strike me as a man who is comfortable with inactivity."

  "You're right about that. Actually you're right about more than just that."

  His smile turned contemplative. "You look happy this morning, Pamela."

  "Yes, I am. I have decided that Semele didn't regret her choice," she said softly.

  Chapter 31

  Pamela glanced at her watch and gasped, "Eddie! It's four! Didn't you say our dinner reservations are for six?"

  "Quite right you are, Pamela!" Eddie bellowed from across the chaotic courtyard. He lurched up from his bench and lumbered over to stand behind Matthew, who was hastily putting the finishing strokes on the fountain sketch. Artemis stepped delicately from her perch and joined him. Pamela could hear them both congratulating Matthew on a job well done.

  A job well done…

  It was Friday afternoon, and this job was anything but done. How had two and a half days passed so quickly? Pamela ran a hand through her hair. She was exhausted and stressed beyond belief. Her days had been filled with the intricacies of designing Eddie's dream villa: juggling painters and stone layers, solving fixture problems and fabric glitches. Her nights had been filled with Apollo and the sun's love. She'd had very little sleep, and had been working her butt off. And they were still behind schedule.

  She wouldn't have traded one single instant of it.

  "Pamela, how is this for the faux design on the home theater room walls?" The faux finisher flamboyantly pointed the tip of his feathered pen at a mock-up board that had been covered with a deep burgundy paint marbled with delicate webs of onyx and gold.

  "Absolutely perfect this time, Steve!" she said with relief. "This is the exact finish I meant for the room."

  "Fabulous! It's going to be just fabulous, dahling." He waved the feather in triumph. "I'll start on it first thing Monday morning," Steve gushed.

  "I'll be here," Pamela said.

  Steve nodded and fluttered back into the house to happily clean up and leave for the weekend. Much more grimly, Pamela began arranging the day's notes neatly into her briefcase. She would be here Monday. In Las Vegas. The modern mortal world. And Apollo and Artemis would be in Olympus.

  There would be no more dinners for them on the deck with the fantastically entertaining Eddie. No more late-night discussions with Apollo about the new marble that had just arrived for the master bathroom—and had been completely the wrong color. No more sketches that the two of them created together, which would soon become stone mosaics on the floors of Eddie's new bathhouse.

  But still her lips tilted up in a secret smile as she thought about the past couple days. Besides working with the architect, in person and then later through the phone and a lovely little laptop Eddie had provided, which the god had taken to with remarkable ease, Apollo was becoming quite the movie buff. Ancient god or not, there were certain things that were very like a modern man about him. Like the way he enjoyed learning about electronics, and how he had taken to the remote control and channel surfing. When she came in from working at the villa last night, he had been totally engrossed in the second movie of the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

  "Aragon reminds me of Hector. And the little hobbit—the little hobbit has the heart of Achilles' faithful Patroclus."

  "Frodo is like someone named Patroclus?" she'd asked.

  "No. I was not thinking of Frodo. I was thinking of Samwise. But I hope in the end they fare better than Hector and Patroclus," he'd said solemnly.

  Pamela couldn't remember enough mythology to know what he was talking about, but she assured him Aragon and Sam had happy endings.

  He'd grunted at her and held up his good hand. "Do not tell me the ending. It will spoil it for me."

  She'd almost told him anyway. It was a long movie, and he was running short on time. He may never see Return of the King.

  They had made their decision late that night. No, she corrected herself, she had made the decision. She remembered the tension that had radiated through Apollo's body as he realized that she wouldn't, couldn't return to Olympus with him.

  "I would be useless there, Apollo," she'd said.

  "Useless? How can you even think such a thing?" He'd gestured in frustration with his still-bandaged hand and then sucked in a breath at the sharp pain he caused himself. "By the gods, I will be pleased to be rid of this affliction!" he rasped.

  Pamela shifted her position so that instead of being stretched out beside him, she lay across his body facing him. Gently, she rubbed his right shoulder, feeling him relax under her hands.

  "Better?"

  He nodded and kissed her palm. "Your touch soothes me. It has been the only thing that has the power to relieve this unending pain. Do you see how much I need you with me?"

  She smiled sadly at him. "Apollo, snakes can't hurt you in Olympus."

  "No, but your absence will hurt me."

  "I know." She bit her bottom lip. "It will hurt me to be without you, too."

  "Then come with me. You are my soul mate; I am asking that you also be my wife."

  Pamela swallowed down the sharp taste of a future devoid of him. If only it were that easy. "What would I do there on Mount Olympus in the middle of all you gods?" She shook her head and barely paused to take a breath when he opened his mouth to protest. "No matter how much you want it, I'm not an artist. I don't want some kind of divine studio where I could pretend I'm talented and interested in creating pieces of whatever for whomever." She shook her head again and sighed. "Apollo, do any mortals live there? Any at all?"

  "Many of the nymphs and handmaidens are semi-deities," he said quickly. "And often a priestess or priest is allowed to visit his or her immortal patron."

  "Semideities are not mortals. Priestesses and priests visit; then they go back to live their mortal lives," she said sadly.

  "You will be my wife. I will ask Zeus to make you immortal."

  Pamela pulled her hand from his. "So let's say that I marry you and that I am made an immortal. Then for the rest of eternity, what do I do? I have no realm, like your sister. I have no job, Apollo. I have nothing, other than what I am allowed to have through you."

  She saw the flash of understanding in his eyes.

  "It would be another cage," he said slowly. "I am not Duane, but that matters little. To you it would feel like just another cage, larger, more powerful, and better gilded, but…"

  "Still a cage," she finished.

  He took her hand in his again. "Then I choose to stay with you."

  Pamela's eyes widened, and she shook her head violently. "No! You can't! You are Apollo, the God of Light. You can't leave your world—not permanently—you know you can't. What would happen to the people there? Wouldn't you be condemning them to darkness?"

  "The sun can make its way across the ancient sky without me. My mares know the path my golden chariot must take; they follow it often without me guiding them."

  "Apollo, it wouldn't be right. You can't leave Olympus. You can not be a mortal man."

  "I have been a mortal man for this week. I can be one for a lifetime."

  "And how long would that be? Just look at what happened
—on your very first mortal day. You died!" The words burst from her lips. "No matter what you tell your sister or Eddie or yourself, I was there. I watched it happen. You saved my life, and then you lost yours. If Hermes hadn't shown up, you'd be dead right now." She took a breath, feeling herself tremble as she clutched his hand. "I couldn't stand that, Apollo. I can't watch you die again."

  "Shhh," he murmured, pulling her into his arms. "There must be a way. We will simply find it."

  "How?" she said against the warmth of his chest.

  "I will take our case to my father. Ask that I be allowed access to your world."

  "What if he says no?"

  "I do not know, but Demeter and Persephone found a compromise. So, too, will we." He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up. "I will not be separated from my soul mate. You have my oath on that, Pamela."

  His mouth had closed on hers with such a fierce protectiveness that she could still feel his lips against hers there in the courtyard. She shivered and focused her attention back on the papers that she was clutching numbly in her hands. It was Friday. The sun would set in just a few hours, and Apollo and Artemis would go through the portal and return to Olympus. She might never see him again. The wash of pain the thought sent through her was her own personal poison.

  "Pamela?"

  She looked up over the open lid of her briefcase and into Artemis' eyes. The goddess looked like she'd slept very little last night, and even though she had painted on a bright face, thanks to the magic of modern makeup, Pamela could still see the circles that shadowed her eyes.

  "You look tired," Pamela told her.

  "My thoughts will not let me rest."

  "Thoughts?"

  "I worry for you. And for Eddie." The goddess's eyes found where the author was talking with his usual animation to one of the fabric representatives. "I find that as dusk approaches I am not as eager as I once thought I would be to leave your world."

  Pamela smiled at her. Artemis was no less conceited or spoiled or bossy, but her relationship with Eddie had definitely softened her. She was warmer; less like cold, perfect marble, she had become a real woman.

  "I'll miss you, Artemis."

  "Then come with us," the goddess said. "If you tire of Olympus, you may visit my realm. My forests will always welcome my brother's wife."

  "I can't," Pamela whispered, incredibly touched by the goddess's words. "I don't belong there."

  "You belong with Apollo," she said firmly.

  "If I go with him, I will lose myself. Eventually, there would be nothing left of me for him to love."

  Artemis tilted her head and studied Pamela. "You have great wisdom, my friend. You would have made an excellent goddess."

  "Ladies!" like one of the Titans, Eddie's presence shadowed them. "We must hurry. Phoebus awaits, as does our dinner. I have promised to leave you at the entrance of Caesars Palace at exactly eight o'clock tonight so that your own driver can take you from there to the airport."

  Eddie frowned his displeasure at the story they had concocted so that the big man wouldn't follow Artemis into Caesars Palace. Artemis had told Eddie that their wealthy Greek family would send its own car for her brother and her promptly at eight o'clock (sunset, according to Pamela's Internet inquiry) at the Palace, and that she couldn't bear to say good-bye at airports. Apollo had, of course, blanched totally white when Pamela had explained to him that a plane was a lot like a big, flying car.

  Eddie had been very unhappy about the arrangement, but, as usual, he could not say no to Artemis' divalike demands. The author drew a deep breath, and Pamela thought suddenly how old he looked. "I have agreed to your wishes, but you must agree to be timely. I have a spectacular farewell dinner planned for us."

  "Eddie." Artemis pouted prettily, sliding her arm through his and smoothly distracting him from more arguments about limos and rides to the airport. "I do hope you have remembered to find us a restaurant with a good view. I have become overly fond of our splendid dining on that wonderful deck, and I cannot bear to think of how much I will miss it."

  "The view will always be waiting here for you when you tire of your travels. But tonight, my Goddess, it seems it is wise that we try something new." The author touched the goddess's cheek, and she nuzzled his hand. Eddie's smile almost hid the sad resignation that haunted his face. Pamela followed them across the courtyard, thinking that Eddie might very well be an even better actor than Artemis.

  "I sincerely and thoroughly loathe those metal creatures," Apollo said through gritted teeth after he climbed awkwardly from the front seat of the limo.

  "Sir?" the Bellagio doorman looked confused.

  "He gets carsick," Pamela said.

  The very British-sounding doorman took one look at Apollo's green-tinged face and his bandaged hand, sniffed his disapproval and stepped quickly out of the way.

  She took Apollo's uninjured arm and steered him to the sidewalk. He wiped a hand across his brow and tried to command his stomach down from his throat while they waited during the lengthy process involved in extracting Eddie and Artemis from what he liked to think of as the limo's evil maw.

  "Promise me," he said into her ear, "that when it is time for us to return to Caesars Palace you and I will walk there from here."

  His words reminded her again of the short time they had left together. As if she needed a reminder. Ironically, it seemed the sun mocked them as it rushed towards the horizon. She tried unsuccessfully to smile at Apollo.

  "I promise."

  He met her eyes. "I will not live without you. All will be well. Remember that you have my oath."

  Pamela nodded quickly. He is Apollo, the God of Light. He can make it happen! He can find a way for us to be together! she told herself sternly while she blinked back a sudden rush of tears. She needed to focus on her surroundings and keep herself together. No matter what, she didn't want his last memory of her to be of tears and heartache. She wanted him to know she believed in him—in his power and in his love.

  The entrance of the Bellagio was an ornate circle drive that faced a balcony that looked down on the edge of the quiet, dark pool that she knew was just waiting for the musical cue for it to spring into light and life.

  "The fountains," Apollo said, following her gaze. Putting his arm around her, he pressed her intimately against his body. "Our fountains."

  Pamela looked up at him, and this time she did smile. He was so strong and sure of himself—so real. She couldn't doubt him. She had been given the oath of the God of Light. He wouldn't let her down. More importantly, he wouldn't let them down.

  "Yes, our fountains," she said.

  "Let us not dally! I have a surprise for my goddess for which we must be on time."

  Eddie and Artemis swept past them and into the Bellagio. Pamela and Apollo followed more slowly. Inside the entryway Pamela stopped completely. Totally starstruck, she stared up at the ceiling.

  "Dale Chichuly," she said reverently, gazing up at the incredible work of art that was the Bellagio's foyer chandelier. "I'd forgotten that he designed this."

  Curious, Apollo studied the ceiling. "It is a most unusual chandelier."

  "It's amazing. Look at the intricacy of the blown glass and the brilliance of the colors. It's like a field of jellyfish poppies. It's too bad Eddie didn't fixate on this decor instead of tacky Caesars Palace," she said under her breath with a little laugh.

  "I don't know…" He hugged her and kissed the top of her head. "I've grown quite fond of Eddie's eccentric tastes. It is, after all, what brought us together."

  "Dallying! You're dallying," Artemis said, grabbing her brother's sleeve and pulling them over to where Eddie waited impatiently in front of a restaurant whose gold filigree sign said Olives.

  "E. D. Faust and party. I have a special reservation," Eddie told the maitre d'.

  "Of course, Mr. Faust. This way, please."

  They followed the maitre d' through the opulent restaurant, which was literally packed with people on the
busy Friday night, to a wall of beveled windows, in the middle of which was a floor-to-ceiling glass door a waiter opened for them, and stepped out onto a large, curving marble balcony that directly overlooked the middle of the famous Bellagio fountains. The maitre d' led them to the single table set with linens and china and crystal. He bowed first Artemis and then Pamela into well-padded velvet chairs.

  "As you instructed, Mr. Faust, the balcony has been reserved exclusively for you."

  "It is perfection. You may now pour the Dom Perignon."

  "Oh, Eddie! How did you know that I have been craving some of that lovely champagne again?" Artemis said.

  "I read it in your beautiful eyes, my Goddess," Eddie said.

  Pamela rolled her own eyes and shared an amused look with Apollo. The waiter popped the cork, and as he poured the champagne, the first notes of the theme song from Chorus Line brought the fountains to life.

  "One! Singular sensation…"

  As the song played and the waters danced, Eddie raised his crystal flute to Artemis. "To you, my Goddess. A singular sensation."

  "Oh, Eddie!" she said, touching her glass against his and blinking quickly to clear the sudden tears that filled her eyes. "You have dazzled me."

  "It has been my very great pleasure to do so," he said, his eyes suspiciously bright, too. Then he cleared his throat and motioned for the waiter to bring menus.

  They were served a spectacular dinner against the backdrop of singing fountains and a desert sky that slowly faded from blue to purple. Alone on their balcony, the night felt filled with magic and mystery. Though they were in the heart of Vegas on a bustling Friday night, they had privacy and pageantry. To Pamela it was as if they had been granted a special box seat from the gods of the city.