Goddess of Light (Goddess Summoning #3)(15)

?' "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.