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Chapter 19
The strap of the ruby slipper purse was made of a filigree gold chain that reminded Pamela of something a 1920s flapper would have worn as a long, sultry necklace. She slid it over her shoulder and had the insanely childish urge to skip like Dorothy down the Yellow Brick Road. She couldn't believe it was hers! V was going to shit monkeys when she saw it.
"I can not believe the jackpot was exactly eight thousand dollars," she gushed, doing a little twirl as she watched the purse wink and glitter in her reflection in the store windows they passed.
"I told you I was feeling lucky tonight," Apollo said, delighted at the uninhibited exuberance of Pamela's reaction to winning the money.
"I would never have let myself buy something so outrageously expensive." She squeezed his hand and lowered her voice. "Not even a pair of fabulous, beginning-of-season designer shoes - not for four thousand dollars."
"But you love the purse." Apollo smiled down at her, thoroughly pleased that he had been able to orchestrate such joy for her. And, oddly enough, he didn't even care that he couldn't tell her that he had commanded the machine to spurt out the money she required. That he got the credit wasn't the point. The point was that Pamela was so incredibly happy. It made his heart feel light and carefree.
"I love the purse. I adore the purse. I'm totally enamored with the purse!" She laughed. "I don't care how shallow and materialistic it sounds. I'm only going to carry it on special occasions. When I get back to my shop, I'm going to mount it under glass in the front picture window, the one with our logo painted in red script on it: Ruby Slipper Design Studio... We Make Sure That There's No Place Like Home."
They retraced their way back through Caesars Palace as Apollo listened to Pamela's excited chatter. He believed her design studio's motto. Without Pamela, there was no home. He knew it was true - he'd already proven it. The Kingdom of Vegas was a foreign, strange place, but when he had passed through the portal that night and made his way to The Lost Cellar and Pamela, he felt as if he was coming home. However improbable, Apollo, God of Light, one of the original Twelve Olympians, was falling in love with Pamela Gray, a very modern mortal woman.
"Hey! What are you going to do with your four thousand dollars?"
Apollo raised her hand to his lips. "I have no idea. Perhaps you would help me decide. I believe I distinctly remember you saying that you've never purchased a four thousand dollar pair of designer shoes..." His voice trailed off as his gaze drifted down her body to the dangerous-looking black stiletto sandals she was wearing. "And I find that I have grown very fond of your daggerlike shoes."
"You definitely know the way to a girl's heart." She grinned.
"By all the gods, I hope so," Apollo said earnestly.
He turned down a small side hallway and after just a few feet stopped in front of a plain-looking white door.
"This can't be it," Pamela said, looking around. "This isn't marked at all. It's not even near the other restaurants." She gave the door, and then Phoebus, a suspicious glance. "I think you've gotten turned around somewhere."
His smile was surreptitious. "I told you it was exclusive."
"But..." she began.
Apollo turned her to face him. He'd have to do this quickly. He didn't like using his powers to fog her mind, but he needed to get her through the portal and then instantly transport her to his temple - without her being aware of what was happening.
"I promise tonight's dinner will be like none other you have ever eaten." He didn't bother to search the area around them; the little service hallway had been charmed by the power of Olympus. There would be no mortal intruders to stumble upon him using his immortal magic on Pamela. "But before we go in, I must do something I have been waiting to do since my sister so abruptly interrupted us earlier today."
Apollo drew her into his arms. As his hands skimmed down the soft curve of her body and his lips met hers, he concentrated on sending a mist of his golden power into her mind. He commanded the light-filled mist to gently blanket her thoughts so that, for just the space of a few breaths, her precious mortal soul would be dizzy and disoriented.
"Oh," she breathed, swaying slightly.
In one swift movement, Apollo picked Pamela up, cradling her in his arms as he opened the door and stepped through the portal. He only had a brief glimpse of the Great Hall of Olympus, but it was enough for him to see that Artemis had done as she had promised. The room was empty. There was not a single immortal to witness the God of Light reentering Olympus carrying a modern mortal carefully in his arms. Apollo silently commanded that the two of them be transported to his temple, and they disappeared in a shower of displaced sunlight.
Bacchus' smile was sly as he stepped from the mouth of the hallway and approached the door that held the Olympic portal. This was going to be laughably easy. As always, Apollo was too self-assured and arrogant. He hadn't noticed that Bacchus had been following him since he'd met the mortal woman at the wine bar. Actually, Apollo had not noticed anything except the modern mortal with whom he was quite obviously thoroughly obsessed. Apollo had played the unsung hero, manipulating the slot machine and gifting the mortal with the means to purchase the object of her whim. He could hardly wait until the woman witnessed how helpless and pathetic the golden god would become without his powers. Bacchus was looking forward to seeing the God of Light's arrogance extinguished, even if it was only for the span of five days.
Bacchus strode through the portal. Just as he had anticipated, the Great Hall of Olympus was empty. And if he knew the golden twins, they would make certain that the hall stayed empty so that Apollo's little tryst with the mortal would go unnoticed by the other immortals. How convenient. He almost laughed aloud, but with an effort controlled himself. There would be time aplenty to gloat afterwards; now he needed to concentrate.
The Wine God faced the portal and lifted his arms over his head, calling forth the intoxicating power of his realm, and beginning the ritualistic spell.
"Powers of wine, rich and heady
cling to this portal, make it ready
the mortal may pass through unchanged
but if she returns she must become what she was
named.
Linger for only a moment, gentle powers
then fade, as Apollo's light burns away morning
showers."
Bacchus paused to stifle the glee he felt at using the reference to the God of Light in his spell. Refocusing on the business at hand, Bacchus completed the words of his trap.
"The lesson I desire the Sun God to learn
is that there is more than one way to be burned."
Bacchus flung his hands towards the portal, and for an instant it shimmered in liquid light the color of chilled rose wine. Then the blush tint faded, and all appeared to be normal once again.
"Step one completed," Bacchus murmured to himself. "Step two awaits."
The God of the Vine uttered a soft command. His body disappeared, and then re-formed in the rear garden of Apollo's temple. He peered around a well-manicured bush. Just as he had anticipated, the grounds were deserted. Usually, bright nymphs clustered around their favorite god's temple, vying for Apollo's attention.
"The adoration of nymphs must not be convenient when entertaining a modern mortal," Bacchus said under his breath. "So much the better for me."
For a large god, Bacchus moved with surprising stealth. He entered through one of the rear doors of the temple and made his way silently down the marble hall until he came to a cavernous room in which a dozen of Artemis' virgin handmaidens were tittering and laughing as they arranged food and pitchers of wine on platters. Yes, he was in time. He waited, impatient for the handmaiden who seemed to be in charge of the wine to turn her head as she replied to a giggling question from one of her friends, and then with a swift, sure movement, he flicked his fingers at the pitchers of wine, whispering,
"Intoxicate... arouse... flame their desire... fog
inhibitions... set them afire."
The wine glowed briefly with an unnatural, pale pink light. Unseen by anyone, Bacchus backed out of the room and melted into the night. Now all that was left for him to do was to wait and watch... wait and watch...
Bacchus' self-satisfied laughter echoed eerily through the empty gardens.
Artemis rushed into the room, and her handmaidens respectfully silenced their chatter.
"They have arrived."
Excited whispers ceased with one motion of the goddess's hand.
"Tonight by serving my brother you serve me." The handmaidens bowed their heads. "Play your parts well."
"Yes, Goddess," their sweet voices intoned.
"Take them wine," Artemis commanded, and two of the handmaidens hurried to do her bidding. After they left, the goddess drifted over to the platters laden with delicacies. She glanced at her attentive handmaidens and said mischievously, "Shall I aid the God of Light in achieving his desire?"
Her maidens giggled and nodded. Artemis spread her hands over her brother's feast.
"Intoxicate... arouse... flame their desire... fog
inhibitions... set them afire. "
Power showered from the goddess's hands to settle over the food. There it glowed for a moment before settling back into the appearance of normalcy.
"Serve them and then leave them alone. Privacy is what Apollo will wish for tonight."
Feeling very satisfied, Artemis left her brother's temple and walked slowly in the direction of the Great Hall. It would be deserted; she had made certain of that. Aphrodite and Eros had returned earlier from their weekend foray in the Kingdom of Las Vegas, and they were resting in their temples. Artemis herself had made it clear to the nymphs still fluttering about Las Vegas that it was time they returned to Olympus, and with a few sharp words she had sent them scattering back to the forests and glens where they belonged. Silly creatures. The rest of the Twelve Immortals were making themselves scarce. Artemis had begun a rumor that Hera and Zeus were fighting again. Neither mortal nor god wished to get in the middle of that. So she would wait for her brother in the empty hall and hope that before dawn she would feel the bond between herself and the mortal dissolve. She'd certainly done all that she could. The rest was up to Apollo.
"This is absolutely spectacular." Pamela gazed around her in awe. "I can't believe that plain little door was hiding all of this."
"Does it please you?"
"Please me? Are you kidding? This place is magnificent!" Pamela tilted her head back, trying to see to the top of the domed ceiling on which she could just make out some kind of fabulous fresco, but the dizziness that had struck her earlier caused her to stumble back. Phoebus' strong arm was there to catch her.
"Maybe you should sit down," he said, guiding her over to one of two exquisitely upholstered chaise lounges that rested on either side of a marble table.
She sank down on the chaise and rubbed her forehead. "I must have gotten too much sun today. My head feels woozy."
As if on cue, two young women entered the room. They were wearing short, diaphanous tunics made of white silk trimmed with silver thread embroidered in the shapes of forest creatures. One was carrying a tray that held a golden pitcher and two golden goblets. The women smiled shyly at Phoebus and Pamela.
"Wine?" they asked in perfect unison.
"Of course," Apollo said.
With graceful movements that were lovely to watch, the waitresses served them.
"Your feast is prepared," one girl said melodically.
"Shall we serve you now?" the other asked.
"Yes," Apollo said.
The two women curtsied deeply and hurried out the way they had come.
"But we haven't even ordered," Pamela said. She had a terrible headache, and she felt disorientated and slightly uneasy.
"I specified what we required for the feast earlier." He thought for a moment. "I think you would call it preordering." When Pamela's perplexed expression changed into a frown, he added, "I hope you don't mind. I wanted to surprise you with Greek delicacies."
