Goddess of Spring (40 page)

Lina couldn't help smiling. She and Persephone had the same attitude about cooking with low fat ingredients.

 

Lina chuckled. “Apology accepted.” She had been totally out of white wine when she returned.

 

She poured herself another glass of wine after she added the cup to the cream cheese. She tried not to gulp, but she was in a hurry to get done.

The more she drank, the easier it was for her to admit it, Persephone did sound like fun. Lina read the rest of the recipe with a wine-induced smile.

Lina groaned and re-read the line.
It has certainly surprised me.
She didn't even want to guess what Persephone meant by that, but the searing looks Scott had given her, and the fact that he had a hard time keeping his hands off her, gave her a pretty good idea.

Well, it wasn't like she'd been particularly chaste in Persephone's body, either. She didn't want to think about that, though. She returned her attention to the end of the recipe.

 

“No kidding,” Lina muttered. “Talk about a nymph. He'd probably sprout wings and fly.” She laughed.

Then she caught herself. Persephone had just made her laugh—twice. And she wasn't even there. No wonder everyone loved her so much.

“Well, kids,” she said to Patchy Poo the Pud and Edith Anne. “I'm going to finish up this last glass of wine, then I'm going to take this honeysuckle-colored crock, put it under an old tree, do some quick frolicking before I pour myself into bed.” She hiccupped and her pets stared at her with accusatory eyes. They always seemed to know when she'd had too much to drink.

Lina wrapped an arm around the crock and started blearily for the door. Edith Anne, of course, stood directly in her way.

“Don't fret, old girl. I'm not going anywhere without you.” That was one good thing about her dog being so umbilically tied to her—she didn't have to bother with a leash anymore. “We'll be back soon. I promise,” Lina told Patchy Poo the Pud, who was watching her with eyes that were somehow disdainful and worried at the same time.

The night had gotten colder, and Lina wished she had grabbed her coat, but the cashmere turtleneck Persephone had added to her wardrobe was snug and warm—even if it was a delicate pink color that Lina thought would look better on a teenager than a middle-aged woman, no matter how many compliments she got whenever she wore it.

Forget it, she told herself. She didn't have the energy to worry about her wardrobe, and if she didn't want to go on a major shopping spree, there wasn't much she could do about it. In six months Persephone had replaced every single item in her closet. Everything. From shoes to jackets to a whole new line of sexy silk panties and matching bras.

“Where did the girl find the time?” she asked Edith Anne. The dog made a snuffling noise while she kept pace at Lina's side.

Lina shook her head. “I don't know either. I think she needs to be renamed the Goddess of Shopping instead of the Goddess of Spring.”

Lina giggled. Quite frankly, she was a little drunk. She needed to be for where she was headed.

She followed the little brick path that led from her condo to the centrally located courtyard. She heard the fountain before she saw it. Six months and two weeks ago, it had had a calming effect on her. Now as she came closer to the courtyard, her stomach clenched.

Thankfully, the area was deserted. Lina glanced at her watch, twisting her wrist so that the dials could be illuminated by the light from the full moon. 10:45 PM. How had it gotten so late? Steeling herself, she approached the old oak—the same oak under which she had discovered the beautiful narcissus.

It looked much as it had six months before. Then the branches had been bare except for buds of new growth waiting to open. Now the branches were almost bare again. There were just a few leaves the color of paper grocery bags clinging to its boughs. Lina cast her eyes down. Thick, gnarled roots crisscrossed the ground at its base. Slowly, Lina walked its circumference, studying the shadows.

Except for dirt and roots, the area around the tree's base was empty. There was no hidden flower that smelled of first kisses, moonlight and springtime. What had she expected? Frowning at herself, she tucked the crock of cream cheese and wine in a semi-flat niche between two roots near the trunk of the tree. Then she stepped back.

In her mind she could see Persephone's directions.
Before you leave the mixture there, you must dance three complete circles around the tree while you focus your thoughts on the sweet beauty of the night.
Okay, she rubbed her hands together. I'll think about how pretty the night is—I'll dance around the tree—and I'll be done.

She looked around her. Except for Edith Anne, who sat a few feet away from her watching attentively, the courtyard was still deserted.

“Good,” Lina muttered. “They'd think I was crazy.”

Edith huffed at her.

“Don't worry, this won't take long.”

Think about the beauty of the night, Lina told herself. She looked up. The moon really did look pretty, sitting up there like a glowing silver disc lit from within.

Lina took a tentative step, lifting her arms over her head she half turned. Moonlight filtered through the branches of the tree and stroked the cashmere that covered her arms, making them glow a silvery blush color that reminded Lina of the breast of a dove. She skipped over a root, surprised at how gracefully her body responded.

She passed once around the tree.

A soft breeze blew through the branches of the old oak, and the dry leaves whispered an autumn melody. Lina lifted her arms and twirled. She raised her face to the sky, letting the moon caress her skin. The night felt rich and beautiful and magic-filled.

She passed twice around the tree.

Lina pointed her toe and swung her leg forward. It seemed that she heard the humming of women's voices in harmony with the sound of the leaves. From the corner of her eye she saw familiar shapes join her in the dancing circle. They glittered and glowed and their wings made a melodic humming noise. Arms spread Lina leapt and twirled and reveled in the beauty of the night.

She passed a third time around the tree.

Lina stopped. She was breathing hard and her breath showed in the cool air like little puffs of magic smoke. She looked around, but the nymphs that had danced with her had disappeared. Edith Anne waddled past her, sniffing curiously around the base of the tree. Cocking her ears forward, she peered up into the oak's branches.

“They're gone,” Lina told her. “Come on, old girl. It's time for us to go, too.”

The dance had left her body feeling more alive than it had in two weeks. Maybe she should dance more. Anton and Dolores had questioned her several times about why she had suddenly stopped rollerblading along the river. Lina thought about it.
She' d
never rollerbladed—ever. But Persephone obviously had quite often. And she hadn't needed Anton and Dolores to tell her that. Her body was a full dress size smaller. Her legs were fit and her butt was firmer than it had been when she was twenty.

Lina let herself back in her condo. Before she could change her mind, she walked straight back to her bathroom, kicking off her shoes and stripping off her clothes until she stood totally naked in front of her full-length mirror.

She looked good, and not just for a woman in her forties. Except for the dark smudges under her eyes, her skin looked firm and healthy. She still wore her hair as Persephone had worn it—shoulder length with loose, messy curls. Her breasts weren't perfect and perky, but they were full and womanly. Her waist curved in nicely and her hips swelled down to tight thighs and well-defined calves.

She smiled at her reflection. She was pretty and smart and sexy and successful—everything a man should want.

“It's past time you got over him, Lina,” she told herself.

With a sense of finality, she clicked off the bathroom light and tucked herself into bed. She felt the mattress sag as Patchy Poo the Pud curled into his place near her hip. She heard Edith Anne sigh as she turned twice and then flopped down in her doggie bed. Lina closed her eyes and before she fell asleep she made a promise to herself. Beginning tomorrow she would start over. Persephone had been right—she was richly blessed.

PERSEPHONE had been brooding when she felt the stirring of her magic being used. As nonchalantly as possible, she excused herself from Hermes and Aphrodite's tiresome conversation. The immortals waved her aside and continued their argument about whether the Limoniades, nymphs of the meadows of flowers, or the Napaeae, nymphs of the glens, were the most beautiful. They didn't mind that the young Goddess of Spring was leaving the conversation. She was an expert on forest nymphs, yet she had been uncharacteristically reticent and had had nothing amusing to say on the subject. They hardly noticed her absence.

Demeter did.

“Daughter, where are you going?”

Persephone paused and schooled her face into an aspect of innocent boredom before she turned to face her mother.

“Oh, Mother, you know I cannot bear to be indoors while the flowers are blooming. The meadows call me.”

“Very well, child. I expect to see you tonight at the Festival of Chloaia.”

“Of course, Mother.” Persephone bowed and left her mother's throne room.

Demeter watched her daughter depart with a mother's sharp eyes. The Great Goddess was ready to admit to herself that exchanging the mortal for her daughter had been a mistake. Oh, her plan had had the desired effect. Persephone had matured. To Demeter's surprise she was even being called the Queen of the Underworld, and the relatives of the dead had quit their ceaseless petitioning. But at what price? Since her daughter's return the Goddess of Spring had behaved in a more sober manner. She rarely hosted feasts and had stopped consorting with semi-deities. But she was also moody and distracted. Much of the young goddess's sparkle had dimmed. Demeter worried about her. And she also worried about the mortal woman.

Carolina Francesca Santoro seemed to have taken up permanent residence as a nettle within the goddess's conscious, and it was not a comfortable arrangement. Demeter could not forget the look of raw pain on the mortal's face when Hades rejected her. She had caused Carolina a great hurt, and that had not been her intention.

Then there were the disturbing rumors. The immortals whispered that Hades had gone mad. He would see no one. It was even said that he had refused to grant Zeus an audience when the god had entered his dark realm.

“Eirene,” she called her old friend to her side. “Something must be done about Hades.”

“Again?” Eirene asked.

“Again,” Demeter said.

 

THROUGH her mother's oracle Persephone watched Lina dance around the oak tree. She smiled when the little nymphs joined her. Lina's body twirled and leapt with a grace that Persephone recognized as not completely mortal.

“Her body remembers,” the Goddess of Spring whispered to the oracle. “It has been touched by the presence of a goddess, and it will never be the same. . . .”

Just as she would never be the same, Persephone finished the thought silently. Carolina had departed her body, but she had left behind an essence of herself. Absently, Persephone stroked the amethyst narcissus that hung between her breasts. The chain had been broken, but the goddess had left it knotted around her neck. She could remove it and command it repaired, but she had been loath to part with it. In some way, its touch soothed her.

Lina finished the dance and returned to her home. Persephone watched as she stood naked before the mirror. Her smile echoed the mortal's. She was proud of the changes she had wrought in Lina. Persephone still remembered the burn of tired muscles and the satisfaction it had given her to watch Lina's body grow more fit and flexible. She had molded it into a vessel fit for a goddess. When Lina slid into bed, Persephone could almost feel the warm, soft body of the cat pressed familiarly against her own hip.

The oracle swirled and went blank.

“What is it, Daughter? Why do you and the mortal seem so unhappy?” Demeter's voice caused Persephone to jump guiltily. “No,” Demeter continued before her daughter could answer with a ready excuse. “I do not want empty words meant to salve my feelings. I want truth.”