Free Goddess of Light by P. C. Cast Page A

the coming again of the immortals
and of your distant ancestors
who once honored the old gods
and gave blessing to field and forest, wind and
water, earth and air.
This night we invoke past times—past days.”
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    When the dancing girls began to sing, she was pleasantly surprised. Their lyrics were far better than the nonsense that the mechanized statues spouted. And their voices! They were incredible. Entranced, Pamela listened as the song brought alive a time long dead when people actually believed gods and goddesses walked amongst them and granted their wishes. Despite her cynical opinion of her surroundings, she felt herself caught up in the performance, so much so that she wanted to slide off her stool and join them in their hypnotic dance.
    That, she thought with a tipsy giggle which quickly turned into a snort, was utterly ridiculous. Especially in her three-and-a-half-inch Jimmy Choo slides. But for some reason her unusual desire to frolic with the pretend nymphs didn’t shock her. She eyed the half-empty carafe; it must be the wine.
    She blinked as the tempo of the dance increased, and the glitter that surrounded the nymphets seemed to blur her vision, so much so that when she reached for her glass of wine, she misjudged the distance and bobbled it. In slow motion, she watched as the crystal stem fell over, shattering on the marble tabletop and spraying red droplets in a crimson arc over the floor around her. Guiltily she snatched up her linen napkin and tried to soak up the quickly spreading stain. Thank God the glass had fallen away from her; she would have hated for her chic dress to have been covered in Chianti. Jeesh, what a mess she’d made. She was just thinking that she’d have to leave the waiter an extra big tip when she wiped at the table a little too enthusiastically and a sliver of glass sliced across the pad of her index finger.
    â€œOuch!” She shook her hand as if the sharp pain burned. “Oh, bloody buggering hell.” She couldn’t believe the amount of blood that was running from one little cut. It even made her stomach feel a little queasy as it mixed with the pooling Chianti.
    She pressed the already soaked napkin to her finger, but even the sting of the fresh cut didn’t distract her from the conclusion of the nymphs’ fabulous show. They were so graceful, and their silky voices seemed to call alive poignant emotions that she usually repressed . . . desire stirred within her . . . desire for something she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—quite name . . .
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    â€œImmortal 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!”
    Heartfelt wishes. Well, she wished that she hadn’t spilled her wine or cut her finger. But the instant her mind formulated the thought she felt the wrongness of it. Wishing something so trivial after the beautiful dance seemed almost blasphemous. As she unclasped her purse and dug for a tissue to wrap around her finger, she was suddenly filled with sadness that her heart’s desire had been nothing more than to undo an insignificant accident. Surely she had more heart than that left in her. Surely Duane hadn’t destroyed it all.
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    Cast doubt aside; give voice to your soul.
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    The echo of the words beat through her body in time with the pulse she could feel in her finger. Duane couldn’t have ruined romance for her; she wouldn’t let him.
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    May heartfelt wishes come to thee as it is spoken—so shall it be!
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    Impulsively, she raised her chin and stared at the group of nymphs who were smiling and sinking into graceful prima ballerina curtsies as the crowd broke out in applause. Then Pamela blurted the thought that had been haunting her mind since her conversation with V.
    â€œMy heartfelt wish is