By Jove (19 page)

Sunday night? Yes, she was supposed to do something on Sunday night…in the Great Room. She had to talk to someone—that’s what it was—or was it? “Sunday,” she murmured, and got lost in the feeling of the word in her mouth. What
was
a Sunday?

“I’ve called a symposium, just for the immortal faculty and staff. They need to meet you in your new capacity. I thought it would be the perfect way to do it.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “You’ll be magnificent,
ediste
Theodora. I know you will.”

…

After that, memory began to come back to her, in fragments here and there. She saw a fish tank and remembered that she was supposed to be taking care of them for someone while he was gone. And something about a school. It had taken a few days more for her to recall that she was here to study. When she happened to see a book bag on the floor of the foyer, overflowing with notebooks and texts, she began to remember that she was supposed to be doing something with them. She picked up a file folder labeled “thesis topics” in her own handwriting and thumbed through it with growing unease, then carried it in to Julian.

“This is mine, isn’t it?” she asked him.

Julian barely looked at it. “It was, once.”

“I was—am—I mean, I was starting to work on a thesis, wasn’t I? It’s there, somewhere, in my head, but when I try to think about it, it slips away.” She rubbed her forehead and frowned.

“My poor darling. You’re still adjusting to it all.” Julian took the folder from her and blew on it. It turned into a goblet, brimming with wine. He handed it to her with a smile. “Yes, you were a student,” he continued. “But you aren’t any more. Drink, love.”

Theo took the goblet but did not bring it to her lips. “I was a teacher,” she said slowly. “I wanted to get my Ph.D., didn’t I? It was very important to me. And then—”

“And then I found you, the woman I’d been awaiting for centuries. Why worry about your thesis,
kale
Theodora? You’ve had an apotheo-thesis.” He guided the goblet to her mouth. “Now drink, and don’t worry about your past. Think about your future, with me.”

…

And then she remembered other things. Julian was one the professors…and there were others, too. She remembered Dr. Waterman, and realized that it was his fish she was supposed to be taking care of. And that nice Dr. Forge-Smythe, with his pretty wife—she knew them, too. Only…only they weren’t what they’d appeared to be, were they?

“You’re gods,” she said to Julian one night, when he’d started to make love to her. “It—you’re just pretending to be college professors.”

He drew back and smiled down at her. “We aren’t pretending—we
are
college professors. But yes, we are gods as well.
The
gods, I suppose you might say. But you are too,
eme philotate
Theodora—don’t forget that. You’re
my
goddess.”

Theo pushed that thought away. It was too much to think about right now. “But how did you get here? What—”

“Do you remember—no, I suppose you don’t, right now. We talked about it once, you and I, just before exams last semester. ‘What do gods do when no one worships them anymore?’ As I recall, you caught on right away. ‘But how liberating for them, not to have to answer prayers anymore,’ you said. You were right, of course. I got so tired of having to rustle the leaves in the oak groves at Dodona so those dreary old oracles could think they were interpreting my divine will.”

“You— you’re Ze—” She choked on the name.

“Zeus, Jupiter. I’ve had so many names that it doesn’t really matter. I am who I am, and right now I happen to be Dr. Julian d’Amboise, head of the Classics Department at John Winthrop University. Most suitable, don’t you think? And the others—Paul and Diana. Henry and Renee. Freddy Herman. Marlowe, for crying out loud. I’ve always warned him that he’s far too obvious, but fortunately most mortals are too blind to see the noses on their own faces. And Arthur, of course. He’s almost as bad as Marlowe, with his fish and his endless laps in the university pool.”

Theo thought hard, grasping for threads of memory. “Dr. Bellow. And—and June.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, them too. But enough of them. You understand, don’t you? What were we to do, when men stopped worshipping us? Some gods do die, the nameless, faceless ones that the men who made stone tools and lived in caves worshipped before we came into being. But many live on because their names—
our
names—live on, because we were not forgotten. No longer worshipped, but never forgotten.

“Some of us had a hard time. It took a couple of centuries for Paul to get over not being worshipped any more. After all, he was one of the best-loved of our kind, and little echoes of belief and carry-overs from the Christ, another young male god, confused him. Renee was none too happy either, but she’s always worshipped herself. And she had Henry as well. I had it both the easiest and hardest: hardest because my role as King of the old gods made me the biggest target, but easiest because I had become a powerful symbol in men’s minds of strength and majesty, a symbol that couldn’t be easily eradicated. Yes, it was hard for a while. We hid in monasteries for a few centuries, which was an utter bore. Yet the monasteries were the places that helped keep us alive. The monks preserved our memory when they copied the writings of the ancient Greeks and Romans, even though they had been directly responsible for our downfall. I’ve always been amused by the irony of that. It was the birth of the universities that set us free. It wasn’t always as good as it is now. But we’re all quite happy here, and we lead pleasant and useful existences, keeping our own memories green by teaching the classics. Poetic justice, I always thought.”

She was silent for a minute, struggling to make sense of it all. The gods—here. And now. And— “What about me? Why?”

“Ssshh.” He put a finger to her lips. “The ‘why’ is easy. Because I love you. Even I don’t know what makes two beings fall in love, but I’ve watched you and knew I loved you. And as for the other questions—well, let’s leave those till later.” He held up a hand, and his diamond cup appeared in it. “And now you will drink, my Theodora. Don’t let all this trouble you. All will be well.” His eyes gleamed turquoise in the dim room as he watched her drink. “‘Beloved of the Gods’ indeed. Beloved of this god, anyway.” He waved his hand in the air and sent several small bolts of lightning shooting about. She flinched, and he laughed once more and kissed her.

“It can’t hurt you. You’re an immortal now, remember?” He raised one finger, and a small spark of blue-white lightning hovered above it. “Here. Take it.”

She shrank from his hand. “Julian—”

“Take it, Theodora,” he said kindly but firmly. “Don’t you understand? You
can
. You are as immortal and divine as I am now. So take it.”

She reached out a trembling hand to his. The little dancing bolt darted and hovered in her hand, not at all hot or hurtful. It was like having a bright dragonfly capering on her fingertips, airy and curious, just gripping her lightly with tiny feet.

“It likes you,” commented Julian, his eyes very turquoise in the shimmering, sparkling light. “Send it away, and call it back.”

“But how—”

“Just tell it.”

Go
, she said in her mind to the brightness in her hand. The light vanished.

“Now call it to you,” he urged.

That was harder. How was she supposed to do that? She settled for a picture, a mental image of an electric spark swaying and flickering on her fingers, and there it was again, a soft gold this time, less spiky and jagged, more flame-like, like a small torch.

A torch

Another memory, as faint and fitful as the light that clung to her finger, teased at her and then was gone.

Chapter Thirteen

“It’s beautiful,” said Theo with shining eyes as she stared at herself in the mirror in Julian’s office.

She was wrapped in yards of whispering white silk, its edges embroidered with golden oak leaves. Gold oak leaf bracelets encircled her wrists, and as she watched, Julian reached over and set a deep saffron veil and a wreath of gold oak leaves on her head.

“
You’re
beautiful, my Theodora.” He regarded her in the mirror with deep satisfaction. “Quite perfect. All of it—perfect.” He smiled.

Theo smiled back at him, though she wasn’t quite as convinced. These last few days had been like a fairy story, at least on the surface. For long stretches she could live in that surface place, practicing her new divine powers and dreaming through cups of Julian’s ambrosial wine. But not always. Though she could remember a little more now, it wasn’t much: little flashes of her father, declaiming in Latin…books she had loved a long time ago, like Jane Austen…teaching at that school with the funny name…shopping with her professor’s wife… Memories appeared like pinpoints of light and were gone just as quickly, and the darkness they left behind seemed even darker afterward.

And Julian was always there, touching her, kissing her, feeding her ambrosia and wine until her senses were overwhelmed. It was so tempting to just live in the moment rather than to struggle to think, to remember, to reclaim who she’d once been.

Now he was giving her an oak wreath identical to the one he’d given her, and bowing his head. She let go of her uncomfortable thoughts and placed it on his sleek gray hair.

“Is this really happening?” she said, looking into his smiling face. “Is this real? And this?” She waved a hand, and tiny butterflies made of rainbows began to flutter around them.

He responded by pulling her hard against him and kissing her, long and slow and deep. “
That’s
real. And so is this.” He took her left hand and slipped a ring onto it.

Theo lifted her hand and stared at it. The setting was made of tiny clusters of oak leaves, encircling a disc of lapis lazuli. Another memory slid into place: it was the seal they had looked for together in the museum, last fall.

“You see? I knew then that this was real, Theodora. It
is
happening, and I couldn’t be happier.” He ran his hands over her hips. “Happy as I am to be going to this symposium, though, I wish it were already over so that I could take you home and back to bed.”

“Home?”

“To my house. It’s all prepared for you, dearest. Surely you don’t want to return to dreary Graves and sleep alone again, do you?” He laughed and kissed her. “Let us go. It’s nearly time. Are you ready for our little presentation?”

But as they swept down the stairs toward the Great Room, Theo shivered. Despite her casual creation of the lovely little butterflies in Julian’s office, her new powers still mystified and confused her and were not always so well-behaved: she counted herself lucky that she had summoned butterflies, not wasps. Only yesterday she had tried to summon a glass of water and instead created a bucket, which promptly poured itself over her head. And Friday she had shattered every light bulb in Dr. Waterman’s living room, simply by pointing at the light-switch without thinking. Julian had assured her that her control over her power would improve, that she would soon be comfortable with her new senses and abilities. But now she had to emerge from the cocoon he had spun around them, and try out her still-wet wings. It was frightening to return to the real world when she herself no longer felt real, when memory of her old life had faded into gray, consumed by her new.

Worst of all, now she had to deal with others, human and god. What would the rest of the faculty say when she came in to this symposium on Julian’s arm?

“Don’t they already know?” she asked him nervously, holding his arm as they came up to the doors of the Great Room.

“Let’s say they suspect. But they would presume nothing before I formally declared it. I am their master, after all.”

Their master. He said the words with such careless assurance. She shivered again.

Julian opened the doors with a wave of his hand, then paused and looked down at her with an odd expression. Then to her surprise he took her in his arms and kissed her as he had just kissed her upstairs, deep and slow and long.

Through the kiss Theo heard the hum of conversation from the Great Room abruptly cease. Another memory teased at the back of her mind, something to do with being kissed here like this some other time, but then Julian took her arm once more and led her inside.

If anything, the Great Room was even more beautiful tonight than any of her hazy memories of it: more candles glowed around the room, more incense wafted up from small bronze holders and filled the room with the scent of ambrosia. But this time the candelabra were not sensibly sitting on tables but drifted about the room, hovering wherever they thought they were needed by the laughing, chatting, white-clad guests. This time there were no costumed undergraduates serving wine and hors d’oeuvres. Instead five fauns, goat-legged below, human above, stepped daintily around on polished hooves, carrying pitchers of wine and trays of food.

“Oh,” Theo said softly when one turned and smiled at her, sweeping a courtly bow. Though they were no more than four feet tall, she knew that they were not children. She nodded politely back, noticing with delight the creature’s delicate pointed ears, topped with a wispy tuft of hair.

“Julian!” a voice called. It was Paul who bounded up to them, and yet it wasn’t. His blond hair was almost metallic in its shine, and his forget-me-not blue eyes were preternaturally bright. Theo remembered that now she was seeing him as he truly was, her perception undimmed by mortal eyes.

“And my lady,” he added softly, bowing to Theo as well. With a twirl of his fingers he called into being a golden rose, spun from candlelight, and handed it to her.

She took it with a smile and thanked him, and heard a collective sigh from around the room. Looking up, she saw Julian nod his approval to Paul. Could she return the greeting? She stared hard at her hand and concentrated.
Music!
she thought, unable to articulate any further. A blob of light appeared which quickly formed itself into a tiny silver bird. It strutted back and forth on her hand, fixed her with its bright eyes, and sang a few liquid notes. She handed it to Paul with a relieved smile, grateful she hadn’t conjured a frog instead, and said, “For when your own music must rest.”