Goddess of Light by P. C. Cast

in the direction the nymphs had disappeared.
    â€œWhy not?” She sighed and shook her head at her obviously distracted brother. “Oh, very well. Let us go make certain the nymphs don’t do anything to meddle with your precious mortals.” When he hesitated, she pulled him to his feet. “You never know,” she whispered in mock concern. “Some unsuspecting mortal might actually blunder into the invocation and ask for our aid. I can hear them now: ‘Great Zeus, send a thunderbolt to maim my neighbor’s dog who barks all night . . . ’ ”
    He shook his head at his beautiful sister as he reluctantly walked with her through the casino. “You should not make light of an invocation ceremony. You know as well as I how much mischief has been caused by mortals binding the gods to aid them.”
    â€œAncient mortals, yes, like Paris or Medea. But this is not the Ancient World. These mortals know nothing of us.” Artemis watched in disgust as a balding, rotund man bought a fistful of large cigars from a scantily clad young woman who carried a tray, “All that concerns them now is . . .” She paused as the fat man reached forward to grope up the back of the cigar girl’s short skirt when she turned away. With a small movement of her fingers, Artemis caused him to trip and fall face-forward. The goddess smiled smugly as his cigars rolled across the floor and the man cursed loudly. “All that concerns them now is shallow self-gratification,” she finished. As they walked past, she stepped purposefully on one of the cigars that had come to rest near them, squashing it nicely into the ornate rug.
    â€œThen they differ little from the gods,” Apollo muttered.
    Artemis shrugged off the accusatory tone of his comment. “We are gods. Self-gratification is ours by right.”
    â€œBut what if superior self-gratification is not enough?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
    Artemis felt her anger stir. There was obviously something wrong with her brother, but his morose, self-pitying attitude was wearing on her.
    â€œWhat do you suggest, Brother? What other life could you possibly desire besides ours? Look around you.” She gestured at the mortals who scurried past them like brainless ants. “We act superior because we are superior. A mortal’s life is a temporary thing. They are like butterflies without the beauty of wings. You say modern mortals are changed? The only real change I see in them is that they no longer recognize us, which tells me that they have lost even the small amount of intelligence they used to have. Look at what they worship now.” Artemis paused at the end of the casino and looked out into the shopping area that was The Forum. “Their Gods are Gucci, Prada, Versace, Escada, Visa and MasterCard.” She shook her head, annoyed that her brother’s silly malaise had gotten so under her skin. “We’re wasting time. Are we not supposed to be following the nymphs?”
    She nodded at the swirling path of golden glitter that the semideities left behind them. The mortals had, of course, noticed the shimmering trail, and many young females were laughing and dabbing the glitter on their bodies. Artemis frowned again. Their odd-looking clothing was confusing: low-slung, faded things that Bacchus had said they called jeans, and tight, middle-bearing brightly colored tops. Did these fledglings not realize how unattractive it was to display so much chubby skin? Being voluptuous was one thing; drawing attention to one’s body flaws was quite another. The goddess thought they looked like desperate young sausages.
    â€œYou may have a point,” Apollo said slowly, considering his sister’s words as they made their way through the noise and confusion of the busy market. “There is definitely something missing about them. Perhaps it is the absence of gods and goddesses within their lives. But I do not