Deep Water (4 page)

“Yes, one of the benefits about being an
immortal, I suppose,” Hyacinth said, taking a quick nibble of her cookie. “Of
course, it might not be a bad idea, you know.”

“What?”

“Talking to Poseidon. I think the mortals
call it ‘getting closure’.”

The temperature in the small office dropped.
“I don’t see how I could achieve closure with Poseidon,” Amphitrite said.
“Unless he did something really spectacular, such as immolate himself in a
volcano.”

Hyacinth winced. “
Ammie
,
you know I’m on your side with this. What he did was horrible. But that was
also thousands of years ago. At some point, you have to let it go, for your own
sake.” She gentled her voice. “Tell me truly—do you even remember what she
looked like?”

The other Nereid’s face clouded over. “I
will always remember how she looked,” Amphitrite said softly. “She had large, light
brown eyes, like those of an owl. Her nose was elegant, but with the tiniest
snubbing at the tip. When she laughed, the entire room seemed to light up. And
even though she was small she always stood up straight, modest and attentive,
the perfect handmaiden.”

Hyacinth’s heart ached at the ancient
grief in her sister’s eyes. “Forgive me,
Ammie
. I
didn’t mean to dredge up the past.”

“You didn’t,
Hy
.
That’s the problem. I carry it with me always. It’s my penance for failing her
the way I did.” Amphitrite pressed her lips together, Hyacinth assumed to mask
their trembling. “And that is why I cannot achieve closure with Poseidon. If I
forgive him for what he did, it feels like I’m betraying her.”

“Even though you miss him?” Hyacinth regretted
the words the moment they slipped out.

But Amphitrite simply nodded. “Even though
I miss him. He’ll always have part of my heart, the same as she does. But every
time I look at him, I see her in Athena’s temple giving me a look of loathing that
still tears at my soul. And it makes me so angry, both at him and myself.” She
blinked once, hard. “And I’m so tired of being angry. But there’s no way either
of us can fix this. It’s best if we just stay away from each other.”

Hyacinth had to wonder if that was true.
But she couldn’t think of a way around her sister’s marital conundrum and the
gaping hole at its core. All she could do was offer another cookie and pray to
the Fates to ease the other Nereid’s heart.

****

Poseidon guided the powerful sea horses
through the cove opening, landing next to the coral field. After making sure
that they had sufficient grazing, he put away his trident and headed into the
shallows.

The deep purple tint of the water
indicated that it was evening, but with an unaware mortal now living on the
cove he couldn’t simply emerge from the surf like he used to. It was possible
to open a portal directly into the cottage, of course, but doing that while
under water tended to bring a certain quantity of liquid along.

Invisibility it
is.
Adjusting the air molecules around his body to refract light and render him
invisible, he stepped out of the water and headed to his sons’ cottage.

The porch door was open, as was the back
door to the cottage proper. The building itself, however, was empty. Annoyed,
Poseidon stood in the kitchen and wondered what he was supposed to do now.

“Father?”

He turned. Aphros stood in the back
doorway, wearing his preferred mortal clothing of a garishly patterned tropical
shirt and cargo shorts. “I didn’t know you were coming. By told you about the
cookout, then?”

Poseidon frowned. “Cookout?”

“Yes, at Nick’s cottage. We’re breaking in
his new grill.” Aphros crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out a large
platter piled with steaks and chicken breasts. “Just so you know, he also
invited our new neighbor. Seems nice enough for a mortal—apparently he’s a
marine biologist. Would you like to join us?”

Having some food wouldn’t go amiss,
Poseidon decided. And afterward he could float the idea of a rapprochement with
Amphitrite and see what his sons thought of it. “I think I shall,” he
announced. With a thought, his chiton changed into a white polo shirt and cream
slacks. “I assume I’m dressed correctly for the occasion?”

Aphros laughed. “That’s a little formal
for a beach cookout, but it’ll do.” He held out the tray of meat. “Here, could
you take this? I’ll carry the barbecue sauce and coleslaw.”

Repressing an urge to snap his fingers and
summon a
daimon
from Olympus, Poseidon gingerly took the tray and followed his now-laden son over
to the next cottage. Similar in layout to Ian’s home, it boasted pale yellow
stucco walls and a large deck that overlooked the water. Clouds of midges
attracted by the outside lights hovered over the deck, kept at bay by the smoke
rising from a huge silver grill. A group of men had gathered around the device,
chatting and drinking beer.

They all looked up at Aphros and
Poseidon’s approach. Ian and Bythos seemed surprised, while Nick appeared to be
genuinely pleased. The
mers
Aidan and Liam, however,
had gone pale, with Liam starting to bow as usual.

Not in front of
the mortal
,
Poseidon sent. Liam coughed and straightened, pretending to rub his chest.

“Hail the conquering heroes! We bring
offerings to be burnt,” Aphros announced, holding up the bowls in his hands.
“Plus condiments.”

“Great. I’m starving.” A man stood off to
one side with a half-filled beer bottle in one hand, lifting it in salute. Poseidon
estimated the mortal’s age as late forties, judging by the handsome but
somewhat lined face and cropped salt and pepper hair. He wore a pair of khaki
shorts with a baggy black t-shirt emblazoned with a white skull and a crossed
trident and crook, bearing the words SEA SHEPHERDS.

Poseidon approved of the marine wildlife
conservation group and had occasionally lent a surreptitious hand on some of
their missions. The mortal instantly rose a few notches in his opinion. “In that
case, I hope you enjoy beef and chicken,” he said, hoisting the platter.

Nick’s guest chuckled. “Anything’s got to
be better than airplane food,” he said in a brisk English accent.

“Oh, I think we can do better than that,”
Aphros said, taking the platter from Poseidon and forking meat onto the smoking
grill. “Father, this is Griffin Moore. He’s with the National Oceanography
Centre in England.”

“As you might have guessed from the voice,”
Griffin said.

“And
Griff
, this
is my father—” Aphros broke off, face blanking.

Poseidon recognized the problem. “Dunn
Seaton,” he said, using one of his favorite mortal aliases. “A pleasure to meet
you, Mr. Moore.”

“Likewise.” Griffin stuck out a hand.
Poseidon masked his divine aura, not wanting to overwhelm the mortal with a
god’s touch, then took the proffered hand.

The inside of his head exploded. Light,
sound, touch, and memory surged together as a torrent of emotions overwhelmed
him—love, need, pain, regret, anguish, anger.

Betrayal.
You betrayed me. Both of you.

Eyes wide in shock, Griffin yanked his
hand out of Poseidon’s. The onslaught disappeared as if a switch had been
thrown.

“Shit,” the mortal muttered, shaking his
hand as if he’d just touched a live wire. “What the hell was that?”

Poseidon clenched his own hand, still reeling
from the overload of emotion. “Static electricity,” he managed to say, mouth
dry. “Must’ve built up a charge somewhere. Sorry.”

“Yeah.” Griffin flexed his fingers.
“Static electricity.” But he didn’t sound convinced.

With Aphros in charge of cooking and the
others still gathered around the grill, Poseidon took the opportunity to claim
a deck chair overlooking the cove. To his dismay Griffin followed him, sitting
down heavily in a nearby chair.

Wary, Poseidon extended his
godsense
, trying to confirm his suspicions. The mortal had
recently lost a fair amount of weight, judging by the way his clothes hung on
him. Even worse was his aura, the bioelectrical field surrounding every living
creature. Whereas most human auras were a swirl of colors with one dominant
tone, Griffin’s aura was shot with thick streaks of grey and black, indicating
a serious illness.

But the general pattern of the aura was
one Poseidon most definitely recognized.
I
can’t believe they did this.
The Fates’ comment about the wheel turning now
made perfect sense.

Ill or not, Griffin’s dark eyes were clear
and full of intelligence and good humor. “Remind me not to stand next to you in
a thunderstorm,” he quipped.

As if Zeus would
dare.
Poseidon forced a smile. “I think you’re safe. I do apologize for jolting you
like that, though.”

Griffin grinned. “I’d had worse. To be
honest, you’re the one who looks a little peaky.”

Poseidon hunted for a safe lie. “I haven’t
eaten since this morning, and I received some unexpected news earlier.”

Griffin’s expression cleared, turning
sympathetic. “You’re in luck, then.”

Poseidon looked up and saw Aphros bearing
two loaded plates. “Here, Father,” the demigod said, handing over a plate and a
fork. “Griffin, do you want this one?”

The mortal gave the food a longing look,
but shook his head. “Not right now, thanks.”

Poseidon frowned.
He’s lying. He hasn’t eaten since this morning.

I know, Father. Let
him be. He can eat later if he chooses.
“Suit yourself,” Aphros said out loud,
leaning against the deck railing as he shoveled a forkful of chicken into his
mouth.
What’s wrong with you, though? You
look as though you’d seen one of the Titans.

Poseidon took a bite of what turned out to
be potato salad.
No, not a Titan, thank
Gaia.

Then what?
He could sense
his son’s attention on the mortal.
Is he
a threat of some sort? By and I can remove him—

Leave him!

Aphros winced at the order.
All right. But what’s going on?

The food, delicious as it was, turned to
ashes in Poseidon’s mouth. He swallowed with difficulty.
I didn’t realize it until I touched his hand, but
I knew him. A long time ago.

His son stiffened a bit at that.
I see. Was he one of your lovers?

No.
Poseidon stopped,
wondering how much honesty he owed Aphros.
At
least, not in this form. When I knew him, he was a young woman.
The
familiar wash of grief and regret surged through him again.
One I betrayed, most cruelly.

Aphros stopped eating and stared at him.
Father, he isn’t—he
can’t
be—

He is.
Poseidon sighed.
Your mortal neighbor is Medusa, reborn.

Chapter Two

Bythos sat back in shock. “Father, are you
sure?”

“I’m sure,” Poseidon said stiffly. He’d
gotten through the rest of the cookout with a modicum of grace, managing to
chat with Nick and his
mers
and laughing at one of
Griffin’s stories about a group of American researchers getting seasick after
enjoying a pub crawl and an introduction to British beer. He’d even managed to
eat one of Aphros’s perfectly cooked steaks, seared on the outside and red and
juicy at the center.

But he’d been very careful not to touch
Griffin, and had escaped to the cottage as soon as it was polite to leave. His
sons and Ian had joined him soon afterwards, and now they were seated around
the old table in the cottage kitchen.

Both Ian and Aphros seemed willing to
accept that their neighbor was the reincarnation of a figure from ancient
legend. Poseidon’s grey-eyed son, however, wasn’t convinced. “It’s been over seven
millennia,” he pointed out. “After all that time, how can you be sure that man carries
Medusa’s soul?”

Poseidon bit back the question of whether
Bythos would recognize Ian’s soul after seven thousand years. “I would know the
soul of Medusa anywhere, at any time. And I know it resides in Griffin Moore.”

A reluctant Bythos finally nodded. “So
what are we going to do about it?”

That was an excellent question. “At the
moment, I’m not sure,” Poseidon said. “Especially since the timing of this
strikes me as extremely suspect.”

Ian, who had been watching the byplay
between father and sons, raised a hand. “You don’t think the Fates are working
with Thetis, do you?”

Three red heads shook in unison. “The
Fates are a power unto themselves—not even Gaia herself could suborn them,” Poseidon
said. “But it does seem suspicious that they chose to reweave Medusa’s soul
into life at the exact moment where it would be the most distracting to me.”

The twins exchanged a glance. “What about
Mother?” Aphros said slowly. “Are you going to tell her?”

Poseidon hesitated. Not for the first
time, he wondered if keeping the truth about Medusa from his sons had been the
best plan of action. All of their lives they had considered the woman who would
become the monstrous Gorgon to be the “other woman,” the one who had sundered
their parents’ marriage. Her supposed punishment by Athena and eventual death
at the hand of Perseus had done nothing to ease their distaste for her.

He decided to tread lightly. “I will need
to talk to your mother at some point about this, yes. But for the moment I
would ask that you—all three of you,” he looked at Ian, “respect my wishes and
not mention this to Amphitrite.”

Bythos eyed him warily. “All right. But
know this, Father. If you do anything to hurt Mother again, any family feeling
between us will be destroyed.”

Poseidon bit back his initial response. Bythos
had always been close to Amphitrite, and the dissolution of his parents’
marriage had driven the demigod to her side. “Hurting your mother is the last
thing I wish to do,” he said. “But I need to speak with the Fates and get to
the root of this before I talk to Amphitrite. Will you grant me the time to do
that?”

Another glance between the twins, and then
Bythos nodded.

“Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a
trio of goddesses to question.” Standing, Poseidon opened a gate to his palace
on Mount Olympus and stepped through, leaving a shower of blue sparks in his
wake.

****

Ian sat back in his chair and blew out a
breath. He had known his father-in-law’s marriage was problematic, but he had
no idea it was this complicated. “Okay, would someone like to fill me on the
background here?”

Bythos just stared moodily at his
wineglass. Aphros sighed. “I’m sure you’ve heard about Medusa the Gorgon?”

“Yeah, she was in
Clash of the Titans
. Snakes for hair, could turn men into stone if
they looked at her, got her head cut off by Perseus…” Ian trailed off as
mythology and the reality of his new life collided once again. “Shit. You mean
she was real?”

“Yes. Before she was transformed into a
Gorgon, Medusa was a human and the chief handmaiden to our aunt Athena,” Aphros
said. “And then Father saw her and decided he had to have her. He wound up
seducing Medusa in Athena’s own temple. Athena was so enraged by this, she
changed Medusa into a monster as punishment.”

Ian winced. “Ouch.”

“Well, it was hardly surprising. Athena is
one of the three virgin goddesses of Olympus,” Bythos added. “Her handmaidens
were expected to remain virgins while in her service. For Medusa to have sex
with anyone in Athena’s temple would be a grave insult to the goddess. For her
to have sex with Father, who has traditionally been one of Athena’s rivals…”

“Yeah, I get it,” Ian said. “It would be
like a White Sox fan taking a leak on Wrigley Field.”

Bythos’s eyebrows rose. “Wrigley Field?”

“Never mind. So your dad and Medusa had sex,
Athena got pissed off and turned Medusa into a Gorgon for it. How does this
involve your mom?”

It was Aphros’s turn to wince. “Apparently
she was rather fond of Medusa. When she found out that Father’s lust had driven
Athena to turn the girl into a monster, Mother became so furious that she left
him.”

Ian remembered some of the more
spectacular divorces among his friends and family members. Mythological
monsters aside, Poseidon and Amphitrite’s fight seemed right in line with them.
“And now Medusa’s been reincarnated as a guy, who just happens to be renting a
cottage here this summer. I call bullshit on ‘coincidence’.”

Bythos grunted agreement. “Hence Father’s
decision to go talk to the Fates. Hopefully he can find out why this is
happening now.”

And just what kind
of trouble it’s going to cause
, Ian didn’t add.

****

In a green cottage down the beach, Griffin
Moore lay in bed and chased sleep. It had been a very long day getting from Palm
Beach International Airport to Olympic Beach (including getting used to driving
on the wrong side of the road), collecting the keys for the cottage from the
formidable Ms. Kuttner at Atlantic Rentals, and then finding Olympic Cove. He
had actually driven past the turnoff twice before finally noticing the tiny
street sign.

To his surprise the cottage turned out to
be perfect, a bit big for one man but clean and welcoming. He’d dropped his
bags in the master bedroom, crawled onto the blessedly comfortable bed, and
gave in to jet lag and the frailty of his own weakening body.

He probably would have slept through the
night if his neighbor hadn’t knocked on the door and invited him to a cookout.
But the bloke seemed friendly enough and the smell from the grill reminded Griffin
that he hadn’t stopped off at a local supermarket yet. His oncologist had
warned him that it was important to eat something on a regular schedule even if
he didn’t feel hungry. Not eating meant that he’d land in the hospice a lot
sooner than he wanted to.

He stared into the darkness.
Don’t think about it. For two weeks, you’re
just going to enjoy yourself. Think about something else.

Like that
handshake from the big ginger bloke.
Griffin had half-expected a bone-crushing
grip from someone who looked like he played Rugby Union. What he got was like
touching a live wire and seeing his life flash in front of his eyes at the same
time, topped by a big whopping dose of sexual need that was so strong it was
almost painful.
Poor bastard doesn’t know
how close he came to getting snogged.

Which was good, because getting his
arse
handed to him on his first night in Florida was not on
Griffin’s schedule. Then again, that probably wouldn’t have happened, seeing as
he was apparently living next to two sets of gay households that were happily
carrying on in ménage relationships. Not quite the all-American beach
experience he’d expected when he rented the cottage, but they all seemed like
nice blokes.
As long as they don’t expect
me to attend any underwear parties, it’ll be fine.

He chuckled.
Then again, who knows? I wanted to climb that big ginger like a tree,
didn’t I? Little late in the game for a sexual identity crisis, but that’s the
least of my problems right now.
Turning over, he punched the pillow to
fluff it up, then settled down determinedly to sleep.

Just as he drifted off he heard someone
calling his name, tugging him out of sleep. He sat up reluctantly with a small,
weirdly squeaky groan and started to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

Then froze, staring at his hands. They
were small and delicate, nothing like the tanned, masculine hands he actually
had. Looking down at himself, he saw a slim, feminine body nude under a thin
blanket.

After a beat the situation dawned on him.
I’m dreaming. Huh. And I’m a woman in this
dream.
He looked again under the blanket.
Nice tits. Okay, this is weird.

His new body sat up on its own and
stretched, then pulled a large, wide-mouthed pot from under the bed and
squatted over it to urinate.
A chamber
pot. God, please tell me I’m not a maid at Downton Abbey.

He glanced at the walls as he peed and did
a mental double-take. They were made from marble blocks, cut and fitted so that
there was no gap between them.
Definitely
not Downton Abbey, then.

His body stood and picked up the pot,
dumping the contents outside the window. She then slipped into a simple tunic
before wandering out of the room. Griffin tried to stop and go back to study
the walls, but this new body wasn’t responding to his commands.

Well, damn.
Resigning himself
to a passenger/observer role, he watched as his hostess went into a small
courtyard, heading to a rustic fountain set into the corner. There she shucked
off her tunic, using the water (spring-fed, judging by the warm temperature)
and a handful of sand from a nearby urn to scrub herself clean.

In the opposite corner of the courtyard an
olive tree grew, its grey branches heavy with fruit.
Marble walls, olives, tunics. Is this Greece?

His theory was confirmed when a bodiless
voice said, “Good morning, my child. How did you sleep?” Somehow he knew the
voice spoke in an archaic form of Greek.

His hostess smiled brightly as she toweled
herself off with a cloth. “Very well, my lady. Give me a moment to dress and
break my fast, and I’ll tend to your altar.”

“Once you are finished with that, bring an
amphora of the best wine to my chamber,” the voice instructed. “I will be
entertaining a guest today.”

“Yes, my lady.” The young woman bowed
towards the tree before
redonning
her tunic,
fastening it at both shoulders with bronze pins. After depositing her towel in
a basket, she headed to a small storeroom. Griffin was fascinated by the
amphorae stored neatly along one wall, while another held shelves supporting a
variety of bowls and baskets decorated in bold shades of orange, red, and
black.

His hostess lifted the lid of a basket and
pulled out a small round bread loaf. Selecting an amphora, she unsealed it and poured
the contents, wine from the color, into a plain wooden cup, taking bread and
wine back to the courtyard. Seating herself at a small table in the corner
opposite to the olive tree, she shredded the loaf and dipped pieces of bread
into the wine before eating them.

A fragment of a BBC documentary on ancient
Greece floated into his mind, about how suspect water sources made it safer to drink
wine or beer with meals, even breakfast. Weird meal or not, Griffin found he
was able to enjoy the taste of the wine and bread along with his hostess. After
a year of undergoing radiation and chemo, it felt damned good to be in a young,
healthy body, even if it was the wrong gender.

After breakfast, his hostess brought the
cup back to the storeroom, picked up the amphora and headed into a short
corridor that led outside. Griffin couldn’t look back, but somehow knew that
he’d left a small residential compound.

All curiosity about the compound
evaporated when he saw where his hostess was going. The stately temple ahead of
him was one of the iconic structures of Western civilization. He had visited
the ruins a number of times on trips to Greece, but had only seen the complete
building in renderings and models.

Jesus God, it’s
the Parthenon. I’m going into the actual Parthenon.

The young woman didn’t seem overawed by
the magnificent structure. She went inside and headed to the large rectangular
altar, where a massive statue of the goddess Athena sat in majestic glory. There,
a fire burned in a great bronze dish. Genuflecting before the altar, the young
woman put down the amphora and picked up a small flagon of oil, adding a
measure to the bronze dish to keep the fire fueled. Once that was done, she
fetched a willow broom and started sweeping the hall clean with it.

She’s one of the
priestesses of Athena. This is amazing.
Griffin knew his subconscious was probably
putting it together from history specials, movies, and things he’d read about
ancient Greece, but the dream was still amazingly detailed and realistic.