The strap of the ruby slipper purse was made of a filigree gold chain that reminded Pamela of something a 1920s flapper would have worn as a long, sultry necklace. She slid it over her shoulder and had the insanely childish urge to skip like Dorothy down the Yellow Brick Road. She couldn't believe it was hers! V was going to shit monkeys when she saw it.

"I can not believe the jackpot was exactly eight thousand dollars," she gushed, doing a little twirl as she watched the purse wink and glitter in her reflection in the store windows they passed.

"I told you I was feeling lucky tonight," Apollo said, delighted at the uninhibited exuberance of Pamela's reaction to winning the money.

"I would never have let myself buy something so outrageously expensive." She squeezed his hand and lowered her voice. "Not even a pair of fabulous, beginning-of-season designer shoes - not for four thousand dollars."

"But you love the purse." Apollo smiled down at her, thoroughly pleased that he had been able to orchestrate such joy for her. And, oddly enough, he didn't even care that he couldn't tell her that he had commanded the machine to spurt out the money she required. That he got the credit wasn't the point. The point was that Pamela was so incredibly happy. It made his heart feel light and carefree.

"I love the purse. I adore the purse. I'm totally enamored with the purse!" She laughed. "I don't care how shallow and materialistic it sounds. I'm only going to carry it on special occasions. When I get back to my shop, I'm going to mount it under glass in the front picture window, the one with our logo painted in red script on it: Ruby Slipper Design Studio... We Make Sure That There's No Place Like Home."

They retraced their way back through Caesars Palace as Apollo listened to Pamela's excited chatter. He believed her design studio's motto. Without Pamela, there was no home. He knew it was true - he'd already proven it. The Kingdom of Vegas was a foreign, strange place, but when he had passed through the portal that night and made his way to The Lost Cellar and Pamela, he felt as if he was coming home. However improbable, Apollo, God of Light, one of the original Twelve Olympians, was falling in love with Pamela Gray, a very modern mortal woman.

"Hey! What are you going to do with your four thousand dollars?"

Apollo raised her hand to his lips. "I have no idea. Perhaps you would help me decide. I believe I distinctly remember you saying that you've never purchased a four thousand dollar pair of designer shoes..." His voice trailed off as his gaze drifted down her body to the dangerous-looking black stiletto sandals she was wearing. "And I find that I have grown very fond of your daggerlike shoes."

"You definitely know the way to a girl's heart." She grinned.

"By all the gods, I hope so," Apollo said earnestly.

He turned down a small side hallway and after just a few feet stopped in front of a plain-looking white door.

"This can't be it," Pamela said, looking around. "This isn't marked at all. It's not even near the other restaurants." She gave the door, and then Phoebus, a suspicious glance. "I think you've gotten turned around somewhere."

His smile was surreptitious. "I told you it was exclusive."

"But..." she began.

Apollo turned her to face him. He'd have to do this quickly. He didn't like using his powers to fog her mind, but he needed to get her through the portal and then instantly transport her to his temple - without her being aware of what was happening.

"I promise tonight's dinner will be like none other you have ever eaten." He didn't bother to search the area around them; the little service hallway had been charmed by the power of Olympus. There would be no mortal intruders to stumble upon him using his immortal magic on Pamela. "But before we go in, I must do something I have been waiting to do since my sister so abruptly interrupted us earlier today."

Apollo drew her into his arms. As his hands skimmed down the soft curve of her body and his lips met hers, he concentrated on sending a mist of his golden power into her mind. He commanded the light-filled mist to gently blanket her thoughts so that, for just the space of a few breaths, her precious mortal soul would be dizzy and disoriented.

"Oh," she breathed, swaying slightly.

In one swift movement, Apollo picked Pamela up, cradling her in his arms as he opened the door and stepped through the portal. He only had a brief glimpse of the Great Hall of Olympus, but it was enough for him to see that Artemis had done as she had promised. The room was empty. There was not a single immortal to witness the God of Light reentering Olympus carrying a modern mortal carefully in his arms. Apollo silently commanded that the two of them be transported to his temple, and they disappeared in a shower of displaced sunlight.

Bacchus' smile was sly as he stepped from the mouth of the hallway and approached the door that held the Olympic portal. This was going to be laughably easy. As always, Apollo was too self-assured and arrogant. He hadn't noticed that Bacchus had been following him since he'd met the mortal woman at the wine bar. Actually, Apollo had not noticed anything except the modern mortal with whom he was quite obviously thoroughly obsessed. Apollo had played the unsung hero, manipulating the slot machine and gifting the mortal with the means to purchase the object of her whim. He could hardly wait until the woman witnessed how helpless and pathetic the golden god would become without his powers. Bacchus was looking forward to seeing the God of Light's arrogance extinguished, even if it was only for the span of five days.

Bacchus strode through the portal. Just as he had anticipated, the Great Hall of Olympus was empty. And if he knew the golden twins, they would make certain that the hall stayed empty so that Apollo's little tryst with the mortal would go unnoticed by the other immortals. How convenient. He almost laughed aloud, but with an effort controlled himself. There would be time aplenty to gloat afterwards; now he needed to concentrate.

The Wine God faced the portal and lifted his arms over his head, calling forth the intoxicating power of his realm, and beginning the ritualistic spell.

"Powers of wine, rich and heady

cling to this portal, make it ready

the mortal may pass through unchanged

but if she returns she must become what she was

named.

Linger for only a moment, gentle powers

then fade, as Apollo's light burns away morning

showers."

Bacchus paused to stifle the glee he felt at using the reference to the God of Light in his spell. Refocusing on the business at hand, Bacchus completed the words of his trap.

"The lesson I desire the Sun God to learn

is that there is more than one way to be burned."

Bacchus flung his hands towards the portal, and for an instant it shimmered in liquid light the color of chilled rose wine. Then the blush tint faded, and all appeared to be normal once again.

"Step one completed," Bacchus murmured to himself. "Step two awaits."

The God of the Vine uttered a soft command. His body disappeared, and then re-formed in the rear garden of Apollo's temple. He peered around a well-manicured bush. Just as he had anticipated, the grounds were deserted. Usually, bright nymphs clustered around their favorite god's temple, vying for Apollo's attention.

"The adoration of nymphs must not be convenient when entertaining a modern mortal," Bacchus said under his breath. "So much the better for me."

For a large god, Bacchus moved with surprising stealth. He entered through one of the rear doors of the temple and made his way silently down the marble hall until he came to a cavernous room in which a dozen of Artemis' virgin handmaidens were tittering and laughing as they arranged food and pitchers of wine on platters. Yes, he was in time. He waited, impatient for the handmaiden who seemed to be in charge of the wine to turn her head as she replied to a giggling question from one of her friends, and then with a swift, sure movement, he flicked his fingers at the pitchers of wine, whispering,

"Intoxicate... arouse... flame their desire... fog

inhibitions... set them afire."

The wine glowed briefly with an unnatural, pale pink light. Unseen by anyone, Bacchus backed out of the room and melted into the night. Now all that was left for him to do was to wait and watch... wait and watch...

Bacchus' self-satisfied laughter echoed eerily through the empty gardens.

Artemis rushed into the room, and her handmaidens respectfully silenced their chatter.

"They have arrived."

Excited whispers ceased with one motion of the goddess's hand.

"Tonight by serving my brother you serve me." The handmaidens bowed their heads. "Play your parts well."

"Yes, Goddess," their sweet voices intoned.

"Take them wine," Artemis commanded, and two of the handmaidens hurried to do her bidding. After they left, the goddess drifted over to the platters laden with delicacies. She glanced at her attentive handmaidens and said mischievously, "Shall I aid the God of Light in achieving his desire?"

Her maidens giggled and nodded. Artemis spread her hands over her brother's feast.

"Intoxicate... arouse... flame their desire... fog

inhibitions... set them afire. "

Power showered from the goddess's hands to settle over the food. There it glowed for a moment before settling back into the appearance of normalcy.

"Serve them and then leave them alone. Privacy is what Apollo will wish for tonight."

Feeling very satisfied, Artemis left her brother's temple and walked slowly in the direction of the Great Hall. It would be deserted; she had made certain of that. Aphrodite and Eros had returned earlier from their weekend foray in the Kingdom of Las Vegas, and they were resting in their temples. Artemis herself had made it clear to the nymphs still fluttering about Las Vegas that it was time they returned to Olympus, and with a few sharp words she had sent them scattering back to the forests and glens where they belonged. Silly creatures. The rest of the Twelve Immortals were making themselves scarce. Artemis had begun a rumor that Hera and Zeus were fighting again. Neither mortal nor god wished to get in the middle of that. So she would wait for her brother in the empty hall and hope that before dawn she would feel the bond between herself and the mortal dissolve. She'd certainly done all that she could. The rest was up to Apollo.

"This is absolutely spectacular." Pamela gazed around her in awe. "I can't believe that plain little door was hiding all of this."

"Does it please you?"

"Please me? Are you kidding? This place is magnificent!" Pamela tilted her head back, trying to see to the top of the domed ceiling on which she could just make out some kind of fabulous fresco, but the dizziness that had struck her earlier caused her to stumble back. Phoebus' strong arm was there to catch her.

"Maybe you should sit down," he said, guiding her over to one of two exquisitely upholstered chaise lounges that rested on either side of a marble table.

She sank down on the chaise and rubbed her forehead. "I must have gotten too much sun today. My head feels woozy."

As if on cue, two young women entered the room. They were wearing short, diaphanous tunics made of white silk trimmed with silver thread embroidered in the shapes of forest creatures. One was carrying a tray that held a golden pitcher and two golden goblets. The women smiled shyly at Phoebus and Pamela.

"Wine?" they asked in perfect unison.

"Of course," Apollo said.

With graceful movements that were lovely to watch, the waitresses served them.

"Your feast is prepared," one girl said melodically.

"Shall we serve you now?" the other asked.

"Yes," Apollo said.

The two women curtsied deeply and hurried out the way they had come.

"But we haven't even ordered," Pamela said. She had a terrible headache, and she felt disorientated and slightly uneasy.

"I specified what we required for the feast earlier." He thought for a moment. "I think you would call it preordering." When Pamela's perplexed expression changed into a frown, he added, "I hope you don't mind. I wanted to surprise you with Greek delicacies."

"Surprise Greek delicacies? That sounds intriguing. Almost as intriguing as this restaurant," she rubbed her hand down the side of the chaise. "Silk velvet - my personal favorite upholstery fabric." As if the familiar touch of the velvet was grounding, the thick feeling in her head began to clear. Her fingers lingered on the beautiful fabric. "Silk velvet always reminds me of water; it's so slick and soft. I adore it."

"I am glad you approve," Apollo said, relieved that she seemed to be recovering from the power he had sprinkled over her.

Pamela looked around the dimly lit room. Not only were they the only patrons, but their table was the only one set up in the whole place. It was obviously a big space, but unlike the rest of Caesars Palace and The Forum, someone with taste and style had decorated it. Which meant that it wasn't loaded from floor to ceiling with gaudy pseudo-Roman opulence. The flooring was incredible. It appeared to have been fashioned from a single sheet of marble, even though she knew that was not possible.

"This flooring is amazing. It looks like fine Carrara marble, but I've never seen Carrara with veins of gold going through it like this has." Her eyes traveled from the floor to the walls, and they widened. "They've used the same marble for the walls and the columns. And I really like the minimalist style. The decorator was right on here; the marble is too beautiful to cover with a bunch of paintings. The single tapestry adds the perfect touch," she gestured at a large hanging that covered most of the wall in front of them. It was of a naked man. A gorgeous, young, naked man. She squinted, trying to see it better in the dim lighting. He was standing beside a chariot, and he was holding a harp in his hand.

"He looks familiar," Pamela said.

"Probably because you're wearing his likeness around your neck," Apollo said quickly.

She touched the gold coin and smiled. "That's right, you did say that the name of this restaurant is Mount Olympus. I guess this must be Apollo again. You know, I really can see a resemblance between you and him, especially how he looks in that tapestry. It's kind of weird."

"Coincidence," Apollo said nonchalantly. "Shall we drink?" He handed her one of the goblets and then raised his own. "To feeling lucky."

Pamela grinned and patted the sparkling purse that rested by her side. "To feeling lucky." She sipped. "This wine is delicious! I usually don't like white." She looked into her goblet. "But this isn't exactly white." The color of the wine was as unusual as its taste. If Pamela had been asked to describe it for one of those wine-tasting magazines, she would have said that it was light and crisp on the pallet, like the scent of pears or melons, and the color of sunlight. "What is it, a Pinot Gris?"

Apollo shrugged. "I'm not certain. I asked them to serve us the house's finest." And about that, he was telling the truth. Artemis had planned the dinner, along with the wine. Apollo took another long drink. He would have to ask Artemis about the wine - it was delicious as well as unusual. It was chilled, but as he drank he could feel it fill his body with warmth that seemed to radiate from his core. He looked at Pamela. Her cheeks were flushed, and she had quit inspecting the design of the room. She was smiling softly at him. Her lips were gently parted. They looked full and inviting.

"I did not like being away from you this evening," he said.

"I missed you, too."

"How will I bear being apart from you for the next five days?"

"Five days?" That would make it the weekend again when he returned to Vegas. Wasn't she planning on flying back to Colorado then? This job was only supposed to take a week. Five days without him... Her thoughts were suddenly sluggish and disjointed... The time seemed at once interminable and unimportant. She didn't want him to leave, she knew that, but he was here now, almost close enough to touch. How could any man be so handsome? She had to force herself to stay on her chaise, when what she really wanted to do was to join him on his... to pull off his shirt... and begin licking her way down his body.

"Yes, I..." he faltered. What was it he and Artemis had decided to tell Pamela about his "trip"? He was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything except her lips.

The stream of maidens carrying food-filled platters interrupted his impulse to push aside the table and devour her mouth.

On golden plates Apollo and Pamela were served food of the gods.

"The finest grape leaves, stuffed with morsels of meat and cheese," one of Artemis' handmaidens proclaimed in a soft, hypnotic voice as Pamela bit into the fragrant bundle.

"Lamb, from a beast raised on honey and milk," another maiden murmured.

Apollo tasted the meat, then smiled, eating with relish. His sister was usually not at all domestic, but tonight she had outdone herself.

"Cheese from goats that nymphs care for as if they were beloved children."

"Olives and figs picked from Mount Olympus by the smooth, knowing hands of Aphrodite's priestesses."

They were undoubtedly the best waitresses Pamela had ever had. She wanted to ask Phoebus how he had managed this evening. He must have reserved the entire restaurant for their private use, which meant - amongst other things - that he must be an incredibly successful doctor. And he looked so young! She meant to ask him exactly how old his was, when was his birthday, and where had he been born - not that it really mattered. She was just curious. She should also ask him about... about... about... what? She couldn't concentrate...

... Because the food was so completely, absorbingly delicious. The taste filled her senses. It was more than food. It reminded her of summer sunlight and heat and desire... her eyes lifted from her plate to find Phoebus watching her with a sapphire intensity that made her breath catch.

"We leave you alone; for the night we retire..." the handmaidens sang. And as they faded from the room their sweet voices whispered an almost inaudible prayer: "... Intoxicate... arouse... flame their desire... fog inhibitions... set them afire."

Apollo and Pamela barely noticed the handmaidens' departure. They stared at each other, and everything else in the room, in the world, faded. Their skin tingled with growing heat and desire.

"I need you to love me," Apollo's voice was thick with lust and longing. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, where common sense still lurked, he knew his reaction to her was too raw, too uninhibited, but he couldn't stop it - he didn't want to stop it.

"Yes." She breathed the word.

With a feral, liquid movement that Pamela thought made him look like a large, tawny lion, he stood. He hurled the table separating them out of the way. Pamela realized that the table flew away from Phoebus' touch with an inhuman force, but the thought was vague and only partially formed. When he ripped off his shirt and roughly tore his pants from his body, all she could think of was her body's reaction to the guttural sound of her name on his lips and how magnificent he looked stalking towards her naked.

"Yes," she moaned again, coming off the chaise and into his arms. His mouth devoured her. She slid one hand around his shoulders, feeling his muscles tremble with the force of his desire. With her free hand she yanked her shirt over her head and then quickly unzipped her slacks, which slid fluidly from her body. Phoebus found the hook of her bra, struggling to open it.

"I can't... I need..." he groaned in frustration. "I must feel you against me." He tore the strip of lace from her back, and her breasts came free. She rubbed them against his chest as she kissed a hot path down the side of his neck.

A curse wrenched from his throat as Apollo tried to control his lust. Then Pamela took his hand that was kneading her breast and guided it to her panties, and all thoughts of control flew from his mind.

"These, too." She tugged at his bottom lip with her teeth, pulling it into the slick den of her mouth and sucking enticingly. "I want you to rip these off, too."

With a growl he obeyed her. Then he splayed his hands around her naked waist, and with the strength of a god, he lifted her and impaled her on his throbbing shaft.

Pamela was incredibly slick and ready for him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and dug her fingernails into his shoulders. Throwing her head back, she arched into him, totally consumed by the overwhelming need to sate herself in his touch... in his fire.

He was fire. Under her hands his body actually glowed. Her senses acknowledged it, but her mind could not hold the thought. It seemed that the light that glistened from his sweat-damp skin was just another part of his arousal; it tempted her and teased her and goaded on her own passion. His hair curled around his face, thick and golden and glorious. And his eyes... his eyes burned her. She wanted to be burned by him; she wanted to be licked by the flames of his lust.

She felt gloriously, wondrously out of control.

"Harder..." she gasped into his mouth, hardly recognizing her own voice. Phoebus lunged forward, and Pamela felt the cool smoothness of one of the marble columns against her naked back. She used the strength of the column to brace herself, so that she could meet his thrusts with her own inflamed passion. "Don't stop... not yet... don't stop," she panted, feeling herself tip over the edge of the world. Her orgasm was like nothing she had ever experienced. It engulfed her, rippling through her body with an intensity that verged on pain.

And then she was no longer being pressed against the column. His erection still impaling her, Phoebus carried her from the room. They passed through an arched doorway that led to a chamber adjacent to the dining room. In the center of the new room was a large, canopied bed. Logically, Pamela understood that they had entered a bedroom and that that shouldn't make any sense, but her mind was as filled with Phoebus as was her body - nothing was real except his touch, taste and smell.

"What's happening?" she whispered as he lay her on the bed beneath him.

"I am loving you. Forever, Pamela. This is what it is to be loved by me."

He began moving against her in the ancient dance of lovemaking, withdrawing his hard length from her body, and then plunging into her - again and again. Pamela ran her hands across his slick chest as he lifted himself over her. His skin was a golden glow. Dazed, yet ultrasensitized, she gazed down at where their bodies joined. They were both glowing... on fire... flames were licking their skin... driving them on... engulfing them...

"Look at me, Pamela." His voice was raw.

She locked her eyes with his.

"See me," he said. "This time really see me."

As they joined together she looked at him. He was power and beauty and love all melded into one being. How had she ever believed that he was just a man? Her mind struggled to grasp the elusive truth of what she was seeing as their bodies flamed in his blinding, immortal light. What was he? What was happening to her?

Apollo saw panic flicker in her eyes, and he framed her face with his hands, forcing her gaze to remain locked with his. With an enormous effort of will, he commanded his body to still.

"Look deeper," he said. "Look beyond the strangeness that you fear. Can't you see your reflection in my soul?"

The blue of his eyes held her even more intimately than their joined bodies. She was trembling with the intensity of her emotions. And there, beneath the new power that radiated from him, she found Phoebus - the heart of the man she knew. In that heart she saw the reflection of her own longing and need and emptiness, and she suddenly knew that by filling him, she would complete herself, too.

"What are you?" she whispered.

"Your soul mate."

His voice shook, and despite the awesome power that so clearly radiated from him, Pamela thought he suddenly looked very young and vulnerable.

"Yes," she breathed, feeling the fire begin to reignite deep within her. "You are my soul mate."

She pulled him down to her, and with a wrenching moan he thrust into her again, unable to hold back any longer. When the world began to explode, she buried her face in his glowing shoulder and hung on.

In the Great Hall, Artemis suddenly sat straight up. She drew a deep, cleansing breath. Gone! The bond with the mortal was gone. Apparently, her magic had tipped the scales in her brother's favor. And it was about time. She stretched luxuriously, enjoying the absence of the ever-annoying itch that had been Pamela's unfulfilled heart's desire. Then she settled back on her well-stuffed chaise. She would have liked to have retired to her forest - a run in the moonlight would be refreshing - but, no, Apollo still needed her to ensure no nymphs would glimpse him returning the mortal to her own world. It was really of little consequence; their dealings with the mortal were almost completed. Now that Apollo had won her heart, Artemis predicted that he would tire of Pamela quickly. Soon everything would return to normal, and their escapade in the Kingdom of Las Vegas would be nothing more than a semiamusing memory...

Artemis ignored the prickle of doubt that niggled at her mind as she remembered her brother's earnest proclamation of love. Apollo's soul mate was a mortal woman? It was simply not possible.

Hidden in the shadows, Bacchus smiled and waited.