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Chapter 2
ОглавлениеOnce Was Lost
Six months after exile…
“Sire, wakey wakey,” a gruff voice intruded on Bacchus’s slumber.
“Mmm, Angela.” Swimming up through the fog of sleep, he wrapped his arms around the person trying to rouse him. “Where have you been, you naughty girl?”
The shock of pain to his shin jolted Bacchus upright. He rubbed his throbbing leg, which bore the imprint of a cloven hoof.
“Hey, what do you mean waking me up like that?”
Pan struggled to his feet. “I do so apologize, sire. But you know how hands-y you get when you’re half asleep.”
“Sorry, my friend.” Waking in Athens, Greece and not Olympus, still confused the former god. The beach? How in the world had he wound up on the beach? The sun intensified the pounding in his head. “Ugh, what time is it?”
“Three in the afternoon, sire.”
“Already? Damn, I feel as though I just fell asleep.”
Pan helped Bacchus stand and strained to brush sand from his broad shoulders. “You need to start taking care of yourself, sire. You are mortal. You’re killing yourself.”
“I don’t care if I am. What have I got to live for?”
“Please, don’t talk that way. We’ll get you reinstated. I’ve been reading about Siddhartha’s earthly philosophies. I think the Father gave you the clue you need to appeal the decision.”
“You’re a loyal friend. A fool, but a loyal friend.” Each breath took effort to force from his aching chest. Nothing could reverse their decision. A breeze stirred the palm overhead, and sand attacked his skin. Fiery, raw agony shot through his feet, lobster red against the pallor of his legs. “By the gods, what happened here?”
“Ah, well, sire, maybe next time you pass out on the beach you should do it under a tree large enough to shade your entire body.”
One more betrayal by this frail form. Sunburn, indeed. He used to sup with Apollo and Ra on a regular basis, and now a few hours without shade scorched his skin. Pathetic.
Though Pan had offered to carry his lordship, Bacchus endured the walk to his villa, wincing with every step.
Naked and wet, after a quick shower, Bacchus trotted to the kitchen, opened a beer, and washed down an assortment of over-the-counter medication, some to relieve his sunburned feet pain and some just because he liked the way they mixed with alcohol. The refrigerator held little of interest, but he rejoiced in finding a wilting fig and small piece of feta. “You know”—Bacchus took a bite of fruit—“I think I’ve lost some weight since I haven’t had ambrosia to gorge myself on.”
“Yes, sire, you’re looking very svelte.”
Overflowing trashcans, garbage heaps, buzzing flies, and toppled liquor bottles had replaced the overflowing flower urns, delicate chocolate heaps, winged dark faeries, and silken floor pillows that once surrounded him. “I might have company again tonight. Could you straighten up a bit?”
“Of course, sire.”
Pan picked up a soggy dishtowel, more putrid than the surfaces he wiped. With a grimace, he clucked his tongue and abandoned his efforts. Stepping carefully, he avoided a pair of panties and a small marijuana pipe. “Safe to assume these aren’t yours, sire?”
“Those are from my friend last night. Amy? Anna?”
“Angela?”
“Yes, that’s it. How did you know?”
“You called me that name this morning when you tried to spoon me, sire.” Pan picked up the undies. “I’ll be sure these get back to her, unless you would like to keep the pipe.”
“No, thank you.” True, Bacchus had dabbled with human pharmaceuticals, but he preferred the usual sacraments—women, wine, and song. Really, he could do without the song if need be. During the first few months after his fall, he’d nearly murdered his mortal form with booze and an endless parade of strumpets. After his first case of the clap, he’d re-evaluated his lifestyle. Pissing razor blades had that effect on a fellow. Not that he’d slowed down much, but at least he’d taken the healer’s advice and started using a penis sheath called a condom.
Bacchus left his steward to the cleaning. In the master suite, he tried to decide what to wear from rows and rows of clothing in his walk-in closet. The ridiculous riches the Council had bestowed upon him as a sort of severance package had easily funded his copious shopping trips. He owned labels from every top European designer, but none of the clothes pleased him as much as a fine linen tunic would have. He chose charcoal Hugo Boss slacks and a beige cashmere sweater then emerged to find the place sparkling clean. “Pan—”
“Before you fly off the handle, sire—”
“Frivolous magic when visiting Earth is forbidden, Pan.”
“It wasn’t a frivolous use of my powers.”
“It’s in the Code of Divine Ethics. ‘No divine being shall alter the natural course of events unless for a higher purpose.’ You know as well as I do what that means.”
“Sire, how often is that rule actually enforced? Besides, one could argue saving a god's domicile from complete and total putrefaction is indeed a higher purpose.”
Bacchus took his friend’s hand. “One day you’re going to have to accept I am not a god anymore.”
“I’ll never accept that. They’ll have to render me inert first.”
“By the gods, I couldn’t survive without you, but the thing is, Panny, if you don’t accept it, then I never will, either.”