Goddess of Legend gs-7, Page 3

  “Show me her face!” the goddess commanded.

  Her oracle tightened on the woman’s face. Well, she was certainly attractive. Viviane squinted and focused on her. Not young, but not too old, or at least she didn’t appear to be. And there was a definite benefit to a little age and experience. The woman laughed again, and Viviane unexpectedly found her own lips tilting up in response. The sound was musical and it changed the woman from attractive to alluring.

  “Yes,” Viviane murmured. “I believe she will do quite nicely.” The goddess lifted her arms, causing power to swirl around her.

  I claim this mortal as fate decrees in her world she dies.

  When her life there ends, it will be to me her soul has ties.

  My love’s sleeping wishes I follow most truly

  so that he might escape the despair that binds him so cruelly.

  I take nothing that is not already decreed lost;

  my purpose is clear—no matter the cost.

  Arthur’s dour fate shall not come to be

  and then my love will return to me!

  Then the great water goddess known as Coventina, Merlin’s Viviane, hurled a blazing sphere of divine power through her oracle and out . . . out . . . into another time, another place, altering forever fate’s plans for Isabel Cantelli.

  CHAPTER TWO

  HINDSIGHT, Isabel Cantelli decided in hindsight, sucked. She came to this conclusion after steering to avoid a chipmunk and having her SUV spin out of control.

  She probably shouldn’t have been digging for her dropped cell while she was happily singing “Camelot” and driving sixty on a dirt road. She probably should have let that little dude fend for himself instead of trying to be a hero saving him. Hindsight wasn’t fifty-fifty. It was, at the moment, zero-one hundred.

  But shoulda, coulda, woulda wasn’t going to help her now. She and her Nissan were flying into Grand Lake at an alarming speed.

  Isabel braced herself for the swan dive they were about to accomplish, which she doubted would be graceful. The lake, which she’d found magical just minutes ago, was about to kick her in the ass.

  So many thoughts raced through her mind. Strangely enough, none of the ones she expected when she knew she was about to die. Her life didn’t flash before her eyes; the life she hadn’t lived yet did.

  Terror, fear of the pain of dying, that all flashed. But the sadness of what she hadn’t yet achieved was occupying her brain.

  Her car hit the lake with what felt like a nuclear blast. And the air bag had exploded on her, practically trapping her in her seat. When it finally deflated, she tried to unbuckle her seat belt, but for some reason, it wouldn’t let go. Since her window had been down, the car was filling up with water and sinking fast.

  Unless a miracle showed up, there was no way she would survive. She was on her way to dying, and it was terrifying. Her heart beat desperately, and she knew that wasn’t going to last long. She apologized to her heart for letting it down. She apologized to her liver for not mistreating it as much as she could have over the years. What a wasted chance. But even though she thought of friends and family, Isabel’s life never passed before her eyes, like so many assure people it will when dying.

  Her focus, as her chest squeezed painfully, was all of the things she hadn’t accomplished yet. How could she have forgotten how much more she wanted out of life? The big one was that she’d never found love. Lust, sure. Attraction, sure. But not that elusive thing called true love. To look at a man and know, absolutely, they were meant for each other.

  There were many others on her list, but she sure would have liked to experience the feeling of being desperately in love.

  Woulda. Coulda. Shoulda.

  And then, suddenly, she felt alive again. And she knew, just knew, that somehow, someway, she was being given a second chance.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “WOULD be best if you’d awake, Isabel.”

  “Just one more hour,” Isabel murmured.

  “I understand the need to nap. You’ve had a long journey,” Viviane said, giving Isabel a shake. You are my hope. “We must needs to begin this mission right away. I need my Merlin.”

  When her new hope just moaned, turned over and said, “Coffee,” Viviane felt exasperation roil inside of her. “Awake your sorry . . . person, now! But not for me you would not be here lazing and making demands. Double-cream chocolate cappuccino, yes?”

  Her hope roused instantly, brushing the lush golden hair from her face. “Oh, yes, please. Where am I? Did you save me? I thank you so much. There were so many shoulda—”

  “—woulda, couldas, yes, I’m well aware.” Viviane snapped her fingers and a large silver stein of coffee appeared out of the mist. “Drink first. Then we shall talk.”

  The beautiful woman stared at her but took the stein from her hand and sipped. “I can’t thank you enough,” she said, then peered down into the cup. “This is the best coffee I’ve ever had. How did you—”

  “I learned quickly how to brew while visiting your time.”

  “My time?”

  “As I said, we have much to discuss.”

  Isabel knew that she was either in heaven, because the coffee said so, or she was in hell, because the woman in front of her was so ethereally beautiful, she had to be the devil in disguise.

  Then again, she wasn’t much into heaven and hell, but she knew a damn good cup of coffee when she tasted one. And it was waking her up fast, which was a good sign that it wasn’t decaf.

  She looked around. She was sitting by a lake, but it definitely wasn’t Grand Lake. The flora and fauna were all out of whack. The misty fog that hovered over the water was shimmery, unlike anything she’d ever experienced there. Not to mention there wasn’t an electric pole or sign of civilization in sight.

  And then she noticed her attire. Most definitely not what she’d almost died in. She was dressed in a jade green gown, long-sleeved, yet the sleeves stopped short of her shoulders and flared out at the wrists. The bodice was square and offered a view of cleavage she was most definitely not used to displaying. It was a beautiful gown to be sure, in fact it would make a thumbs-up on any red carpet, but it wasn’t hers.

  “What is going on here?” she asked. “Where am I, how’d I get here, and who in hell are you?”

  The woman smiled, again snapped her fingers, and while Isabel ogled, her silver mug refilled itself with the wonderful smelling coffee.

  “I assure you, we, you, are not in hell.”

  “Then where am I? You? Us? And why haven’t I ever photographed you, because you have to be the most excruciatingly beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen them all.” She sipped again, the delicious brew in her silver . . . chalice? “What’s the deal?”

  “I’ve chosen you, Isabel, for a very special, very important mission.”

  “I’d be flattered if I weren’t so spooked. And I’d run screaming if you didn’t conjure one helluva great cup of coffee.”

  “Are you hungry as well? The Fates tell me you are partial to pastries. Some things called beignets.”

  The woman went to do that snap thing again, but Isabel stopped her. “Much as I appreciate that, before you do that out-of-thin-air thing again, may I ask a few questions?”

  “You deserve to have all of your questions answered.”

  Isabel took that as a yes. “Were you the one who saved me?”

  “Yes.”

  “How? As soon as I hit the water and couldn’t get free, I knew I was in trouble.” She held up her hand and wiggled her fingers, wiggled the toes encased in silver slippers. “All better, just like that. I was a goner for sure. And then I got this feeling of, I don’t know, a second chance.”

  “Goner? You were, I think I’d say, a finder. And yes, this is another chance to fulfill some desires.”

  “Well, that clears things up.” Isabel glanced around at the lush greenery, at the dense forest beyond this rocky beach. “We’re not in Oklahoma anymore, are we, Toto?” />
  “Toto?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that as a slight. You seem to know my name and other kinds of creepy things about me. May I ask what your name is?”

  “I’m known as Coventina. But you may call me—”

  “As in the Lady of the Lake Coventina? As in the mythical Goddess of Water?”

  The woman shined with a triumphant smile. “So you have heard of me in your times! Merlin assured me I’m but a long-lost myth.”

  Isabel sat stunned. The shimmer that surrounded the Lady, her long, golden hair, the blue eyes that seemed to reflect the purity of the lake behind them. “You’re kidding, right? Am I being punked?” She glanced around. “Where are the cameras? You’ve done a great job of hiding them, because I can spot and smell one from a mile away.”

  “I assure you, I am indeed Coventina. And none of those camera things exist, not in my knowledge.”

  “I’d love that beignet now. And may I have them drizzled with—”

  “—dark chocolate. Of course.” That snap thing again, and then Isabel was staring at a feast. The beignets, yes, just the way she wanted them, but also fried ham, over-easy fried eggs and potatoes with onions, peppers and bits of bacon, just how she cooked them herself. This was too good. Too perfect. Too crazy.

  Then again, she was too hungry to actually be rude enough to decline.

  “Do you mind if I’m freaked out?” Isabel said after licking her fingers? She started to get to her feet. That’s when she noticed that, with a wave of the woman’s hand, her slippers became glued to the earth beneath her. She tried to free herself from them, but they were definitely superglued to her skin as well.

  “Please hear me out,” said the woman who, if the tales were true, didn’t really need to ask.

  Isabel sat back down. “You’ll excuse me if I’m just a little . . . dumbfounded?”

  “I understand.”

  “You saved me from Grand Lake.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have need of you. And I have hopes that this will all turn out so that one of your—how did you put it?—shouldas will also come true for you.”

  “I’m alive. I’m not just in another world?”

  “Oh, I am afraid you are definitely in another world. But it’s of this world, Isabel. Just not of your time.”

  “Where am I?”

  “If you’ve been taught about me, you’ve been taught about Camelot?”

  Isabel again just stared at her. “Surely you jest.”

  Coventina laughed, a sound that was so lyrical that even the lake seemed to respond to it. The lake bubbled here and there as if something beneath couldn’t help but enjoy the joke with her. “I enjoy a good jest, as do many of the men and women of the castle. But I assure you, beyond this forest is the castle of Camelot.”

  “You mean like King Arthur and Lancelot and Guinevere and Mer—Oh. He really is your Merlin.”

  “Or was,” Coventina said, and her eyes immediately turned from a stunning blue to a stormy gray. “But he has forsaken this world, too devastated by the destiny he fears is in Arthur’s future.” The Lady grasped Isabel’s hand. “I must bring him back. I must. I fear that eternity will be an eternal misery without him.”

  “Why me?” Isabel asked, even as she tried not to show watery eyes. She was so not a crybaby, unless it was over the tragedy of a sweet and heroic man in Afghanistan or the birth of a kitten.

  Coventina squeezed Isabel’s hand even more, although strangely it didn’t hurt, but felt like energy being exchanged between them. “Because you were the woman I was looking for. I asked the gods for one who was beautiful, smart and, I’m sorry to say, about to die. And what was a must for me was a woman who had an, as you put it, ‘shoulda.’ One who mourned in her last moments that she’d never found true love.”

  “What makes you think I’ll find it here, Cov—”

  “Call me Viviane. Merlin is the only one who ever has, but I’d like if you would as well. Because I believe you will be the one who brings him back to me.”

  “Okay. What makes you think I’ll find it here, Viviane? And how do I bring Merlin back?”

  “I cannot be certain. But if I do not try, I have not done enough to win back the man I love. And this isn’t acceptable to my heart, or my waters. I fear what will happen if my unhappiness roils the waters that sustain me.”

  Isabel glanced over at the lake to see it suddenly making waves when moments ago it had been calm, clear and as blue as Viviane’s eyes. Now it was uneasy, gray, unhappy. And it churned in her the memory of Grand Lake, which had seemed angry at her just at the moment that she and her car had taken a decidedly ungraceful dive into its unsettled depths.

  She looked back to the woman, wondering just when she’d wake up from this dream. Until she did, she’d try to help. “My camera equipment?” she asked.

  Viviane shook her head. “There’s nothing like that in this time. This place.”

  “Okay,” Isabel said, but mourned that she couldn’t capture the beauty all around her, the beauty of this woman . . . who’d make her rich were she to sell the Lady’s pictures to People magazine . . . the amazing truth of Camelot. “Who, pray tell, am I supposed to fall for? Or who do you hope might fall for me? What if I accidentally fall for, say, the court jester?”

  Again that musical laughter filled the air, and it seemed that the birds in the trees joined in. “Hester the Jester? I pray you have better taste than that.”

  Isabel grinned. “Then who, my lady?”

  “Why, Lancelot, of course.”

  “You’re kidding, right? If I remember correctly, Gwen almost burned at the stake for getting involved with him. I didn’t almost drown to live to see fire in my future.”

  “But you shan’t. You are Lady Isabel, come to Camelot as Countess from Dumont to discuss the sharing of land for mutual benefit of all of Briton.”

  “So I’m just dropping in? Uninvited?”

  Viviane hesitated a moment, then pulled a necklace from what must have been a pocket in her gown. It was a stunning piece, what at first appeared to be a sapphire to Isabel. But as she fingered it, she realized it was more a heart-shaped droplet, made of some kind of glass, with a blue liquid inside. It was amazing and would have brought a pretty penny at Sotheby’s.

  “Oh, Viv, I may call you Viv?”

  The Lady sniffed. “No, you may not.”

  Isabel shrugged. “I just figured that Viviane’s a mouthful, but fair enough. This is so lovely! What is it?”

  The Lady put it around Isabel’s neck, and it fell right above her heart and barely confined boobs. “This piece is somewhat magical, Isabel. Upon seeing it, those who would be suspicious of your arrival and your motives will no longer. Inside are my tears, dropped when I had no choice but to allow Merlin to leave me.

  “It does contain abilities, but I’ll not let you know what they are. For there is a price to pay for any use of it. Be wise with it and it will be your ally. Use the powers foolishly, and you will pay the price.”

  “Do you have any rules written down? A cheat sheet? Like could I use it to suddenly make plumbing and real toilets available?”

  Viviane laughed as it seemed so did the lake. “You could indeed. And then you might find yourself not being able to use the facilities.”

  “Yipes.”

  “Yes, please see what I mean. There is a price whenever you choose to invoke the power of my tears. If you must needs use it, remember there is a cost. And one more thing, Isabel. Never allow anyone to take it from you.” Viviane seemed deep in thought for a moment, then spoke:

  The heart and tears shall not leave Isabel

  Without the thief suffering a horrid spell.

  Only Isabel may off it take

  After these words she has spake:

  “Lady of the Lake, this must be done

  For love and life for all to have won.”

  Viviane threw her arms wide, and clouds that had been gath
ering broke apart and rained all over the lake, all over them. Isabel wasn’t into getting showered on as a rule unless she was actually in a shower, but for some reason the drops felt warm and comforting when she was feeling a little scared and definitely out of her element.

  Was this a death dream? Is that how it happened? She was singing the signature song to Camelot when she’d taken a header. She’d been thinking of the Lady of the Lake when she’d been struggling in the water.

  Seems she’d taken way too many mythology classes in college.

  Well, if it was a death dream, it was a pretty damn cool one. Where else would she want to land than at Camelot? Except for the plumbing thing. But hey, they managed; she’d managed the conditions in Afghanistan; she could find a way to live without her Kohler deluxe shower. But . . . “For how long, Viviane?”

  “Until we’ve both accomplished our goals.”

  “Just to be clear, am I dead at the end of this picture? Not that I’m complaining, mind you, since you saved me and everything, but do I die when Mission Impossible is over?”

  “I assure you that once you’ve achieved this Mission Impossible—as you call it, but I will not—your fate will be in your hands.”

  “So if I decide I really don’t want to die?”

  “Your fate will be yours to decide.”

  “If I decide I want to return to plumbing and electricity? And my photography?”

  “Your fate will be in your hands, Isabel.”

  “All righty, then,” Isabel said, testing the necklace, and sure enough it wasn’t letting go. “Is there any place I can write a Post-it on those words I need to spake?”

  “You will remember them should you need them.”

  “Another question. If I need help or advice, may I come visit you?”

  “Always.”