Apollo couldn't believe that the Zumanity players were mortal. The women moved with the grace and seduction of nymphs. The men were all beautiful of body and face. And the music! The music was ethereal. It was the perfect backdrop to the parade of sensuality performed on and above the stage. He and Pamela had been quietly ushered to their intimate seating on the balcony in a lushly upholstered couch that was fashioned like a chaise lounge. The performance had already begun. In the middle of the round stage there was an enormous glass, made to look like a wine goblet filled with water. Within the glass were two nubile young women, who wore very little except nude-colored loincloths. In time to the pulsing tempo of the seductive music the girls swam a dance of innocent seduction, personifying the awakening of uniquely feminine passion and desire. Though the golden god was much more interested in the woman who sat close to his side, his body stirred in appreciation. He glanced sideways at Pamela, gauging her reaction. She was watching with eyes that were large and round. When the scene was over, she applauded enthusiastically. Then she looked away from the stage and caught Apollo watching her. Her already flushed cheeks blushed even pinker.

"Did you find the young women pleasing?" he whispered as the stage temporarily darkened.

"I did. I mean, I'm definitely not a lesbian, but they were so beautiful." Her voice was breathy, and her laugh was a sensual purr. She'd have to remember to tell V that she finally understood her attraction to women.

Apollo leaned into her, drawn by her earthy response to the show. "There is nothing wrong with appreciating the beauty of the female body. You would have to be made of stone not to be moved by them."

She had been about to whisper back that it was definite that she wasn't made of stone when the spotlights illuminated the stage again and the appreciative audience fell silent. This time an exquisitely muscled man with black velvet skin appeared on the stage through a trapdoor in the floor. He, too, had almost nothing on. He moved in time with the music as he was joined by a woman who was as blond as he was dark. She was covered in sheer layers of a filmy dress, and as the two met in the center of the stage and began an erotic version of the lover's scene from the ballet Romeo and Juliet, he slowly unwound piece after piece of her covering, until they both wore only the briefest of G-strings.

They moved with a fluid, sensual grace and a passion for each other that Pamela could not believe was feigned. The scene ended, and this time Pamela readily met Phoebus' gaze.

"They must really be in love. No one can act that well. I swear I could feel the sexual tension between them up here."

"Now who's the romantic?" he said, putting his arm around her and pulling her close to him.

For the rest of the performance, that's where she stayed, tucked against Phoebus' body. About midway through the show, her hand found his thigh. It rested there, against the soft fabric of his slacks, through which she could feel the heat and hardness of his leg. His fingers traced a lazy pattern over the bare skin of her arm, caressing the smooth indention inside her elbow and causing gooseflesh to rise up and down her body.

Zumanity was, indeed, an adventure in eroticism. It titillated and teased, seduced and sensitized. When Phoebus' hand traced its way up her arm to slowly caress her neck, she had to bite her lip to keep from moaning aloud.

A tall, stunning redhead, who reminded Pamela very much of Nicole Kidman, left the stage after performing an incredibly sexy version of autoerotic masturbation, and before the audience's applause had died, the lights flashed on a thick length of red silk that dropped from the darkened ceiling of the theater as if an inattentive giantess had haphazardly thrown her scarf from a bedroom window. It unrolled to expose a woman whose waist-length hair shined golden in the spotlight. Her arms remained cunningly twisted in the scarf so that only the tips of her bare, gracefully pointed toes touched the stage. Beneath her, the end of the scarf pooled like wine on the slick onyx stage. Her beauty was blinding, and as the audience caught sight of her, the theater let out a collective murmur of awe. At first it seemed that she was nude except for body glitter, but as the lights flashed and changed, Pamela could tell she was really wearing a sheer body leotard, nude-colored and covered with brilliant, diamondlike sparkles. The music began, and the scarf was pulled up, and along with it up went the glistening golden woman. She spun and twisted in a sensual dance, all the while dangling over the stage. It was breathtaking.

"She's a goddess," Pamela whispered to Phoebus.

"She is indeed," he murmured, glad that Pamela was so transfixed by the performance that she hadn't glanced up to register the shock on his face. He sat very still, trying to school his expression into a mask of polite appreciation for the show his sister was putting on.

And he'd known it! The entire performance had felt snared in an Olympian web of eroticism. Now he understood clearly why - the modern mortals were being honored by the presence of the Huntress Goddess herself. Though she usually preferred her forest and her freedom, the rumor that had been proliferated by her independent ways was false. Artemis was no virgin goddess. She was, whenever she chose to be, an exquisite temptress. What she was up to tonight was obvious. She wanted to be certain that he fulfilled the invocation, so with her immortal kiss of power, she had generously blessed the mortal actors - their allure had been heightened, as had the sexual tension in the audience. He had to admit, it was clever of her - annoying, but clever.

Suddenly, the audience gasped once more as a small, muscular shape ran onto the stage. Apollo's eyes widened in surprise. A satyr! Though his cloven hooves were camouflaged by boots and the magic of the goddess, and the fur that covered his legs not visible beneath the silken pants he wore, his identity was obvious to Apollo. The top of the creature's blond head came no higher than Artemis' waist, but his bare chest and arms were so powerfully muscled that as he raised his arms to beckon the goddess to him, it appeared that he was one of the Titans. The satyr wound his arms in the end of the scarlet scarf, and he, too, was lifted into the air over the stage - and there commenced an erotic chase, which took place not just over the stage, but the two swung out and over the raptly watching audience, where the fey creature enticed and coaxed, stroked and seduced, until finally the goddess deigned to be "captured," and the two of them were gently lowered to the stage. Shocked, Apollo watched his sister allow the woodland creature to wrap her within his arms, and the Huntress melted into the satyr's kiss in a public display of sexuality he knew she would never allow had they been in Olympus. The two exquisite immortals exited, arms still around each other. The audience was totally silent. All eyes were still staring at the spot on the stage where the goddess had last been seen. Apollo was the first to break his sister's seductive spell, and his applause was soon joined by riotous shouts and cheers.

The house lights came up, but before the audience could begin to get to their feet, the cast of actors, led by Artemis herself, came back onstage. The Huntress Goddess addressed the audience.

"We greet you, lovers and friends, and hope that you have enjoyed our little offering to the shrine of love." Her voice was like honey, and it drew the mortals close in a sweet trail of words. "Before you depart, I would like to meet some of you - if you would be so kind."

Clarion bells rang a warning in Apollo's mind, but excitement soughed through the listening crowd like wind through a forest of trees.

The goddess smiled beatifically, as if she addressed crowds of modern mortals every day. Then she began speaking to them, asking them their names, choosing blushing young married couples and newlyweds, sprinkling the magic of her seductive voice throughout the theater. Just once, Artemis glanced up at the balcony where Apollo sat with Pamela close to his side. She met her brother's eyes only briefly, but it was long enough for Apollo to clearly see amusement flash within their cool blue depths. Almost imperceptively, she made a motion with her hand, and Apollo felt the warm shower of her magic rain on him. It tingled over his skin, causing his body to feel flushed and heavy. Pamela's reaction was much more elemental. Almost unconsciously, her hand gripped Apollo's thigh. She leaned into his body and looked up into his eyes. Her breathing deepened, and her lips parted with a moan that was an open invitation.

Apollo cursed silently under his breath, tightened his arm around Pamela, and forced his attention back to the stage. He couldn't kiss her. Under the spell of his sister's immoral magic, neither of them would be able to stop there. It will pass, he reminded himself, and even as the thought came to him, he felt the grip of Artemis' meddling magic loosen. He glared down at his sister, who was neatly ignoring him. Within the circle of his arm he felt Pamela shiver and knew that the glittering spell had begun blowing from her skin, too, and he breathed easier. He was not using his powers to seduce Pamela - he wanted her response to him to be honest. Artemis' foolery was no more welcome than his own magic. Neither brought about love, only lust - a temporary desire, which was too easily sated. He wanted more.

"Oh, look," Pamela said, pointing down at the stage and trying to get her breathing to return to normal. She must be hornier than she thought because this show was driving her completely crazy. Just minutes before if Phoebus had so much as smiled at her, she would have straddled him right there. V had obviously been right; going without sex for too long made a girl lose her mind. "That couple just said that they're here for their fiftieth wedding anniversary."

"Fifty years!" the lovely Artemis repeated, and the crowd clapped politely. One of the actors rushed over to the goddess and whispered in her ear. Artemis smiled, nodded and addressed the old couple again. "Would you come up on stage and close our little performance with a special dance for just the two of you?"

Apollo leaned forward to get a better view as an elderly couple rose slowly to their feet, and with a smattering of encouraging applause, they walked up the stairs to the stage. The lights dimmed, and a soft waltz began to play. At first the couple moved awkwardly together, before eventually falling into a rhythm that was fluid and familiar. The silver-haired man turned his wife, catching the end of her long, cloaklike dress, and the audience let out their breath in surprise as she twirled, and her dress unwound until she was standing onstage in only a dancer's body leotard and a flowing, wraparound skirt. She curtsied to the theater like a lovely ballerina, and then she and her husband resumed their waltz. This time they moved with the grace of professional dancers. Effortlessly, the old man lifted her still-vibrant body to his shoulder, then turned, dipped, and with a flourish she spun down into his arms once more. The dance ended as they kissed in the middle of the stage.

"And thus we celebrate love. At any age - in any way - it is truly magical and carries with it a touch of immortality. Go with my blessing tonight, lovers, and take pleasure where you will. Love, laugh and be merry!" the goddess proclaimed, and in a blaze of shooting sparks, the entire company disappeared through a trapdoor in the floor of the stage.

The applause continued for a long time, but when none of the actors returned for an encore, the theater began to empty. The audience was almost exclusively made up of couples, and as they left there were many linked hands, intimate conversations and lingering touches.

When the other couples sitting around them in the balcony began to file out, Pamela hesitated. She and Phoebus were standing beside their love seat, and for a moment the two of them were completely alone, as if they had discovered a pocket of intimacy within the darkening theater. Pamela thought it was a little like the night before when they'd kissed in the rain. She looked up at him, overwhelmed by the mixture of lust and longing that was coursing through her body in time with the beating of her heart. And in that moment she knew she would make love to him. She was tired of settling for contentment rather than joy. Pamela spoke in a sudden burst, as if the words had to break through a wall of inhibitions and caution.

"You make me feel like we're in a world alone, all to ourselves. Sometimes when I look at you I think second chances are possible."

"Believe that," he said fiercely. "And believe that I would never do anything to hurt you. Think of me as you do your talisman, Apollo. I, too, want you to heal and be whole so that you can love and trust again."

He touched the coin she wore around her neck, and she imagined that she could feel the healing warmth of that touch all the way through the metal and into her heart. Tired of hesitation and second thoughts, she slid her hands up his chest and pressed herself close to him.

"Would you do something for me, Phoebus?"

"Anything within my power," he said solemnly.

"Would you take me back to my room and make love to me?" she asked breathlessly.

"It would be my great honor, sweet Pamela," he said, and bent to kiss her upturned lips.