Pandora Gets Vain (Pandora (Hardback)) Read Online Free Page B

immortals to actually live on earth, Aeolus, at any time, could also command Notus to blow in any desired scent, filling the house with whatever fragrance he wished: roses from the gardens of Moab, honeysuckle from Damascus, salty drops off the Black Sea, or the pungent smells of Syrian cooking spices.
    Hera, however, was completely oblivious to these earthly delights. She had summoned Aeolus to his workroom at the tip of the island very, very early that morning. When he had entered, she was silhouetted against the huge panes of glass that formed one wall, allowing a view of whatever lands the island was passing. She hovered in the air just off the floor, her eyes trained on him like a falcon’s. His fear didn’t register clearly because the skin on Aeolus’s face was always pulled back tightly, as if he were in the path of a hurricane, but his body was shaking badly. He had stood silently, quivering for several minutes, before she finally descended and began yelling.
    Now she paced about his workroom with angry, lumbering steps. Aeolus ran after her frantically, righting jars of winds, catching pots of gusts and gales, and steadying mixing bowls that were bumped and jostled as she passed by table after table.
    “You call that a storm?” she screamed, turning suddenly, the sleeve of her brilliant blue robe knocking over a jar labeled WINDS OF CHANGE. “I specifically came to you for a bone-cracking, boat-breaking, lungs-filled-with-water, sink-to-the-bottom storm! One that would send those girls tumbling into the sea! You’re the silly King of Winds, for my sake! You’re supposed to know which winds to mix together to produce the right effect. But I could have done better simply by exhaling!”
    “That would kill us all,” muttered Aeolus very quietly under his breath, fixing the lid on the jar she’d almost spilled.
    “Sorry? Didn’t quite catch that. Did you say something?” barked Hera, crossing to him with one large stride.
    “I said, gracious Queen of Heaven,” he recovered quickly, “that it was still a squall. I did try my best, my lady. And it should have worked.”
    “It didn’t!” said Hera. “So before I have you tied to the Sirens’ rock and let their singing drive you mad for eternity, what else do you have for me?”
    She forced a smile onto her face as if to say “How hard can it be? I’m so easy to please!” Opening her arms wide as she looked about the room, she sent a large clay pot crashing to the floor.
    “Ahh!” cried Aeolus, withering slightly.
    “Oops. Sorry . . . was it important?”
    “No. No.” Aeolus fought to keep himself from collapsing with rage and sorrow. “Just a rare wind from Carthage. One that brings the scent of war. Almost extinct. In a one-of-a-kind pot about three thousand years old. But no—no biggie.”
    “Good. So . . . what else?”
    “Well, of course, great one . . . of course I’ll formulate just the right thing for your needs,” Aeolus said. “But unless these old eardrums have been permanently wind damaged, you did say you didn’t necessarily want the girls killed, right?”
    “Killed? No . . . it’s not time yet. Someone in a position of power on Olympus—who shall remain nameless but is my husband—would become extremely suspicious and spoil all the fun I’m having. So, killed? No. But I expected you to at least get them into the water! Then I could send a few flesh-eating sea creatures to mangle them a bit. Make it look like an accident, that sort of thing. That’s what I want! Go ahead, get to work. I’ll just wait here.”
    She plopped into his favorite chair, the one he always sat in to create his wind recipes; the one that he’d sat on for centuries, which curved so comfortably to his bottom.
    Aeolus spun on his heels and furtively surveyed his huge workroom. Jars upon jars, a few older ones of clay and porcelain, but most of clear glass, lined the shelves along the walls, stretching from the floor to the ceiling some twenty