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  VIOLET AMONG THE ROSES

  An Ellora's Cave Publication, October 2003

  Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

  PO Box 787

  Hudson, OH 44236-0787

  ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-668-2

  Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

  Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML

  VIOLET AMONG THE ROSES © 2003 CRICKET STARR

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Edited by RAELENE GORLINSKY

  Cover art by NATHALIE MOORE.

  VIOLET AMONG THE ROSES

  By Cricket Starr

  Chapter One

  The short, squat gardener halted his work with the clippers and straightened from the hedge. Running his hand through his thinning gray hair, his eyes narrowed in consternation. “Edgar, you notice anything funny about that statue?”

  His partner, a tall, spare man in his early fifties, sat up and leaned back on his heels, momentarily forgetting the dandelion plant in his hand. He peered beneath the brim of his NYC pitcher’s cap at the center of the flowerbed, where a gleaming figure perched on a two-foot high pedestal.

  The fountain was the showpiece of the park, a genuine French sculpture made of white marble, the figure of a young man crouched by a pool; the water flowed in from the side so the surface was always mirror smooth. He’d been carved with beautifully defined muscles, barely covered by the simple garment that flowed from one shoulder and wrapped around his waist for modesty. Marble sprigs of tiny flowers surrounded his hard thighs and bare feet, as well as lining the edge of the basin.

  Concerned, Edgar peered closely at the figure. He saw no cracks in the marble or unusual wear of the glossy surface. No dirt even. The thing looked fine. “Can’t say that I do, Chauncey. What’s wrong with it?”

  His partner continued to stare. “Well, that’s supposed to be Narcissus, right?”

  Edgar glanced at the plaque on the pedestal. “Right…”

  “And Narcissus was that Greek dude that was so stupid that he fell in love with his own reflection in a pool, right?”

  “Yeah…” Edgar looked at the figure. “Hey, I see what you mean. The statue isn’t staring into the water anymore.”

  “That’s what I mean. He’s looking over there.” Chauncey indicated the direction with his prominent chin. “At that bench.”

  Both men examined the empty park bench, clearly the object of the statue’s attention. Made of smooth concrete and partially obscured by rose bushes that even this late in the fall sported blossoms of various hues, it was in a beautiful location, one well-known to both the public park gardeners and the public itself as an ideally secluded place for lovers to meet.

  Edgar scratched his unshaven chin, pondering the situation. It sure did look like the statue had moved its head. Then he shrugged. “Probably one of those art folks from the city came in and switched out the statue.” He returned his attention to the weed in his hand, pulling it with a grunt.

  Nodding slowly in satisfaction, Chauncey returned to trimming the hedge that bordered the fountain. That had to be the answer. After all, it wasn’t like the statue could actually move.

  * * * * *

  The gardeners finished their work and moved to another area of the park, leaving the marble figure alone to continue his steadfast observations, staring at the empty bench on the other side of the narrow gravel path. During the next two hours, he was able to view a number of the interactions the bench was famous for, beginning with a young nurse with her infant charge, who met a dashing young policeman for a quick tête-à-tête in the middle of the morning. While the baby napped, the pair enjoyed a quick cuddle, sitting as close as the bench and propriety allowed.

  Afterwards a man in a business suit met a charming young woman in a waitress uniform, on break from a nearby coffee shop. The continual ringing of the man’s cell phone spoiled their idyll, until he turned it off for the remainder of their stay.

  Lunch brought a pair of workers from the nearby office park. They spent as much time nibbling each other as they did the sandwiches in their brown paper bags.

  In the afternoon, a crowd of children played games around the bench and ran along the path to and from the nearby playground. Their presence, while delightful, discouraged any would-be lovers. Only in the late afternoon, after the juvenile crowd had disappeared in the directions of their homes, did an elderly couple arrive. Bundled up in heavy coats against the afternoon chill, they wandered the narrow path and spent a few moments cuddling on the bench. Their faces might have been covered in wrinkles, but there was no age in the soft loving whispers the pair shared.

  Through it all, the statue kept his quiet vigil, patient as only stone can be.

  It was very late in the day when the final visitor to the bench arrived. In the early evening stillness, there was the sound of a pair of soft-soled shoes shuffling down the gravel path. The footsteps gave the impression of either great age—or great sadness.

  A woman came into sight. Young, maybe twenty-eight, scarcely the oldster she might have been taken for. Her head was covered with mouse-brown hair in a nondescript cut, her body dressed in oversized, stone-washed jeans and a baggy dark green sweatshirt, the front of which boasted an array of cheerful daisies, a decided contrast to the woe-be-gone expression of its owner.

  Like a woman twice her age, she carefully lowered herself onto the bench. For a moment she merely sat there, gazing with unseeing eyes in the direction of the statue across the path. Then she buried her head in her hands and the twilight stillness was broken by her soft sobbing grief.

  Inaudible to human ears, a quiet chant began, a male voice, deep and sweet, reciting in a language from long ago:

  “Oh mighty Aphrodite, Goddess of Beauty,

  Thou art love,

  Thou art fire,

  Thou art all a man might desire.

  Aphrodite, fairest of goddesses,

  Bringer of passion,

  Splendid and sweet,

  Goddess of Beauty, hear my plea.”

  Next to the fountain a whirlwind formed, picking up dirt and fallen leaves, collecting petals from the surrounding flowers. It turned, twisted, rising high into the form of a human being, and settled back to earth. When the dust cleared, a woman stood.

  She was beautiful. The most beautiful woman imaginable, hair like a silver and gold curtain down her back, eyes the color of the purest sapphires. Her skin was like alabaster, tinged with rosy pinks that put the fairest peach to shame. The Goddess of Beauty indeed—Aphrodite, fairest of the ancients.

  The goddess leaned against the basin of the fountain and spoke to the statue, witness to the sobbing figure with his frozen stare.

  “Pretty words, Narcissus, very pretty indeed. And so sincere…” Her laugh rippled like the water trickling into the basin. She glanced over at the despondent form on the bench and folded her arms, one delicately arched eyebrow displaying her amusement.

  “Such a flattering speech. I wonder what prompts you to make it?”

  “Beautiful Lady. I…I merely wanted to see you, of course.”

  “You merely wanted me to see this, you mean.” The goddess’s eyes ran over the still-crying figure and their ironic amusement developed into true sympathy. “She does seem rather upset.”

  “Her name is Violet Smith. Her family is gone, her cat dead, her boyfriend dumped her, and last week she lost her job. Yes…she’s upset.”

  The goddess
glanced back at the figure on the pedestal. “How do you know all this? It was just a day ago that I granted your wish to move your head to spy on that bench.”

  “I know this because the bastard she’s been living with broke up with her last week on that bench—after she told him about losing her job. It seems that the only reason he was with her in the first place was because she had a good income and could support him.”

  “That’s a shame, Narcissus, but what would you have me do about it?” Aphrodite tapped her slender finger on the side of her cheek. “I could turn the selfish brute into a statue, I suppose, but that would hardly help her.”

  “Well, I was thinking.” Narcissus’s voice grew tentative. “You remember that offer you made? To give me the opportunity to learn about love?”

  The goddess clapped her hands together in delight. “You wish to take me up on that after so many centuries?” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “There is this one nymph I’ve been training. She’d be an excellent instructor…”

  Carefully, Narcissus cleared his throat. “Blessed goddess, lovely as I’m sure your fair one is…I had someone else in mind.”

  Again the goddess’s attention was diverted to the sobbing figure among the roses, her expression this time of disbelief. She pointed one long elegant finger. “You would prefer that to one of my special protégés?”

  “Well…yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Mighty Aphrodite, you know the kind of learning I want. While I want to understand the physical, I want more than that…I want to know about the emotional as well.”

  A glint of a smile graced the perfect lips. “This from the man who drove away my favorite nymph when all she wanted was a taste of your gorgeous body?”

  His voice turned desperate. “Please, great lady. You know I was very young and didn’t understand what your fair one offered me. I wish to learn about that now, but I want the other as well. I want to know about love.”

  The great goddess turned to the unfortunate young woman on the bench and considered her with more interest. A speculative gleam filled her eyes. “A woman who inspires love in the man who could only love himself. Fascinating. I find this warrants further study.”

  She returned her attention to the statue. “You wish to become human, so that you can learn about love from a human woman.” One elegant hand pointed to Violet, a hint of bemused wonder in her voice. “That woman.”

  “Yes, Mighty Goddess.”

  “Why her?”

  “She looked at me—it’s a long story, Sweet Goddess.”

  Interest tinged Aphrodite’s fair features. With an infinitely graceful movement she settled on the edge of the fountain. Checking her reflection in the mirrored surface, she tucked a long strand of hair behind one perfectly shaped ear. Satisfied, she dipped her fingers in the pool, and watched the ripples form and bounce off the far edge. “I have much time, Narcissus, as do you. Tell me this story of yours.”

  The statue would have sighed if he could. He continued to stare at the woman on the bench; his expression might have been frozen, but his voice emoted enough to make up for it. All he wanted at the moment was to be able to comfort sweet Violet, to show her that someone cared for her—even if that someone was made of stone. He could do it if he was human, but the only way he could become human was to acquire the goddess’s sympathy.

  “My story begins many years ago. She’s been coming to this park since she was a little girl. Most of the time, I don’t notice the people, particularly the children. They move too fast, don’t stay in one place long enough. But Violet was different.” He remembered that difference. It had been her stillness that he’d noticed.

  “When I was looking into the pool, I would see my reflection, but I’d also see some of the sky, occasionally a bird, or the leaves on the trees. Sometimes a flower would float in the water.” His voice grew wistful. “I liked that, when I could see something besides my own face.”

  “But it’s such a beautiful face, Narcissus,” the goddess teased.

  Somehow he did manage a sigh. “I’ve been staring at it for two hundred years, Majesty. I’d be happy not to ever see it again.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Her amused response almost sounded like a threat and for a moment the statue wondered if what he was doing was such a great idea. Aphrodite was known for her “practical jokes”. But she was also known for her enjoyment of a good love story and it seemed a good idea to get back to his.

  “One day a young girl stuck her head over the pool, to stare into my reflected face. Others had done that, but she stayed that way for a long time, studying me. I noticed her.” His voice faltered. “For the first time, someone looked into my eyes. She tried to say my name, but couldn’t manage the S’s so she decided to call me ‘Nick’. Someone called her name, ‘Violet’—and she ran away. Ever since then when she’s come to the park, she’s come to my pool and talked to me. She told me her secrets. She called me her friend.

  “A few years ago, Violet told me that her parents died, and her tears fell in the water beneath me. She’s told me other things as well. Only when she began seeing this man did she stop visiting me. I’ve missed her…” His voice trailed off.

  “And now that man has deserted her and you wish to take his place?”

  His voice was quiet, resigned. “I know you can’t do that, Aphrodite. I’m here to serve punishment, and to release me from it would be against the rules the gods set down. But I was wondering if you could maybe bend the rules a bit. For just a little while.”

  “Just a little while?” The goddess pondered that. “Perhaps I could. A few hours…but no, that wouldn’t be long enough. Overnight perhaps?”

  “One night?” Disappointment touched him. “That would be enough time for sex but for more…”

  Aphrodite pursed her exquisite lips. “You have a point. To really understand love takes time. Two nights, then, and the day between. From dusk today until dawn on the next. That would be enough time for you to comfort her, and to learn what you want to know about love.”

  Joy leapt in his voice. “Oh, Aphrodite, if you could, I would be so eternally grateful. I’d worship you forever.”

  Again her face bore a secret amusement. “Be very careful what you promise, say, or even think, Narcissus. I might hold you to any or all of it.”

  Chapter Two

  Aphrodite raised her hand and placed it on his head. “Come to life, Narcissus, as you were once before. Be of carved stone no longer, but living flesh and blood.”

  A hush filled the air around them, then a warm breeze blew into the garden and around the man of stone. It centered on the goddess’ hand, lightly touching the stone hair. Slowly color seeped into it, a rich black flowing away from her palm, into the curls below. As she pressed, they became soft. She pulled her hand away and stood back to watch, eyes twinkling in amusement in the near dark.

  The transformation picked up speed. The texture of the face, the ears and neck changed, softened, took up color, a rich light tan that spread downward across his chest into his torso, from there to his arms and legs. The feet and hands, pressing against the marble of the fountain basin, took on color, and the digits moved, clenched against the stone surface.

  Even the carved fabric of his garment changed, took on a deep brown hue and became the simple peasant garment the sculptor had envisioned Narcissus wearing in life. It fluttered in the soft breeze that also ruffled his newly created hair.

  His face changed, dark eyebrows and eyelashes forming against the tan skin, and when he blinked, the irises of his eyes changed from white to a rich brown. Lips took on a deep shade of rose and softened, and the tip of a tongue appeared in the opening, red against the white of his teeth, the only thing left that retained the perfect color of the original marble.

  His chest heaved and his mouth opened further, eyes widening in the process. For a moment he held his breath, then he breathed out slowly. Stiffly at first, then with more grace, he tilted his head to mo
ve his stare to the goddess standing nearby.

  The perfect tongue licked his lips and he opened his mouth to speak, but found it hard to make the words form. “Mighty One.”

  He would have fallen off his perch, but she placed a hand on his elbow and helped him down, his newly formed muscles not quite under his command as yet. Standing on the ground, he leaned against the fountain pedestal, taking deep breaths.

  “I’m alive,” he finally managed. He touched his face and stared at his hands in wonder. Fingers clutched into a fist, then relaxed, spread out. A smile formed on his perfectly made lips. “It’s a miracle.”

  “That’s what goddesses do, Narcissus, perform miracles.” She gazed at him, her amusement growing, even as she admired him. “You are even better looking than I expected. But remember, this is temporary only. Just until dawn the day after tomorrow. You must return to the fountain then.”

  “I understand.” He turned his attention to the woman seated on the bench just yards away, so preoccupied with her sorrow that she hadn’t noticed the statue coming to life. “It will be worth it,” he murmured under his breath.

  “Narcissus, there is one thing I want to point out. Your Violet may not be as easy to convince to be your teacher as you might expect. The women of this time aren’t gullible. She may not even believe you when you tell her who you are.”

  The newly made man hesitated. Aphrodite did have a point. He’d witnessed thousands of encounters in the park that had gone badly, and it was important that, if this one were to succeed, he start off right.

  He turned a coaxing smile on the goddess. “I suspect if I had help, Violet would believe me. I bet I could even make her love me.”

  The goddess looked outraged. “Are you suggesting that I call in my son, Eros, and that ridiculous bow and arrow of his just so that you can get laid?”

  Narcissus waved his hands in immediate negation. “No, of course not, Great One. I apologize that you misunderstood me. As I said, it’s not just sex I want. I want to love Violet and earn her love in return. But if I can’t get her to talk to me, or if she won’t even let me get close to her…”