Goddess of the Night

Goddess of the Night

Goddess
of the Night (Daughters of the Moon Book 1)

Lynne
Ewing

For Alessandra
Balzer with deep gratitude.

This book would
not have been possible without her unlimited enthusiasm and
encouragement.

I would like to
thank Marti Brooks, Nadia Marquez, Andrew Mayesh, Nataly Pena, Ivania
Sandoval, and Mike Terrell for sharing a small part of their lives
with me.

Chapter 1

In ancient
times, it was said that the goddess Selene drove the moon across the
sky. Each night she followed her brother Helios, the sun, to catch
his fiery rays and reflect the light back to earth. One night on her
journey, she looked down and saw Endymion sleeping in the hills. She
fell in love with the beautiful shepherd. Night after night she
looked down on his gentle beauty and loved him more, until finally
one evening she left the moon between the sun and the earth and went
down to the grassy fields to lie beside him.

For three
nights she stayed with him, and the moon, unable to catch the sun's
rays, remained dark. People feared the dark moon. They said it
brought death and freed evil forces to roam the black night. Zeus,

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King of the
Gods, was angered by the darkness and punished Selene by giving
Endymion eternal sleep.

Selene returned
to the moon and drove it across the night sky, but her love was too
strong. She hid Endymion in a cave; and now, three nights each lunar
month, she leaves the moon to visit her sleeping lover and cover him
with silver kisses. In his sleep, Endymion dreams he holds the moon.
He has given Selene many daughters to guard the night. They are
powerful and beautiful like their mother, and mortal like their
father.

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Chapter 2

V
ANESSA
CLEVELAND cursed silently as she walked down the street. She couldn't
shake the puzzling feeling that someone was following her. How could
she forget it was the dark of the moon?

Overhead, low,
thin clouds crept around the red-tile roofs and brought the ocean's
cold. The cold didn't come to her all at once, but slowly and gently.
She started to shiver and wasn't sure if it was from the cold or
fear.

Vanessa had
passed two houses when a soft scuttling sound made her stop and turn.
The breeze picked up, and a bunch of dead leaves

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scraped down
the sidewalk toward her. She felt a surge of relief and smiled. She
tried to focus on something pleasant to keep her mind off her fear.

She thought of
Michael Saratoga. His wild black hair hung in thick curls on his
shoulders. He had strong, angular features, a sexy smile, and soft,
dark eyes. She had liked him since the beginning of the school year
when she first met him in Spanish class. But she had never imagined
he would like her. Even now, fear of jinxing what might be forced her
to push that sweet thought away. He made her feel all fire and ache
down to her bones. That was good. That was also very bad. How could
someone as different as she was ever expect to do a normal thing like
have a boyfriend?

Abruptly she
was aware that someone was on the street with her. She looked behind
her. She expected to see a person in a bathrobe walking a dog, a wad
of plastic sacks in hand, or a homeless person trudging down the
middle of the road pushing a shopping cart.

But the street
was empty. Was it the dark of the moon that was making her so jumpy?

She tried to
concentrate on Michael again

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and not think
about the creeping shadows that seemed to be pressing closer with
each step. Michael had asked her to dance eight times tonight at
Planet Bang in Hollywood, and he would have spent more time with her
if Morgan Page hadn't kept pulling him out onto the dance floor.
Michael liked to dance, and Morgan danced better than she did.

She tried to
remember the feel of Michael's cheek, his hand on her waist, his--

Something moved
in the corner of her eye. She turned sharply. Whatever it was had
slid across the shadows and then was gone.

She bent down
and took off her heavy, wedge-soled shoes. The heels felt solid and
lethal in her hands. She took two steps back and scanned the street.
Then she knew. Relief broke through her fear. Her best friend, Catty,
must be trailing her. Why hadn't she thought of that before? It
wouldn't be the first time Catty had tried to scare her, thinking it
was funny.

"Catty,"
she said. "I know it's you, come out." She spoke loudly,
but a fine tremor had crept into her voice.

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No one
answered.

"Catty,"
she started again. Her voice was soft now, a whisper filled with
fear.

She peered into
the dark that clung to the side of a house. What had been there was
gone. Had it only been an illusion of the dark?

Finally, she
turned and started walking again, her bare feet steady on the cool
cement. Her mother had warned her how dangerous it was for a girl to
be out alone in Los Angeles at night. Now anger filled her and made a
knot in her throat. It shouldn't be dangerous. Girls had a right to
enjoy the night, to run wild under the moon and stars, not stay home
huddled behind bolted doors.

Anger quickened
her pace and made her brave. She gripped her shoes tightly. When she
got to the corner, she stood defiantly under the steady glow of the
street lamp. She waited a long time in the amber light. If it were
someone with evil intent, a gangbanger, mugger, or desperate homeless
person, they would have attacked by now.

She thought of
Michael again, his hand on

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her cheek. Had
he been leaning down to kiss her when Morgan pulled him away?

Something
skipped through the darkness. Something trying hard not to be seen.
She was certain it was real this time, no trick of light and shadow.
She turned to run and tripped over a tricycle lying on its side. Her
shoes fell from her hands and scattered. The handlebar pushed
painfully into her stomach.

The tricycle
hadn't been there before. She would have seen something that size.
Someone had crept behind her and placed it there. But how and when?

She left her
shoes, pulled herself up, and ran. She didn't scream. A scream stole
too much oxygen. She ran with savagery, her arms pumping at her
sides. Already she could feel the arousal in her molecules, a soft
and pleasant tremble. She could give in to her special power, but it
was too chancy. She had a horrible feeling that what was happening to
her now was somehow connected to her strange
ability.
She had
always feared that one day someone would discover her secret.

If one person
discovered the truth, she

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would be hunted
down, taken to some cheesy place like Las Vegas, and put on display.
Then a new terror struck. Maybe the person skulking behind her was
trying to frighten her into using her power. Perhaps a video recorder
watched her, the owner hoping to capture the unthinkable on tape and
sell it to the highest bidder.

Whoever
it
was was getting closer. Footfalls pounded softly in the grass behind
her, gaining. She didn't glance back to see who it was.

Her molecules
grew more excited, pinging to be free of gravity. She imagined
herself, invisible, running through her clothes, her stalker stopping
to pick up the organza peasant dress. Too risky.

Stay, she
thought, stay. She had to concentrate to keep her molecules together.
Her body longed to give in to the stretch of bone and muscle, and
dissolve into a million fragments.

Then another
sound made her heart wrench.

Other footsteps
joined those of the person chasing her. More than one person this
time, maybe more than two. Could it be even worse than she had first
imagined?

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What was her
mother going to do when she found out her daughter was a freak? What
would kids at school say? High school was hard enough without this,
too. All she'd ever wanted was to be like everyone else.

She heard
someone speaking. Then she realized the words were tumbling from her
own lips in a high, keening pitch. What was she saying? Some
forgotten prayer her mother had taught her when she was a child?

Her lips formed
the strange words again.
"O Mater Luna, Regina nods, adiuvo
me nunc."

Besides
English, she knew only a little Spanish. These words were definitely
not Spanish or English. Where had they come from?

From the corner
of her eye, she saw a hand reach for her.

The words
gathered on her lips again, hard and strong. She spit them out.
"O
Mater Luna, Regina nocis, adiuvo me nunc."
The power of the
words filled her as she spoke.

And then her
chasers were gone. She kept running, afraid to trust what she knew
was true. She was alone.

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At the next
block, she stopped and turned back. She rested her hands on her
knees. Her breath came in gasps that stung her lungs. The street
behind her was empty.

A trio of lawn
flamingos stood in front of her. She stepped across the wet lawn and
pulled on the serpentine neck of the first bird. The body tore free
from the legs. She tossed the pink plastic bird aside and heaved the
iron legs from the ground. The iron rods felt good in her hands.

She walked
backward for half the block. She was only two blocks from Melrose
Avenue now, and that meant people. She turned and ran toward the
comforting traffic sounds, the garish neon lighting. The smells of
Thai spices and northern Italian spaghetti sauces swirled deliciously
around her as she barreled into the throng of kids crowding the
sidewalk.

She stopped
near a bus stop and stared back at the street from which she had
fled. Four boys and a girl sat on the bus bench. The boys wore the
uniform of modern primitives. Silver hoops pierced nipples, eyebrows,
nose, and lips. Tattoos curled in languid lines around their necks
and

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arms, and black
leather vests flapped against their naked white chests like wicked
pelts.

"Who you
fighting?" the tall boy with the ratted black hair asked. He
stared at her hand.

She glanced up.
She held one flamingo leg like a javelin, aiming, her muscles taut,
ready to strike.

She smiled to
reassure the boy. He stepped back and stumbled off the curb. His eyes
looked as if he saw something in Vanessa's face that frightened him.

"Go haunt
another corner," the girl said.

Vanessa left
them staring after her and started down Melrose. Her feet stepped in
the black powdered grime that covered the street. She hated to think
what foul things were gathering between her toes.

At home, the
porch light blazed a welcome and covered the small craftsman-style
house in a halo of gold light. The twisted olive tree stood rigid
near the front walk. She crept to the side of the house and hid.

When she was
sure no one had followed her, she walked to the back door, opened it,
and

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stepped onto
the back porch. She dropped the flamingo legs on the washing machine.
The metal made a loud clank.

"Vanessa,"
her mother called.

She walked into
the warm kitchen. The smells of coffee, glue, and pencil shavings
wafted around her. A large bulletin board hung on the wall above the
table. Her mother called it her inspiration board. A fanfare of
sketches and bold- colored swatches were tacked to it now. She worked
as a costume designer for the movies.

"You're
late," her mother said and rushed to her. There was more fear in
her eyes than anger. Her brown hair looked as if she had raked
worried fingers through it. With cold hands she touched Vanessa's
cheek, and then held her tightly. "I was worried about you. I
hope you didn't walk home. You know how I feel about that."

"I got a
ride," she lied. "Catty's mother picked us up."

Her mother
shook her head. "Catty's mother wouldn't care if you stayed out
all night." She didn't approve of the way Catty's mother let
Catty run wild.

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"I'm sorry
I'm late," Vanessa said. She felt genuinely bad that she had
caused her mother so much anxiety. "Planet Bang closed at
one
A.M., not midnight."

"On a
school night? You know that's too late."

"I'll make
sure I check the time next time."

"If there
is a next time," her mother muttered.

"Mom,
everyone goes to Planet Bang on Tuesday night. Tuesdays and Fridays
are the only nights kids under twenty-one are allowed."

She stopped and
followed her mother's stare. Her feet were black with city dirt, one
big toe bleeding.