It came off in her hand. She cursed the door, and hefted it lightly by its iron knob as if ready to throw the thing down the filthy street.
“Don’t do it!” said a voice from inside; another female voice, sounding very annoyed.
The gray-eyed woman cursed again and set the door up against the wall of the house. “And don’t kill anyone at work, either!” said the voice from inside. “You want to lose another job?”
The gray-eyed woman drew herself up to full height, producing an effect as if a statue of some angry goddess was about to step down from her pedestal and wreak havoc on some poor mortal. Then the marble melted out of her, leaving her looking merely young, and fiercely lovely, and very tall. “No,” she said, still wrathful. “See you at lunchtime.”
And off she went, and the people in the street went about their business, going home from work or getting up for it. If you had told any of them that the woman in the linen chlamys was a goddess exiled from wide heaven, you would probably have gotten an interested inquiry as to what you had been drinking just now. If you had told that person, further, that the woman was sharing a house with a god, another goddess, and sometimes with a dog (also divine)-the person would probably have edged away cautiously, wishing you a nice day. Druggies are sometimes dangerous when contradicted.
Of course, every word you would have said would have been the truth. But in
Sanctuary, who ever expects to hear the truth the first time… ?
“She hates the job,” said the voice from inside the house.