Lina looked around the counter and nodded in satisfaction, she had assembled al of the ingredients and kitchenwares she would need to make the dough. She had even found a smal green candle that gave off a vaguely piney scent. It was a relic from the previous Christmas, and she'd had to dig through two boxes of ornaments before she discovered it. Lina opened the cookbook and set it on the counter next to her favorite stainless steel mixing bowl. Then she began:

First, light the green candle and focus your thoughts on Demeter, Mother of the Harvest.

Ever the consummate chef, Lina fol owed the directions precisely. She lit the candle and let her thoughts drift to the long-forgotten Harvest Goddess. She wondered briefly what lovely, eccentric cooking rituals had been forgotten along with the Goddess.

Lina continued reading:

Stir the yeast into the warm water in a smal bowl; let stand until creamy, about 10 minutes. Lina felt relaxed and happy as her experienced hands stirred and mixed.

While the yeast is standing, center your thoughts and take three deep cleansing breaths. Imagine power filtering up the center of your body and traveling along the path of your spine al the way through your head and then pouring out in a waterfal around you to be reabsorbed into your core again. When you feel invigorated, you may begin Demeter's Invocation.

The directions reminded her a little of a new-age relaxation class she had taken once. With a selfamused smile, she set the kitchen timer for ten minutes before beginning the steps of the centering exercise.

She had to admit that in no time she was feeling... wel ... if not invigorated, at least very awake and self-aware. Lina went back to the recipe.

When you feel ready, please read the fol owing aloud.

"O most gracious and magnificent Demeter, Goddess of al that is harvested and grown, I ask that some portion of Your presence be here with me now. I summon You to enrich the bounty You have already so plentiful y provided. I ask also that You breathe a breath of magic and wonder into this kitchen."

The timer chimed and Lina jumped, surprised that ten minutes had passed so quickly.

Mix the flour and salt in a large wide-mouthed bowl while invoking, "Come, Demeter, I summon you with this salt and flour, which are the riches of Your Earth."

The rhythm of the invocation melded harmoniously with the recipe, and Lina found herself eager to read the next lines.

Make a wel in the center of the flour; then pour the dissolved yeast, PA cups plus 1 tablespoon water, 1 tablespoon oil, and the lard into the wel . Speak to the Goddess as you gradual y stir the flour into the liquid and work to a soft dough that can be gathered into a bal . "I cal upon You, O

Goddess of the Harvest, and bid You welcome here in the midst of that which You created." Then knead on a floured surface until soft, smooth, and elastic, 10 to 15 minutes, sprinkling with additional flour as needed. As the dough takes form, recite the fol owing to Demeter: "Power be drawn, and power come, and make me one with thee, O Goddess of the Harvest. Make me greater, make me better, grant me strength and grant me power.

Lina's hands fel into a rhythm as she effortlessly plied the dough against the floured countertop. Her eyes were locked on the words that seemed to come as easily to her lips as the familiar kneading motion came to her hands.

"O Demeter who is my guardian and sister, I give You thanks. May my summons fal lightly on Your ears, and may Your wisdom and strength remain with me, growing ever finer, as grains ripe for the harvest."

Lina kneaded the dough while her mind drifted. What an incredibly intriguing thought - to couple the magic of an ancient goddess with the perfection of a recipe that had been passed down from mothers to daughters and preserved for generations. It was such a wonderful, natural idea. To cal upon the strength of a goddess through baking! Whether it actual y worked, whether or not a goddess real y listened, was beside the point. It was a lovely, empowering ritual -  one that, if nothing else, could serve to focus her thoughts on the positive and remind her that she should take a moment to enjoy the rich femininity of her chosen career.

The sweet scent of the pine candle mixed with the more earthy smel s of yeast and flour. The aroma was delicious and heady. Unexpectedly, Lina felt a wave of sensation, fueled by scent, rush through her body. For a moment she was dizzy and disoriented, as if she had been suddenly displaced from her kitchen and transported, dough and al , to the middle of a pine-fil ed forest. She rubbed the back of a flour-crusted hand across her forehead. Her head felt unnatural y warm, but the touch of her hand re-grounded her and the dizziness dissipated. It had been a tough day. She shouldn't be surprised that it was wearing on her. She rol ed her shoulders and let her head fal forward and backward, causing tired, overstressed muscles to stretch and relax. She would certainly sleep wel tonight.

Lina glanced down at the conclusion of the dough recipe. It contained the usual mundane instructions about covering it in a bowl and letting it rise for at least eight hours. Impatiently, she scanned past the recipe to the completion of the invocation ritual.

" Pinch out a smal portion of the dough. Choose a special place -  out of doors -  where you can leave your offering. Sprinkle it with wine and offer it to Demeter, saying "O Goddess of the plentiful harvest, of strength and power and wisdom, I give You greeting, and honor, and thanks. Blessed Be! "

"Note: You might choose to add your own personal request or praise before concluding the ritual. May blessings rain upon you and may you never go hungry!

Lina's smile tilted sardonic. The ful ness of her hips said that she might consider going hungry once in a while. Not that she was fat, she amended quickly, she was just voluptuous. And voluptuous wasn't particularly "in" today. She huffed under her breath. She would never understand the current generation's obsession with waif-like women who starved and puked everything feminine from their bodies. She was al softness and curves, and she preferred herself that way.

"I'm goddess-like," she said firmly.

With no more hesitation, she pinched off a smal piece of the newly-kneaded dough and set it aside while she reshaped and then covered the rest of the large bal . She'd already performed the invocation, it was only right that she should fol ow through to its conclusion. After al , no good cook ever left a recipe incomplete.

It didn't take long to tidy up her already immaculate kitchen and load her dishwasher. After drying her hands, Lina poured a fresh glass of wine and wrapped the smal piece of dough in a paper towel before hurrying from the kitchen. Balancing the glass and dough in one hand, she opened the door to the closet in the hal . Before she had her jacket pulled on she heard the tel -tale slap of Edith's paws on the tiled hal way. Smiling, Lina took the bulldog's leash from its hook.

"It doesn't matter how soundly asleep you are, when this door opens, here you are." Lina laughed as she snapped the leash onto Edith's col ar.

The bul dog yawned then snorted at her.

"I know it's late, but I have something I need to finish, and I know the perfect spot." Far from complaining, Edith was the first one to the door of the condo, and Lina had to juggle to balance the wine without spil ing it.

"Easy there, big girl!"

Shifting the bal of dough to her jacket pocket, Lina locked the door behind them. It was early March, and the Oklahoma night was unseasonably warm. The air felt rich and heavy with the promise of spring. Lina let Edith lead her into the heart of the wel -kept courtyard. A shadow flitted overhead cal ing Lina's attention upward. A ful moon sat high in the sky, round and bright and the color of whipped butter. She stared at it. What an odd shade of yel ow. It lent the familiar surroundings of her English Tudor-style condo complex an ethereal glow, casting mundane hedges and sidewalk edges into new and slightly sinister roles.

"Oh, please. I must be having a Lord of the Rings moment," Lina admonished herself. "Dolores was right. I've taken too many trips to the IMAX to drool over Aragorn." The ritual and the dough-making frenzy had obviously gone to her head if she was imaging sinister shapes around her wel -kept condo complex.

"I'l have to tel Anton al about this," she mumbled to herself. "Maybe I can final y convince him to share his Xanax with me."

Actual y, now that she was outside and the spel /recipe book was neatly stacked with the other cookbooks in her living room, she was beginning to feel a little foolish.

"Maybe I should have had more wine before this part of the recipe," she told Edith, who flicked her ears back at her and huffed, but kept on winding her way along their familiar path. "Or maybe I'm just exhausted and I need to go to bed."

They were coming to her favorite part of the complex -  the grand marble fountain that sat squarely in the middle of the cobblestone courtyard. Year-round it spouted water in an impressive geyser that cascaded down three delicately curved, bowl-like tiers. Actual y, it was the fountain that had convinced Lina to purchase the condo. During the summer Lina found the area around the fountain, with its cool cobblestones and old oak shade trees, even more refreshing than the pool, and a good deal less crowded. In the winter months the fountain, like the pool, was heated, and Lina had enjoyed many an Oklahoma winter afternoon swathed in blankets, feet tucked under her, while she read to the musical sound of fal ing water.

"This is it. The perfect special place," Lina told Edith Anne, who was snuffling around an azalea bush. "Stay there, this won't take long."

She dropped the bul dog's leash. Obediently, Edith planted her wide bottom on the ground, then seemed to reconsider and, with a doggy sigh, relaxed into a ful , stretched-out recline, her halfclosed eyes watching Lina with sleepy semi-interest. The nearest oak was also the biggest. Lina approached it careful y in the buttermilk moonlight, careful not to trip over the intricate knots of exposed roots that proliferated the area around the base of the tree. Unexpectedly, they seemed ominous, cal ing to life visions of grasping tentacles and writhing snakes.

"Stop being ridiculous," Lina said in the tone she reserved for generic perfume solicitors. The sound of her voice dispel ed the disturbing vision, and the oak shifted back to its familiar, solid self. Lina extracted the smal lump of dough from her pocket. She looked around the courtyard. No one was stirring; even Edith Anne had stopped watching her and was snoring softly. Lina crouched down and placed the dough bal in the vertex of two especial y thick roots that intersected at the base of the tree.

Lina looked around her again. Certain that except for the snoring bulldog she was alone, she dipped her fingers into the glass of wine and flicked red drops over the dough. It felt good. Lina smiled. It felt right. Stil smiling, she wet her fingers again and playful y rained the excel ent Chianti Classico al over the base of the ancient tree. Stifling girlish giggles, she continued splattering wine on the gnarled roots until the crystal goblet was empty. Then she squared her shoulders and cleared her throat.

"I would like to say something before closing this remarkable recipe ritual." Lina grinned at her intentional al iteration, but she quickly schooled her features to appear more sober. She certainly hadn't meant any disrespect, but grinning and giggling at the end of a goddess invocation ritual would probably be considered a faux pas. Lina began her speech again.

"Demeter!" The word came from Lina's mouth with such power that the sound of the goddess's name carried across the courtyard, making Edith stir and flutter her eyes before resituating her stocky body and continuing her nap. Lina swal owed hard and softened her voice. "My name is Carolina Francesca Santoro, and I want you to know that I have enjoyed your ritual very much. I think the dough wil make excel ent pizza, and I'm looking forward to trying it." Her impromptu speech reminded her of the reason why she had felt the need to experiment with the recipe, and while remembering Lina was amazed that she had ever forgotten. The lines on her forehead deepened and her shoulders slumped.

"I hope it's good. No, I more than hope it's good - I need it to be good. I can't lose my bakery. It's my responsibility; too many people depend on me. Demeter, if you're listening, please send me some help. In return I'l ... I'l ..." Lina stuttered and then blurted, "wel , damnit, I don't know what the hel I could possibly do for you in return." She shrugged her shoulders. "And I apologize for my use of common English swear words. How about if I just say, one mature woman to another, that I would real y appreciate your help and I would return the favor if I could." Satisfied, Lina closed her eyes, visualizing the final words of the ritual.

"O Goddess of the plentiful harvest, of strength and power and wisdom, I give You greeting, and honor, and thanks. Blessed Be!"

At the words, blessed be, Lina felt an overwhelming sense of release, as if - Lina's lips twitched - as if her prayer had been heard and answered. Logical y, she knew that wasn't real y possible, but she did believe in the power of positive thinking... self-fulfil ing prophecies... feng shui. Her lips tilted upward. She believed in the power of la magia del 'Italia.

Lina drew in a deep, cleansing breath, and her eyes sprang open in surprise. Enticing sweetness fil ed her nose. What was that smel ? Lina took another deep breath. It was wonderful! Scenting the soft wind like a wary deer, she sniffed her way around the oak. And came to an abrupt halt. In between a tangle of roots halfway around the tree grew one perfect flower. Its stem was thick and long, the width of a garden hose, and it stretched up almost two feet until it morphed into a huge bel -shaped cup with scal oped edges.

"Oh! Aren't you lovely. It's too early for a daffodil." Lina shook her head and automatical y corrected herself. "I mean narcissus." She could hear her grandmother scolding her, not by their common name, bambina, cal the bei flora -  beautiful flowers -  by their formal name, narcissus. But by whatever name she cal ed it, the flower was certainly unusual, and for more reasons than just its early blooming. Transfixed, Lina squatted in front of it. The blossom was a luminous, creamy yel ow color, as if a piece of the moon had fal en to earth and bloomed that night. She couldn't remember ever seeing a narcissus of that size. If she bal ed up her fist it would fit neatly inside the cupped bloom. And its perfume! Lina leaned forward and took a long sniff. She hadn't remembered any of her grandmother's flowers smel ing like this one. What was that scent? It was il usively familiar, but she couldn't quite name it. Lina took another deep breath. The fragrance made her heart beat and the blood rush through her body. There was something about that fanciful aroma that fil ed her with a youthful yearning, and suddenly she remembered her first kiss. It had been many years, but she easily recal ed that the kiss had contained this same sweetness. She sighed. The blossom smel ed like what would happen if moonlight and the innocence of spring had mated to create a flower.

Lina blinked in surprise and huffed through her nose, sounding a little like her dog. She was certainly waxing poetic and romantic. How bizarre and unlike herself - wel , unlike herself at fortythree anyway. She used to be romantic and dewy-eyed and blah, blah, love, blah, blah. Until life and experience and men had cured her naivete*. Lina narrowed her eyes at the flower. Romance?

Why was she thinking about that? She'd sworn off romance on her fortieth birthday. Finished. Through. Ka-put. And she hadn't regretted her decision.

A vision of her last date flashed back through her mind -  Mr. Fifty-Something Successful Businessman: divorced twice, four dysfunctional kids - two from each marriage. The best thing that she could say about him was that he was consistent. During their entire very expensive dinner at one of Lina's favorite restaurants he had whined and complained about how much child support and alimony he had to pay his two hateful, money-grubbing ex-wives, who had never understood or appreciated him. Before the main course had been served Lina had found herself empathizing with the ex-wives.

And that experience summed up men in her age range. It was a cliche' that was, unfortunately, true. The good ones were taken - or gay. The rest of them were balding has-beens who spent their dates complaining about past choices. Or, like her ex-husband, had chosen newer, more perfect women as their mates. Women who were able to nurture more than stray pets. Women who were able to bear children...

Stop it! Lina scolded herself. Why was she thinking about that! Her ex-husband was ancient history, as was her desire to date and play the game. Quite frankly Lina would rather stay home and bake a cake. Or walk her dog. Or pet her cat (if he decided he was in the mood for petting). No, she hadn't regretted giving up on romance. Her eyes refocused on the unusual narcissus. It was just a flower, just a beautiful, early-blooming flower. And she had just had a very long, weird day, which explained why she was feeling odd. Maybe she was hormonal. She made a mental note to ask her mom about the change next time they talked.

A teasing breeze stirred the narcissus, bringing another wave of its sweet aroma to Lina. Just one more little sniff. She'd take one more smel , then she'd col ect Edith Anne and take herself off to bed where she belonged. Balancing on the bal s of her feet, she leaned forward, cupping the heavy blossom in her hands. As she brought her face closer to the flower, the area within the bel -shaped bloom rippled.

Lina blinked. What the hel ? She leaned closer and peered into the open cup. Like water down a sluiceway, shock caused al feeling to drain from her body. She was staring, not into the center of the narcissus, but straight into the face of an amazingly beautiful young woman. The woman's large violet-colored eyes were opened wide, her hair was in wild disarray, and her lovely lips were rounded as if she had been caught in the middle of uttering a terrified Oh!

Lina tried to move, but her body refused to obey her. She was frozen, transformed into a living statue. Fear pulsed through her and she felt her heart leap painfully in response, and then it was as if she was being pulled from her body by a giant vacuum cleaner. For a moment she was actual y able to look back at the immobile shel that was her physical self before she was yanked forward and into the blindingly bril iant light that pulsed at the center of the expanding narcissus blossom. Lina's mind rebel ed as her consciousness whirled down the circular shaft. She tried to cry out. She tried to stop. She tried to breathe, but there was nothing except the sense of motion and a wrenching feeling of displacement. Just as she was sure she would go mad, Lina felt an enormous tug and she popped from the shaft and slammed into something. Tears swamped her eyes, making it impossible for her to see more than vague, blurred images. Automatical y, she gasped for air. Drenched in vertigo, her arms flailed around until they col ided with the grassy earth against which her butt was resting. Struggling to anchor herself, she let her body col apse, arms spread wide as if she was embracing the ground. Lina pressed her face into the grass. She was shaking and panting, and she seemed to be trapped in some kind of silken netting.

"Get it off me! Get it off!" Stil panicking she tore at what was entrapping her. "Ouch! Merda!" The distinctive pain of roughly pulled hair penetrated her frenzy at the same instant her vision cleared. She was, indeed, lying against the grass-covered ground. Her hands were tangled in a thick mass of rich mahogany-colored hair that was so long that it fel to her waist. Her waist. Blinking away tears, Lina gazed down at "herself." Sucking in a deep breath Lina opened her mouth and screamed her best slasher-horror-movie-girl scream.