“He’s just absent-minded,” Oversoul Seven muttered. He was trying to discover how Josef was making out at home and listen to Lydia at the same time.

“You seem to be having difficulties,” Pegasus said politely. “May I be of help?”

Lydia frowned. “You’re only part of a myth come to life,” she said sternly. “I remember … Pegasus, the god of inspiration—”

“Yes, I helped you often, even though I didn’t use this form,” Pegasus answered. “You’re lucky that I’m one of the gods you believed in, even if your ideas about me were a little confused.”

“You’re not going to claim credit for all the poetry I wrote in my last life, I hope,” Lydia said tartly.

“Are you?” Pegasus asked, smiling.

Lydia started to say, “Well, of course. Who else?” when she remembered having often felt that her poetry was hers and not hers at the same time.

“You wrote it,” Pegasus said, a bit smugly, “but I carried you out to the rarefied air where the poetry exists.”

“All I really wanted to do then was write poetry,” Lydia said, a bit crossly. “And all I want to do now is find the gods, if there are any—”

“Well, you’ve found one,” Pegasus said, tapping one forefoot modestly enough in the grass.

Lydia tried not to sound disappointed. “I have known inspiration in one way or another, as you pointed out,” she said. “And without meaning to hurt your feelings, I just didn’t expect a god to be a horse. Divine or not, a horse is a horse, even one who speaks as well as you do. Your elocution is excellent,” Lydia added, suddenly remembering that she’d also taught English once.

Oversoul Seven had been standing by, letting Lydia carry on, but now he interrupted nervously. “I suggest you end this conversation, Lydia,” he said, “or you might regret it. Inspiration can be very tricky.”

“Well, I’m certain I’d recognize a real god if I met one,” Lydia was saying to Pegasus. “But even a horse with wings is a horse. I mean, wings don’t necessarily mean divinity.”

From nowhere, Seven heard Cyprus’ voice: “You’d better remove some of Lydia’s misconceptions quickly. They could lead to unnecessary complications.”

“You must be kidding,” Seven cried, mentally. “She’s blindingly stubborn, and you know we have to do this her way—”

“But with guidance. And don’t forget your practice teaching dream class!”

Seven didn’t even have time to answer. He felt time wrinkle before it actually started to, and he knew that Lydia had gone too far.

He turned to her. She was saying, “I prayed for help during my darkest moments on earth, and no god answered.”

“No, no, Lydia,” Seven cried. “Change the subject. Fast!”

But she was staring defiantly at Pegasus. “In my darkest moments,” she repeated. “And no one answered.”