Imposingly between the archway she had just walked beneath and the second stone archway, which framed

the set of steps to its left—a mirror image of the stairs she had just descended.

She walked to the statue and looked up at it, breathing in the scent of the profusely blooming Double Delights

that surrounded it.

“Hello, old friend,” she said softly.

The flickering light from the large, circular fountain situated a few yards from them threw a strange, aquatic

glow over the statue, illuminating it with an eerie, ever-changing light. For a moment Mikki felt a tremor of

unease; the thing looked almost alive in the blue-tinged light. Its marbleized skin seemed to borrow a glow

from the water that pulsed, giving it the facade of living flesh. The ancient statue appeared to breathe. Then

she mentally shook herself.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said firmly. “It’s the same statue that’s always been here. And it’s supposed to be

scary-looking, that’s why it’s called the Guardian of the Roses.”

As Mikki spoke, the statue settled into the familiar marble lines she had known since she was a child. Local

legend said that the statue had been a gift from an eccentric Greek heiress in 1934, the year the gardens were

christened. No reason had ever been given for her largess—the local assumption was that she had visited and

had fallen in love with the design of the gardens.

Mikki drifted forward and let her fingers play over the raised words of the plaque that proclaimed it: Beast of

the Greek Goddess of Night—This statue is a restored copy of one found in the Parthenon and is thought to

have been the inspiration for the Cretan myth of the Minotaur.

Mikki’s lips twisted in a crooked smile. The beast had never looked like the Minotaur to her. Yes, he had

always evoked exotic images of fantasy and myth, reminding her of late, sleepless nights and the shadowy

fairy tales her mother used to read to her throughout her childhood, but she just didn’t see that much

similarity between the statue and the mythological creature who was supposed to have had a man’s body and

a bull’s head.

“It’s more like you’re from another world than ancient mythology,” she told the marble creation. Actually,

Mikki admitted to herself as she studied him for the zillionth time, the statue was a wonderful, frightening

mixture of raw male power and beast.

He was huge, at least seven feet tall, and more human than Minos’s Minotaur, but the fact that he was

manlike didn’t make his appearance any less imposing. He crouched on the top of a wide, ornately carved

marble pedestal. His rear legs were thick, much like a world-class sprinter’s, except that they were covered

with a coat of fur and ended in cloven hooves. His hands were massive, and they curled clawlike around the

top of the pedestal. The thick muscles in his arms, shoulders and haunches strained forward. His face had

been carved with indistinct lines, almost as if it had been half finished. It gave the appearance of a man,

though he was decidedly fierce and bestial. His eyes were wide, empty marble under a thick, bestial brow.

Mikki cocked her own head as she studied him. A beast, yes, but in a man’s skin. Not really a bull, yet

vaguely Taurean. On his head were thick, pointed horns, and an impressive mane of hair cascaded around his

enormous shoulders. The sculptor had carved the creature’s mane so it was swept back, making it appear as

though he was straining against a raging wind.

Mikki felt a jolt of recognition. That’s right, the statue had horns! Like the creature in her dream last night.

She narrowed her eyes. Maybe this was where her fantasy had originated. She wanted to smack herself on the

forehead. Talk about too much imagination! Was the answer to her supposed obsession as simple as that? She

had always loved the rose gardens, especially this particular tier. And as her mother would have reminded her

if she had still been alive, she did have a tendency to be overimaginative. How many times had her mother

admonished her to quit daydreaming and get her room cleaned up . . . or her homework done . . . or the dishes

washed?

Nelly had been right. Again. Her recent dreams were probably nothing more than a reflection of her obsession

with roses and all that surrounded them. And the rest of her hallucinations were nothing more than daydreams

from a sleepy, daydreaming (and clearly horny) mind.

A mind that had no one else to fantasize about, she reminded herself. She’d faced the truth tonight—her real

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life was decidedly void of men about whom she wanted to fantasize.

So the dreams had just been an elaborate fantasy she had created to amuse herself.

Mikki felt a wave of disappointment, which she quickly squelched.

“Would you rather have had a basketball-size brain tumor?” she chided herself as she absently kicked at a

loose pebble. “And if it wasn’t a brain tumor, what did you think? That you were actually having some kind

of magical experience? That a fantasy lover was going to step from your dreams into your life? How pathetic.

Get a grip, girl. And try to remember why you’re here.”

Mikki turned her back on the statue and marched toward the roped-off construction area, shaking her head in

self-disgust. Already annoyed, she approached the construction site with determined steps. That particular

part of the terrace wall had begun to crumble, so masons had been hired to repair it, with explicit instructions

not to mess up the roses that had lived happily in the beds around the wall for decades.

Mikki let out her breath in a huff of disgust. Just as she’d suspected, litter had been left all over. She bent

under the yellow construction tape and entered the rose bed, picking up the garbage that dotted the otherwise

neat rows of bushes and shoving it into an empty plastic bag she’d untangled from the thorny trap of two

rosebushes. When she found the small plastic cooler lying on its side in the middle of the bed, she felt her

temper snap.

“This is just bullshit!” she exploded.

Tomorrow was Saturday, so the master gardener wouldn’t be on the premises, but first thing Monday morning

Mikki would call her and make a full report about the workmen’s negligence. And tomorrow she would be

sure she was there all day to supervise those Neanderthals and keep them from creating any further havoc.

She finished picking up the trash and then focused her attention on the roses themselves.

“Oh, no!” She felt her stomach clench as she examined the stressed-out bushes. She had thought they had

looked wilted yesterday, but she had hoped it was just her overprotective nature rearing its maternal head.

Today she knew she had been right to worry. The normally thick, shiny foliage looked markedly dull, even in

the subdued light from the fountain. And the blooms were in bad shape. The blossoms were limp, and

prematurely loose rose petals sprinkled the ground like sad feathers from dying birds.

Mikki shook her head slowly. “What incredibly bad timing,” she told the damaged bushes. “After all this, you

won’t be strong enough to fend off much cold weather. If the winter is too harsh, we could lose this entire

bed.” Mikki clucked and fussed with the bushes like an irate kindergarten teacher.

The possible loss of the bushes tugged at her heart. Mikki knew most people wouldn’t understand her love of

roses—her girlfriends had certainly told her enough times that they were only plants, not people or even pets.

But whenever Mikki touched a rose or breathed in the heady fragrance of the gardens, she was reminded of

her mother and her grandmother; through the roses, if only for a moment, she could feel their love again.

Mikki was tired of losing those she loved.

She had to do something. She stopped and looked around her. The tier was empty. Nothing stirred except the

water and the wind. Absently, Mikki picked at her already chipped fingernail polish.

Just do it! she told herself. No one will know.

The empty cooler beckoned. Mikki made her decision.

“Okay!” she said to the nearest wilting bush. “Just don’t tell anyone.”

She grabbed the cooler, ducked back under the construction tape, and walked quickly to the fountain. She

dipped the empty cooler in the water, and with a grunt, pulled it out. Filled with water it was heavy, and she

had to strain to lift it. Water sloshed around her feet when she set it awkwardly on the ground beside her.