If they like the wish, they turn it into a dream.”

“What if they don’t like it?”

“It stays in the stream and eventually becomes the sludge from which nightmares are formed.”

“Can’t they throw them away or something? I hate nightmares.”

“There must be balance, Mikado. Light—dark, good—evil, life—death. Without balance, the circle of life

would collapse.”

“I still don’t like nightmares,” she grumbled. Then Mikki pointed to the women with the hoops. “What are

they doing?”

“They’re finding the right mixture of dreams, water, and magick to make scrying mirrors.”

“Scrying mirrors?”

“Mirrors used for second sight—for discerning that which cannot be seen with the eye alone.”

“Really? That’s fascinating. You know, I think I’d like to get a closer look.” Mikki marched over to one of

the women fishing for coins.

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“I would be honored if you would join me, Empousa.” She smiled warmly at Mikki and scooted over to make

room for her on the cushion.

Mikki sat and looked down into the water. It was clear, tumbling hurriedly over the white sand that formed

the bottom of the magickal stream. Then a circle of silver rolled into view, and without letting herself think

too much, she plunged her hand in after it. The water was pleasantly warm, a nice contrast to the cool room.

Her fingers closed around the coin. Smiling triumphantly, she lifted it, dripping.

“Well done, Empousa.” Asterius’s deep voice rumbled from beside her. “Now look into it and see if the wish

Is a dream you will grant.”

Mikki narrowed her eyes and stared at the coin. With a little shock, she realized she was holding a quarter!

The mint date stamped on it was 1995. It was just a plain, ordinary quarter. No different than the ones she’d

been seeing, and spending, her entire life. How could there be any magick within—

The skin of the coin rippled, and she almost dropped it. She looked closer. It was like putting her eyes to one

of those old view masters, only the scene within the coin moved like a video. A man and a woman lay on a

sheepskin rug in front of a crackling fireplace. They were naked and making love. Mikki could hear him

telling her over and over how beautiful she was and how she tasted of honey and love. Then, as the woman

orgasmed, snow began to fall in the room all around the couple, without touching them or getting them wet.

“Do you grant that the wish be made a dream?” Asterius asked.

Mikki looked from the erotic scene to the beast who stood beside her. She licked her lips, letting her gaze

travel up the muscular expanse of his chest to the fullness of his very human lips. “Yes, I grant it,” she said.

Without having to be told what to do next, she snapped her fingers and the coin exploded in a puff of pink

smoke, which drifted lazily up and then through the ceiling.

“Will you choose another, Empousa?” the woman sitting beside her asked.

“I’d like to, but I want to visit more of the other rooms tonight.” For the second time that day, Mikki held her

hand out to Asterius. This time there was no hesitation before he took it and helped her to her feet. When she

stood, he let go of her hand, but she didn’t move away from him. Instead, she placed her hand in the crook of

his arm, as if he was an old-time Southern gentleman escorting her from the room. “Let’s go see some of the

other rooms.”

“As you wish, Empousa.”

His words were still formal, but there was no mistaking the way his expression softened when he spoke to her

and how they leaned their bodies toward one another, sharing intimate smiles and whispers. They walked

from the room, neither paying any attention to the shocked stares of the Dream Weavers.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

MIKKI’S mind was a whirlwind, filled with the unbelievable beauty she’d witnessed in the dream-weaving

rooms. Just when she thought she’d seen something so incredible it couldn’t be topped, Asterius would lead

her to another room and she would be amazed all over again. She wished her mother and grandmother could

be here with her. Her mother, in particular, would love the room where women were painting tiny porcelain

animals, which came alive as they floated up through the ceiling. Her grandmother would probably most like

the dream weaving that had been devoted to magick, like the room where brightly colored scenes were

painted on long rolls of parchment so fine it was see-through. When the scenes were finished, the filmy paper

suddenly broke apart, and like dove’s wings, fluttered up out of sight. Asterius had explained that the women

had been creating the essence of Tarot cards. And then there was the room they’d entered where women had

been using shining silver hooks to crochet diaphanous blankets ranging in color from buttercup to smoke.

Moon veils, used for drawing down the moon, he had named them. And she realized that they were, indeed,

all the colors of the different phases of the moon.

But her favorite room was the candle room. It had been filled, tier after tier, with thick, cream-colored pillar

candles, on which women carved into the soft wax fantastic dream scenes. When a scene was finished, the

candle was lit. As it burned, the dream scene was released and then carried to the waiting world on fragrant,

snow-colored smoke.

“One more room,” Asterius said sternly as they left the candle room. Before she could protest, he shook his

head. “No, there are shadows beneath your eyes. You can continue your exploration tomorrow night.”

“Is this more of your duty to care for me, or are you tired of me dragging you from room to room?”

“Neither,” he said quietly as they approached the door to the next room. He cupped her face within his hands

and let his thumbs trace the shadows under her eyes. “It is only that I do not like to see you looking weary,

even though if I could choose, this evening would never end.”

Mikki looked up at him, surprised and pleased at his words and the gentleness of his touch. She wanted to say

she was sorry she had misunderstood, or thank him, or—hell!—tell she was having a wonderful time, too, but

he was already opening the ornate door. Her eager attention shifted to the new room and the wonders it held.

Everything within the room looked normal. Women sat around in front of large frames of cloth, their needles

flashing in and out as they created exquisite tapestries. As usual, the women greeted her, but this time they

did not ignore Asterius.

“Guardian, did you bring more thread?” one of the older women said in a businesslike, no-nonsense tone of

voice.

“I have none with me. This evening I have been escorting the new Empousa through the dream-weaver

rooms,” he said.

“Empousa, please do not think I mean any disrespect, but it is important that the Guardian collect more

threads for us—tonight, if you would grant him leave to do so. While he was”—the woman paused

uncomfortably for a moment before plunging on—“away from the realm, we had to make due with the

threads the Elementals gathered. They sufficed but only just.”

“The tapestries are becoming frayed,” added a slightly younger woman with a thick mane of blond hair she

had tied back in a braid. Several of the other women nodded in agreement.

Thoroughly confused—again—Mikki contained her frustrated sigh. “Of course I’ll give the Guardian leave

to, um, collect threads for you. We were just finishing here anyway.”

“Oh! Thank you, Empousa!”

Mikki waved off their thanks and retreated from the room with Asterius close behind.

“All right, you’re going to have to explain that,” she said.

“Did you notice anything different about the scenes in that room?”

She frowned at him, not liking it that he answered her question with a question, but she thought about the

scenes the women had been embroidering. There had been one with a mother holding a newborn child.

Another had shown a man speaking in front of a huge crowd of people. Yet another had depicted a woman

sitting at a writing desk chewing thoughtfully at a pencil. Mikki shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. They

all seemed totally normal.”

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“That is because in that room the dreams woven into the tapestries are those that actually come true.”

“You mean they really happen! The things those women were creating in there actually happen in the real

world?”

“Always,” he said.

“That’s why the thread has to be different.” She spoke slowly, following her intuition carefully, as if it was a

dimly marked trail. “They can’t get it only from the stuff that the moon flowers suck in. Dreams that come

true need something else . . . something more real.”

He looked pleased. “Exactly! Dreams that come true must be woven with threads gleaned from reality.”

“And you can do that?”

He nodded. “I can.”

“Will you show me?”

He started to protest that it was too late and that she was overtired, but she touched his arm gently and said,

“Please, Asterius.”

“Very well. Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the rose gate,” he said, leading herze=ЎЂ† back along the hallway.

“We’re going into the forest?” Her hand tightened on his arm.

“We must. Reality cannot be gleaned from the realm of dreams and magick.” Briefly, he covered her hand

with his. “Do not be afraid. I would not let anything harm you.”

She smiled up at him. “I’m not afraid. Not as long as I’m with you.”

MIKKI thought the huge gate made of roses looked damn creepy at night. It didn’t matter that there were

torches nearby and lanterns hanging from the limbs of the ancient oak. It was still dark, and the rose wall

seemed like something out of a book of fairytales by the sublimely twisted British author, Tanith Lee. Mikki

liked Lee’s weird fairy-tale retellings, a lot actually, but she absolutely did not want to walk into one. Ever.

“You could stay here. I’ll go into the forest, gather the threads and then return as quickly as I am able,” he

said.

“No! I’m not staying here by myself. I’m coming with you.”

With Mikki’s hand wrapped tightly within the crook of his arm, he took the torch planted in the ground near

the gate. After speaking the command that opened the gate, the two of them walked out of the Realm of the

Rose.

Mikki shivered. “It’s colder out here.”

He barked another command, and a royal purple palla materialized around her shoulders.

“You’re really handy to have around,” Mikki said, trying to cover her nerves with a smile. Then she nodded

toward the dark depth of the forest. “We’re going in there?”

“Do not be afraid,” he told her.

“Easy for you to say; you have the claws,” she muttered.

His smile flashed white in the torchlight. “My claws are at your service, my lady.”

“You say the sweetest things,” she said with her best Southern accent, and Asterius’s chest rumbled with a

deep laugh.

They entered the tree line and were instantly swallowed in a blackness that completely blocked out the silvery

light of the waxing moon. Asterius’s torchlight cast eerie, moving shadows against the bark of the ancient

trees. Mikki thought that if she hadn’t been with Asterius she would have been scared shitless. As it was, she

was just creeped out and looking forward to returning to the bright safety of the palace.

“This is far enough tonight. I need only collect a few strands to satisfy the women. Tomorrow I can return for

more.” He stopped and shoved the torch back into the ground. Asterius glanced down at where her hand

gripped his arm. “I have to have both of my arms free,” he said gently.

“Oh, sorry.” She loosened her death grip and took a short step away from him, glad that one good thing the

darkness did was to hide her blush.

“Do not be sorry,” he said gruffly. “Your touch pleases me.”

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She blinked in surprise. Had she heard him correctly? The words were nice, but the way he said them made

him sound pissed off. It was confusing. Just like his hands were gentle, but his face always seemed to reflect

something that looked almost like pain whenever he touched her. “Really?” she blurted.

His sigh was like a storm wind. “Really.” Then he enveloped her shoulders with his hands and moved her a

couple steps to the side. “Stand here. This won’t take long.”

Silently, he stretched out his hands. The firelight glinted off the claws that suddenly extended from his fingers.

He closed his eyes and lifted his head, moving in a circle until he was facing into the slight breeze. Though he

was half turned away from her, Mikki could see his lips moving, as if he was reciting a soundless prayer. He

raised one hand and thrust it forward; it looked like he was clawing the wind. Then his hand twisted and

closed in one inhumanly quick motion. And from the tips of his claws, the air began to glow, as long, thin

threads suddenly took form, which he pulled, hand over hand, to pile in a glowing pool of luminous filigrees

around his hooves.

Amazed, Mikki watched him work. He moved in a small circle, always staying close to her within the

torchlight. But he didn’t just pull the threads from the breeze. Sometimes he reached into the leaves of the

ancient tree above them and plucked heretofore unseen threads from the leaves. Then he’d shift his focus and

sweep his hands through the forest plants that pushed up through the verdant loam. All the while the pile of

exquisite threads grew. She couldn’t look directly at the threads for too long. They made her dizzy with their

shifting and glowing. In the pile she thought she glimpsed the shapes of people, but they were all disjoined. It

was like trying to study a Picasso through the warped glass of a carnival mirror.

So instead of the threads, Mikki watched Asterius. He moved with the grace of a warrior coupled with the

strength of a big cat. Despite the horns and cloven hooves, he seemed more lion than bull-like, with his mane

of hair; his dark, bottomless eyes and his feral grace. And suddenly those eyes were focused on her. He was

breathing heavily, and his arms were damp with sweat.

“Of all the wonders you’ve shown me tonight, watching you pull the threads of reality from the darkness is

what I think is the most incredible.”

“Would you like to try it?”

“Oh, yes,” she breathed.

“Then this time, you must come to me.”

With no hesitation, she walked to him.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Then turn your back to me.”

Mikki turned around. She felt him close the small distance that separated them. He bent so he could cup one

of her hands in each of his. “Open your hands and press them against mine, so my claws become yours.”

Mikki spread her fingers wide, fitting them against his much larger hands. Then she pressed her arms to his

until she was molded against his skin. Their bodies met, and she felt the sharp intake of his breath and the

shudder that moved through him—her own body answered with a heat that made the inside of her thighs

tingle.

“Now, move with me.”

And she did. Her hands combed through the night air along with his. She felt the tingle of the threads against

her palms. When his hands closed on them, so, too, did hers, and suddenly the scenes within the threads were

no longer dizzying. They focused in her sight and became clear. It was like she was watching a movie tape

unreel as she pulled it from the darkness. She saw a woman whose back was turned to a man, as hers was to

Asterius. The woman was naked, and the long, soft line of her back was only broken by her fall of coppercolored

hair. Like my hair . . . she has my hair . . . Mikki thought dreamily. Then into the scene came two

arms, thickly corded with muscles and covered with skin the color of burnished bronze. The arms cradled the

woman, pulling her back so her body rested against his naked chest. The man tilted his head forward to nuzzle

the woman’s neck, and light glinted off his two ebony horns.

Asterius’s growl fragmented the scene the thread was revealing. Mikki stumbled and almost fell as he lurched

away from her. When she caught her balance and turned to him, he was standing beside the torch, with his

head down, surrounded by piles of gossamer thread. She could see that he was breathing heavily, and as she

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watched, he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. His hand was trembling.

“I need to take the threads back to the palace.” His voice had retreated to emotionless formality.

“Have I made you angry?” Mikki asked.

“No.”

“Then why are you being like this?”

He lifted his head and looked at her. Mikki thought she had never seen such haunted eyes.

“Did you see it, too? The scene in the thread?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

Suddenly, with choppy, violent motions, he started gathering the piles of thread. “I do not understand what

has happened. These are the threads of reality. They are to be woven into dreams that will come true.”

Silently, she unwrapped the palla from around her shoulders and spread it on the ground near him so he could

pile the threads on it.

“And?” she prompted when he didn’t go on.

“And it is not supposed to show fantasies and falsehoods!”

The force of his voice caused the torchlight to flicker, but Mikki didn’t flinch. Instead, she closed the two

steps between them. She watched him fall suddenly very still. She reached up and let the tips of her fingers

briefly caress the side of his face. He quivered under her hand, but he did not pull away from her.

“Do you dislike it when I touch you?” she asked him.

“No!”

“Do you want to touch me, too?”

“Yes,” he snarled through his teeth.

“Then I don’t understand why you say the scene we just saw is a fantasy and a falsehood.”

“Because I am a beast and you are a mortal woman!”

“Stop it!” She glared at him. “You’re the one making this impossible. I don’t care about the beast! All of

this”—she made two brusque gestures at his horns and hooves—“didn’t stop me from wanting you way back