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Into Asterius’s bed . . .

“Mikki?”

She turned her eyes and thoughts back to the present and lifted her cappuccino, trying half-heartedly to work

up a thirst. “Just daydreaming. Sorry again. I’m not very good company today Nelly.”

“You’re my friend; you don’t have to entertain or amuse me. You know that.” The psychiatrist sighed.

“Honey, what happened to you was traumatic. The men who attacked you and stole the statue from the rose

gardens left you bleeding to death—and they have never been caught. It’s normal to go through stages of

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anger and depression and resentment during your healing process, especially when you have no closure for

the crime.”

Closure for the crime . . . Mikki had the insane urge to laugh, which she quickly stifled. She didn’t want to do

anything that might make her appear nuts. She didn’t want her story questioned too closely.

“I know. I just—” Mikki rubbed her hand across her forehead. For the zillionth time, she wished Nelly was

right, that what she was feeling was just a part of a healing process. “I just wish I felt normal again.”

“You will, Mikki.” Nelly glanced at her watch. “Oh, hell! I’m going to be late.”

Mikki managed to summon up a smile. “Is this a real kooky appointment, or just a kinda kook?”

Nelly laughed, standing and collecting her briefcase and purse. “Totally, absolute kook.”

“Good job security.”

“Exactly,” Nelly said. “Hey, call me later if you need to talk.”

“I will. Promise. See you tomorrow morning. Same time—same coffee place.” She grinned at Nelly and then

proceeded to feel guilty as hell at the relief she felt when her girlfriend walked out the door. It was so damn

hard ro±Ђ†to talk to Nelly! She couldn’t tell her the truth: “Hey, girlfriend. I wasn’t mugged, cut up by

criminals who ripped off the statue from the Tulsa Rose Gardens and left to die. I actually committed suicide,

although I like to think of it as a sacrificial act—I’m not big on suicide, which should prove that I’m not really

nuts. Anyway, I had to do it because the magickal Realm of the Rose in the crossroads between worlds was in

danger and only my blood could save it. It was my duty as Empousa. So really, you shouldn’t say I committed

suicide because I was just fulfilling my destiny. And by the by, I’m desperately in love with a man-beast and

the reason I’m so damn depressed is that I’m stuck here without him.”

Uh, no. Nelly was her best friend, but even she would be sure to have her locked up in a lovely, yet totally

exclusive, padded cell if she babbled the truth. She’d realized that as soon as she woke up in the hospital and

they—social services and the police—had started to question her. The story that had evolved had come about

more out of omission and accident than anything vaguely resembling the truth. But it still made her nervous to

tell it, especially to her friend who just happened to be a savvy shrink who knew her too damn well.

Mikki checked her watch. It was only seven thirty. She didn’t have to be at work until eight. She did have

time for another cup of cappuccino before heading off to work. As she stood for a refill, she caught her

reflection in the glass of the picture windows of Expresso Milano. Thin . . . she looked thin. And she could

have done something with her wild hair besides pulling it back in a haphazard ponytail.

The problem was she just couldn’t work up the energy to care.

Well, at least there were still plenty of her favorite, the giant orange sugar cookies that the coffee shop bought

freshly made every morning from the popular Pani Del Goddess bakery just a few doors down the street.

Mikki ordered two to go with her cappuccino and then changed her mind and ordered a third. She needed to

put on weight, and the sugar rush added with the caffeine high might be enough to get her ready to face

another meaningless, endless day at work. She grabbed a copy of the Tulsa World and made herself

comfortable at one of the plush, silk-covered chairs while she waited for the multiply pierced coffee girl to

bring her coffee and cookies on the cafй’s elegant little silver trays. When she heard approaching heels on the

tile floor, she didn’t look up from her paper.

“Just go ahead and put it on the coffee table. Oh, and keep an eye on me. I have a feeling this is going to be a

three-espresso morning.”

“Is everything not well, Mikado?”

Mikki almost dropped the paper in surprise. “Sevillana! I’m sorry—I thought you were the coffee girl.”

The old woman’s amazing aquamarine eyes sparkled. “I have not been mistaken for a girl in a very long

time.”

Mikki smiled, and for a moment it felt genuine. “Would you join me?”

“Yes, I would like that.” The old woman settled herself gracefully into an adjoining chair and rearranged her

beautiful pale blue pashmina shawl around her shoulders.

“I didn’t think you lived here.” As on ani±Ђ†the first time they’d met, Mikki felt a little intimidated by the

woman’s presence. She was just so grand—in the old European fashion. There was an air of grace and culture

about everything she said or did. And then, with a jolt, Mikki remembered, and in the remembering she

wondered how she could have ever forgotten. “The perfume! Where did you get the perfume you gave me

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that night?”

Sevillana smiled, but the waitress’s delivery of their coffee and sweets kept her from saying anything. Then,

even when they were alone again, Sevillana took her time emptying the coarse sugar into her cappuccino and

stirring carefully with the tiny silver spoon before she spoke.

“There is only one place you can find such perfume, and it is in a realm that is far from here.”

Mikki felt a dizzying rush of an emotion she’d been missing for three months—hope. “You’re talking about

the Realm of the Rose.”

The old woman nodded her head slightly.

“Oh, God,” Mikki gasped.

“I believe, Mikado, that it would be more appropriate for you to exclaim ‘Oh, Goddess.’ ”

“How? How do you know about it? How did you get there, and how do I get back? What are you doing here?

Why did you—”

Sevillana’s raised hand cut off Mikki’s torrent of words.

“Everything has its order and its time. Drowning me in questions will not change that.”

“I’m sorry.” Mikki pressed her hand against her chest, afraid that her heart would pound out of her body. “I

just—I need to know . . .” She ran a trembling hand over her face and began again. “I have to get back.”

“I know, child,” Sevillana said softly. “I know.” Then the old woman’s gaze went past Mikki, and when she

spoke again her voice reminded Mikki of a sad little girl. “Did no one speak my name while you were there?

Did they not remember me at all?”

“Your name? No. Why would they—” Mikki’s eyes widened with realization. “It’s you. You are the last

Empousa.”

“No, I was Empousa. I am no longer Hecate’s High Priestess. I discarded that position when I was young and

foolish. But I have paid for my betrayal. For two hundred years I have been separated from my realm and my

goddess and have walked the mundane earth, restless and unsatisfied—a true outlander.”

“Two hundred years!” Mikki could only stare at her. “But how?”

“I have never fully understood it myself. Obviously, I age, but I do so slowly. I used to believe it was

Hecate’s way of punishing me—extending my life long enough that I was well and truly sorry for my selfish

actions. Then, in my travels decades ago I visited Tulsa and happened to attend the unveiling of its new rose

gardens . . .” She paused, her expression pained. “I recognized the Guardian statue, and I knew it had been

placed here for a reason, so I always circled back to Tulsa, waiting and watching . . . And then I met you, and

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