Free Goddess of the Rose by P. C. Cast Page A

books and sketch pads. That night Mikki was relieved to see that the only other human activity was a couple of lovers who were making out on a blanket at the edge of the top tier. She ignored them, and they ignored her. Mikki preferred it that way. She loved to have the roses to herself. She walked lazily through the gardens, pausing often to visit beds of her personal favorites. The night was quiet, and except for the wind playing through the trees, the hypnotic tinkling of water and the muffled tap-tap of her boot heels against the pebbled cement of the pathways, there was little outside noise. It was like the roses created a sound barrier between their gardens and the rest of the world.
    The disappointing date in the past and the Medea fiasco forgotten, Mikki was thoroughly enjoying herself once again as she chose the wide stairway that ran down the right side of the third tier. Hurrying, she almost skipped down the steps that led to the heart of the gardens. The bottom of the rocky stairs was framed by a large archway made of heavy rock. She stepped through that amazing arch of stone and, as always, she felt like she was entering another world. Mikki smiled and glanced to her left.
    â€œAnd you know you’re a big part of the reason why.” She spoke to the enormous statue that perched 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.
    â€œHello, 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.
    â€œDon’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.
    â€œIt’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