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

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 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.
    â€œWould 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.
    â€œThis 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.
    â€œOh, no!” She felt her stomach clench