Goddess of the Rose (Goddess Summoning #4)(18)

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.

"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.

It only took a second for her to work the Band-Aid free from her left palm. The cut was already scabbing over, but her flesh was still pink and tender from the knife wound. Mikki rested her right thumbnail against the little slash line. Holding her breath, she closed her eyes and pressed her nail into the wound, forcing it open again.

Mikki sucked her breath in at the sudden pain. But when she opened her eyes, she was relieved to see the darkness of fresh blood flowing into her palm. With a grimace, she dunked her hand into the pool of water held by the cooler.

She certainly had a lot of disinfecting to do when she got home.

Trying not to think about how much her palm ached, she began dragging the full cooler across the stony path back to the bed of sick roses. Once inside the construction area, she straightened, unsure of her next move.