Goddess of the Rose (Goddess Summoning #4)(19)

"There are so many of you," she told the bushes. It was obvious that she couldn't pour the usual amount of blood-tinged water on each bush. She felt her lips twitch in a sarcastic smile. She'd have to open a damn vein for that - and that was probably not a very good idea.

Assuming a businesslike stance, Mikki put her hands on her hips and addressed the roses. "How about I just sprinkle you guys with some of this water?" The bushes didn't answer, so Mikki counted that as a yes. Bending, she used both hands and began scattering the blush-colored water over the roses that surrounded her. Snapping her wrists and flicking the liquid off her fingers soon became a game. The cool evening breeze mixed with the darkness and the sweet scent of roses and earth. Mikki laughed and sprinkled the blood-kissed water all over, pretending she was a garden fairy raining magic on sleeping children.

Mikki was breathless and smiling by the time she had finished. She studied the damp bushes. It might just be her overactive imagination, but she was sure they were responding already. In the dim, watery light, she swore she could see the limp leaves straightening and the wilting blooms healing. There was more water in the cooler than she had anticipated, and she bent to pour it out onto the nearest bush when a flicker of light caught the corner of her eye as it danced over the guardian statue.

Why not? Mikki thought. Glancing around to make sure she was still alone, she carried the almost-empty cooler quickly to the marble statue.

"Your roses deserve a little extra boost, too," she told the silent beast. "After all, you've been watching over them a lot longer than I have."

Grinning, she dunked her still bleeding hand into what was left of the pink water. With practiced motions she rained drops over the roses that surrounded the statue. When she was finished she stashed the cooler near the wall next to where she had left the full bag of garbage. Noticing that she had inadvertently sprayed some of the water on the statue, she patted one of the creature's big hands.

"Oops, I didn't mean to get you wet," she said fondly. "But I'm pretty sure you understand. I mean, please. We, more or less, have the same job. You watch 'em - I watch 'em."

Digging into her purse, she retrieved a Kleenex, which she wrapped around her left palm, wincing at the tenderness of the reopened cut. She didn't really care about the pain. It had been worth it. She was certain now the roses would survive the winter to thrive and bloom again next spring.

With feet that felt light, she retraced her path out of the third tier, passing under the stone arch and climbing up the stairs. With languid, lazy steps, she walked through the second tier, staying close to the side of the path so she could occasionally reach out and brush her uninjured hand gently over a delicate bloom.

The gardens were absolutely deserted, and Mikki imagined that they were hers - that she was a great lady who lived in a huge mansion and whose only job was to tend to and enjoy her roses.

The night seemed to agree with her. There was no noise at all, not even any echoes of the actresses from Woodward Park, which relieved her because it meant they must have finished and gone home. Thankfully, she wouldn't have to face them again.

It was so silent that Mikki imagined a soundless bubble had been formed around her made of roses and cool October air.

The silence lent itself to listening, so Mikki noticed the noise immediately. It began as a strange, shattering sound, and it came from somewhere behind her - somewhere on the third tier. The sound made her jump in surprise. It reminded her of the crack of faraway thunder. She even glanced up at the sky, half expecting to see clouds announcing the coming of a storm.

No, the night was clear. Thousands of stars spattered the thick ink of the sky; there was not even a hint of clouds above her. Mikki stopped and listened carefully. When she heard nothing more she decided the sound must have been caused by a rabbit or maybe a wandering cat.

"Probably knocking over some of the construction workers' garbage," she told the rosebush nearest to her.

Mikki walked on, ignoring the fact that her feet were carrying her forward more quickly and the hair on the back of her neck felt prickly and on edge.

The other noise started as soon as she reached the middle of the second tier. At first she thought it was the echo of her boots bouncing back from the rock wall that framed one tier from the next. Two more steps forward were enough to assure her that she wasn't hearing an echo. She was hearing independent footsteps. They crunched on the pathway with a decidedly heavier tread than her neat little boot taps.

But it wasn't the footsteps themselves that were odd. Lots of people liked to walk the rose garden paths, even after nine o'clock on a cool fall night. It was the distinctive noise that went along with the steps that caught Mikki's attention. She heard it once and discounted it.

She heard it a second time and halted, pretending to stop and smell a particularly lovely Princesse de Monaco. Actually, she was listening with every fiber of her being.

The third time she heard it she was sure. It was an achingly familiar grunt . . . a deep, rumbling exhalation that was somewhere between a growl and a snarl. It passed through her body in an intimate wave that caused her to shiver. Mikki's eyes widened in shock. There could be no other noise like that, and no other being could make such a sound except the creature from her dreams. And it was coming closer to her with every heavy step.

No f**king way! her rational mind screamed. That's utterly impossible.