Goddess of the Rose (11 page)

At least she was having an expensive delusion.

Actually,
expensive
didn't begin to describe the room. It was more like obscenely
RICH.
Definitely spelled with capital letters.

The stuff of fairy tales
, her mind prodded.

Mikki ignored her mind, which had already proven totally untrustworthy, and looked around. She knew the room. Her fantastic dreams always began in this very room, but the images her sleeping mind had retained had been fleeting. Typically, when Mikki awoke she could only remember that she had been in “the room” again and that the room had given her a sense of comfort, setting a pleasurable stage for the rest of her dream experiences.

What was it the brunette had said?
You are home, Priestess!

Impossible. Home was a nice little apartment in a great location, not a room fit for a princess. Mikki's admiring gaze took in her surroundings. Princess, hell, the room had been made for a goddess. The light from the wall of windows was dim, but three huge crystal chandeliers hung suspended from the ceiling on golden chains. Their many candles mixed with the freestanding candelabrum that perfectly accented the corners of the room, as well as the enormous fireplace in which a fire crackled and popped cheerily—the entire effect was to cast the chamber in the warm glow of living flame. The gold and scarlet color scheme of the bed linens was reflected in the rest of the room. The carpet was plush, incredibly soft, and the color of untouched snow. The marbled walls were the color of clouds streaked through with delicate veins of gold and hung with ornate tapestries. Their intricate designs were all—Mikki grinned in pleased surprise—roses! Each tapestry was a woven marvel. Not able to stop herself, Mikki drifted over to the closest of the works of art and sucked in a sudden breath.

The tapestry rose was the Mikado.

Her eyes went from wall to wall. Each hanging was filled with artistic renditions of roses so real Mikki almost expected to be able to smell their delicate bouquet. And each and every one of them was of the Mikado Rose.

“Consistency should count for something, even if it's delusional,” she said firmly.

Intrigued by what her mind was concocting, Mikki explored the room. Beautifully carved wardrobes rested elegantly between wall hangings, and a huge mirrored vanity was placed not far from the canopied bed. It seemed to be waiting for a fairy princess or goddess to sit before it and primp. The tinkling light of the closest chandelier caught Mikki's eye, and she looked up. The walls stretched to an incredible height. Mikki had to tilt her head back to see the domed ceiling far above, which was painted with delicate frescos of blood-and-gold-colored Mikado Roses.

Incredulous, Mikki muttered, “Where the hell am I?” How could her mind have fabricated such an amazing “reality”?
Maybe I didn't fabricate this . . . maybe this is real and my old, boring, uneventful life was the dream.
The thought, more elusive than smoke, drifted through her be-dazzled mind.

Trying not to feel like an interloper, she stood, wiggling her bare toes into the lush carpet.

Bare toes?

She looked down at herself. She was wearing a long, white robe that V-ed deeply to expose a generous amount of cleavage. The sleeves were trimmed in lace that circled her wrists. The entire garment was embroidered with tiny scarlet roses. Mikki rubbed a finger against the material; she had never felt anything like it. It wasn't exactly silk, but it was too soft and slick to be cotton. Expensive linen? Whatever it was, it was certainly flattering. It flowed in a diaphanous wave down her body, showing just enough flesh to be seductive without being sluttish. Mikki swung one long leg out in front of her, loving the richness of the fabric against her naked skin.

“Naked?” She froze. Then, holding the top of the dress away from her chest, she peered down at her body. “Very naked,” she whispered, feeling her cheeks warm.

How had she gotten that way? Or more to the point,
who
had gotten her that way? Probably the little handmaidens, she told herself (
please, oh please
, her mind shying away from the memory of the beast that had so doggedly pursued her). Even though they were strangers, they were definitely female. Having talked herself into feeling relieved, she let one hand absently caress her sleeve. The tangible touch of the fabric soothed her frayed nerves. She lifted her hand to look more closely at the filigreed lace, and she noticed the pad of her hand was scabbed over but still sore when she pressed on it.

She clearly remembered cutting them when the perfume bottle had broken last night. Mikki pressed the healing scabs again and winced. The cuts were real. She breathed deeply and, sure enough, the scent of the exotic perfume she'd dabbed on her pulse points, as well as smeared all over her hand, wafted distinctly to her nose. Surely a hallucination couldn't include so many of her senses. Could it?

Mikki sighed and walked to the wall of windows. As she got closer to them, she realized that the middle panes had marble handles and opened outward to an enormous balcony. She pressed her face close to the glass, trying to see through the fading light. All she could make out was the distant outline of the balustraded balcony. Beyond that, she could only see vague, dark shapes. And then the glass fogged over with her breath.

“Don't be such a sissy,” she told her reflection. Ignoring the fluttering of her heart, she turned the handle and stepped out into the cool evening.

The balcony seemed to stretch on forever. It was a smooth pane of pearl-colored marble that curved gracefully in an elliptical shape. On either side of her it wrapped out of sight around that section of the . . .

. . . Castle!

Mikki gulped and turned to face the imposing structure behind her.

“Ohmydearlord!” Stunned, she stared wide-eyed. The building was made of the same opaque marble as the balcony, and, on closer inspection, looked more like a huge palace than a traditional castle. It rose above her like a man-made mountain and stretched to either side of her as far as she could see. It appeared to be elevated, as if it had been built on a cliff. Mikki gawked, totally amazed. From where she stood, she could tell that there were several rounded wings that climbed above what appeared to be the basic palace structure. Through huge picture windows she glimpsed flickers of light. She gazed at the palace and a key turned within her.

“I couldn't have made this up,” she said, letting the sound of her own voice reinforce her words. “If I was going to dream up a palace or a castle or whatever, I would have made up something like Cinderella's fairy-tale castle, and I mean straight out of Disney.” She shook her head. “Not this—I could not have fabricated this.” Her hands lifted and then fell helplessly. “I don't know where I am, or what has happened, but this can't be taking place only in my mind.”

Behind her a sputtering, popping noise drew her attention, and she turned. Past the edge of the balcony, lights flickered. Swallowing hard, she started forward. It took her more than thirty steps to reach the carved balustrades that supported the balcony's edge. The flat marble top reached just above the level of her waist, and with a catch in her breath, she leaned against it as she gazed down upon the grounds.

“Roses!” Mikki cried in delight. The palace was surrounded by an enormous circle of mazelike rose beds intermingled with ornate trees, hedges, fountains and statuary. In the heart of the gardens she thought she saw the dark outline of another structure, but fading day had not left enough light for her to distinguish anything clearly, even though sprinkled throughout the grounds were winking sconces of open flame that were either suspended from branches of trees or held by thick torches that sprang from the ground. The muffled sputtering noise sounded again, and Mikki watched as the wispy outline of a silk-draped girl lit one of the torches. Soon, Mikki noticed many such girls moving soundlessly along the garden paths and, cometlike, leaving flickering tails of flame in their wake. Staring out at the unbelievable sight, she felt a rush of nausea.

“See!” Mikki waved her hand in a frustrated gesture, fighting back the dizzying sickness. “There's another thing I don't think I could have made up—little nymphlike servants lighting tiki torches.”

“You are not fabricating what you are seeing, nor are you going mad, Mikado Empousai.”

Mikki sucked in a breath and jumped as a woman's strong, throaty voice surprised her. Shock chased away the weird vertigo feeling that had gripped her. She turned quickly to a woman who had suddenly materialized and who no doubt reigned supreme over them all. Overwhelmed, Mikki couldn't find her voice. She could only stare at the woman like an awestruck child.

She was tall and wide shouldered with a statuesque, appealing body and a strong, intelligent face. Her lips were full and crimson, and her wide, watchful eyes were a startling, piercing gray. She wore a gown that was layer upon layer of shining black silk, draped to flowing perfection around her body; the curve of her waist was girdled with a chain of silver roses linked together by stems of rubies. Through a slit in the shimmery gown Mikki could see part of her long, slender leg—so perfect it appeared to be carved from living marble. Her feet were covered with golden sandals, and beside them reclined two of the most enormous dogs Mikki had ever seen. The black creatures unblinkingly met her gaze with eyes that glowed an unearthly red, and Mikki hastily looked away, her startled gaze skipping from the flaming torch the woman held in one hand, to the gleaming headdress that was wrapped around her head. Nestling in her dark, intricately braided hair was a waterfall of shining pinpoints of light. They twinkled like miniature stars in the night of her hair.

Then the woman spoke again, and the power that filled her voice sent a thrill of fear through Mikki.

“I am the Goddess Hecate, and I welcome you to the Realm of the Rose.”

CHAPTER NINE

“
H
ECATE?” Mikki's mouth felt numb again. There was something unnamable about the woman that caused her knees to go to liquid as she automatically moved back until she was pressed against the marble railing. “Medea's Hecate?” she rasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Indeed, I am Medea's goddess.” Hecate spoke in hard, sharp words. “If you faint like a typically weak woman, I will be very displeased, Mikado.”

“I've never fainted before.” Mikki blurted the first thing that came to her amazed mind.

“Do not start now,” the goddess said.

Mikki could only nod with a jerky motion of her head.

Hecate studied Mikki silently. Her strong face was inscrutable, and Mikki had a childish, nerve-filled desire to wring her hands and fidget, but she forced her arms to her side and stood still, even though the goddess's gaze was so sharp she imagined she could feel its touch.

“I am not simply Medea's goddess.” Hecate broke the silence suddenly. “I am Goddess of Beasts, Magick and the Ebony Moon. I have dominion over the dark of night, dreams and the crossroads between the known and unknown.” The goddess's words rang with authority, and Mikki felt the power of them slide over her skin like hungry, searching snakes. Then Hecate's voice lowered dangerously, and Mikki had to work hard not to cringe away from her in fear. “I knew your mother, Mikado, and her mother before her, and hers before that . . . for generations I have watched the women of your family. I continued to watch and stay faithful to them, even after the women all but forgot me.”

Complete surprise had Mikki crying, “My mother! My grandmother! How? I don't understand any of this.”

Almost imperceptibly, the goddess's expression softened. “Have you never wondered at the origin of the gifts you've been given, Mikado?”

“Gifts?”

“Yes! Think!” the goddess snapped. The dogs at her feet growled restlessly. “Do not stand there stupidly as if you are a man and can think with naught but the flesh that hangs between your legs! Acknowledge your gifts, Empousa!”

Mikki responded automatically to the goddess's command with a voice that shook only a little. “My blood makes roses grow. I mix my blood with water and during the new moon . . .” She paused, eyes widening as she realized what the title, Goddess of the Ebony Moon, implied. “During the new moon I feed my roses with my blood.”

“And your roses always grow,” the goddess finished for her.

“Always,” Mikki whispered.

“That is one gift. The other is also something the women in your family have carried with them from generation to generation,” Hecate said.

Thinking, Mikki frowned. Then her face cleared. “My last name! All the women in my family always keep their last name, Empousai. We never change it—no matter what. It's tradition, an unwritten rule that we've followed for generation after generation. Even when it was unheard of for a woman to insist that she keep her own name and not automatically take her husband's, the Empousai women stuck to their tradition. Trust funds have been set up and whole wills have been written under the strict provision that the Empousai women always retain their name. My mother told me stories about Empousai brides who broke off engagements when men refused to follow the tradition.” Mikki clamped her mouth shut suddenly, certain that she was babbling like a hysterical fool.

Hecate dipped her head in brief acknowledgment. “That is because within the veins of the women of your family runs the rich blood of the Empousa—my most cherished priestesses. It has been a long wait, but it gladdens my heart that finally you have rekindled the goddess flame within you, anointed yourself, mixed blood and water, and called upon my name.” For an instant the goddess's formidable face almost looked kind. “You can see that I rewarded your faith. You awakened my Guardian, and you have returned to the Realm of the Rose.”