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light was too dim, and she couldn t make out the words, but she didn t have to
read them to know that what had come out of her mouth had definitely not been
what had been written on the script. She remembered all too well seeing the
lines glow and then hearing them ring in her mind. She ran a shaky hand
through her hair.
What was happening to her? She should go home. Maybe she should call Nelly. If
having a totally embarrassing hallucination in front of multiple people didn t
constitute an emergency of enormous girlfriend proportions, she didn t know
what did.
Just then Mikki topped the little rise and came to a halt. The Tulsa Municipal
Rose Gardens stretched before her like a familiar dream, comforting her frayed
nerves. Just what exactly was so terrible about what she d just done? What had
really happened had probably more to do with three glasses of wine and being
freaked out by suddenly being thrust onstage than with psychosis. She shoved
the script into her purse. When she got home she d reread Medea s words. What
she had said was probably close to the original text. She needed to quit being
so hard on herself. It was ridiculous to focus on every little mistake she
made and every little daydream she allowed herself. She grinned suddenly.
She d even pick up the free tickets and consider heckling diva Catie on
opening night.
Mikki felt the pull of her beloved gardens dissipate the last of her nervous
stress as she gazed out across the expanse of roses. The gardens had been
built in the shape of a gigantic tiered rectangle that always reminded Mikki
of a huge, Italian wedding cake. There were five sections of terraced gardens,
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which climbed almost 900 feet from street level. Each tier was filled with row
after row of meticulously tended roses. The gardens were styled after the
gardens made popular during the Italian Renaissance, and amidst the more than
9,000 roses and imported statuary were Italian junipers, sheared by hand into
formal, conical shapes, southern Magnolias, as well as deciduous holly and
mugo pines.
Each level also held its own distinctive water element. The gardens boasted
everything from peaceful, deep reflective pools and ancient-looking spouting
wall fixtures to the graceful, cascading fountain situated as the garden s
water showpiece in the magnificent center of the third and largest level.
It was fully dark, and, unlike Woodward Park, the rose gardens didn t have
freestanding lights. Instead, each water feature was lit from underneath. The
effect was spectacular. The gardens seemed to glow, suspended in the
flickering illumination of rose-scented water. A whimsical breeze lifted
Mikki s thick hair, pulling her forward. Eagerly, she crossed the boundary
between the two parks and drew in a deep breath. Roses filled her senses.
 Heaven couldn t smell any better, she whispered.
As if her feet made the choice for her, Mikki started down her favorite
walkway, working her way slowly toward the center most garden area. Some
nights the grounds remained filled with people almost until closing. They
brought chairs and picnic baskets, 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.
 And 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.
 Hello, 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.
 Don 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
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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.
 It 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 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 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]