MIKKI stepped into the crossroads between the park and the street and then onto the sidewalk that twisted past the lovely waterfall-fed ponds that framed the north edge of Woodward Park. At the next fork in the walkway she headed up and away from the northern street side, walking toward the central area of the park, which was currently abuzz with activity around the raised stage that had only just been erected the night before. Bits and pieces of poetic lines drifted around her, teasing her with snippets of the play.

"The holy fountains flow up from the earth,

the smoke of sacrifice flows up from the earth,

the eagle and the wild swan fly up from the earth, righteousness also

has flown up from the earth to the feet of the goddess . . ."

Intrigued, she searched her memory for details of Medea's story. She vaguely remembered that the play was an ancient Greek tragedy and that the plot centered around Medea, who had been jilted by her husband, Jason, for . . . Mikki scrunched up her face as she tried to sift through the dregs of long-forgotten high school English.

. . . But women will never hate their own children.

Floating to her on the soft wind, the line jogged her cobwebby memory. Medea had been pissed at Jason because he had dumped her for a younger woman, the daughter of the king of wherever it was they had fled to after she'd betrayed her homeland to save Jason.

"Figures," she muttered to herself. "Just like a man . . ." She slowed as she approached the busy group of people who were rearranging lights and hauling pieces of freshly painted plywood setting here and there. Several actresses were onstage, but they had fallen silent. Three grouped nervously together on stage left. Another woman was standing by herself opposite them stage right. They were wearing drapey toga-like outfits, and their hair flowed long and loose down their backs. All of them were looking around as if they expected someone to materialize from the shadows at the edge of the stage. Mikki stopped to watch, wondering why they seemed so uncomfortable.

"Where in the hell is Medea?"

The voice boomed from a little open-ended tent not far from her, causing Mikki to jump.

"She . . . she said she had to take a break," the lone woman said sheepishly.

"That was half an hour ago!" the shadowed voice yelled, clearly annoyed. "How are we supposed to finish the sound check without Medea?"

Mikki's eyes slid to where the voice was coming from. All she could make out from the interior of the tent was an illuminated soundboard that had lights and switches blinking away on it, in front of which the dark figure of a man stood.

"I could wear two mikes and read her lines as well as mine," one of the three women said, shielding her eyes from the spotlights trained on the stage as she peered toward the man who Mikki decided must be the director.

"That won't work. We can't get an accurate check that way. God-damnit! I'm tired of Catie's theatrics. The little twit thinks she is Medea." The man paused, and Mikki could hear him pacing irritably back and forth over the leafy ground. Then, as if her gaze had drawn it, his head turned in her direction. "Hey you! Would you mind giving us a hand?"

Mikki looked around. No one was near her. The guy was actually talking to her.

"Me?" She laughed nervously.

"Yeah, it'll just take a few minutes. Could you go up onstage, let them key a mike to you and say a few lines?"

"I don't know the lines," Mikki said inanely.

"Doesn't matter." The man gestured at a worker who was standing near the stage. "Get the lady a script, and tell Cio to mike her." Then he turned back to Mikki. "How 'bout I give you a couple tickets to opening night for helping us out?"

"O-okay," Mikki stammered. What the heck? Nelly loved this kind of stuff - she'd take her.

Feeling only a little foolish, she let two men lead her to the stage. One thrust an open script into her hand, and the other guy, the one the director had called Cio, pushed back her hair, fitting a neat little mini-mike into her hairline.

"Hey," Cio yelled back at the director. "Her hair's as thick as that wig Catie wears."

"Good, it'll give us an accurate test."

"There's your mark," Cio told her, pointing to a line duct taped on the floor of the stage. "All you have to do is stand there and after the Corinthian women say their lines, I'll point to you and you read Medea's invocation of Hecate." He paused, took a pen from his shirt pocket and circled a paragraph in the script. "That stanza right there. Face the audience and try to speak as slowly and clearly as possible. Got it?"

Mikki nodded.

"Great." He patted her shoulder absently before exiting the stage.

"You'll be fine," one of the three ladies said, smiling at her. "This is easy-peasy."

"I don't know," Mikki whispered back at her. "I've never invoked a goddess before."

"Hey, don't worry about it. You won't invoke one tonight unless you really are Medea," the friendly looking woman said, still grinning.

"Or unless you're one of Hecate's blood priestesses," another lady chimed in.

"Or have delusions of grandeur and diva yourself into believing you're both." All of the actresses rolled their eyes at the first woman's comment. Clearly the absent lead actress had let the part go to her head.

"Ready, ladies?" the director called.

The four women sent her looks of encouragement as Mikki moved center stage to her mark.

"All right, let's get this done so we can go home. First Corinthian Woman, start us out please."

The First Corinthian Woman's voice was strong and clear as she repeated the lines Mikki had overheard earlier.

"The holy fountains flow up from the earth

the smoke of sacrifice flows up from the earth,

the eagle and the wild swan fly up from the earth . . ."

A little thrill tingled through Mikki's stomach, and her nervousness was suddenly replaced by excitement. The actress's words seemed to fill the space around her, chasing away her trepidation.

The Second Corinthian Woman spoke her lines earnestly to Mikki.

"Women hate war, but men will wage it again.

Women may hate their husbands, and sons their fathers,

but women will never hate their own children."

Mikki's eyes followed the lines on the script as the First Woman's voice trembled with emotion.

"But as for me, I will do good to my husband,

I will love my sons and daughters, and adore the gods."

From the edge of the stage Cio pointed to her, and like a horse goaded by spurs, Mikki plunged into Medea's lines.

"You will be quiet, you women.

You came to see how the barbarian woman endures betrayal;

watch and you will know."

On the script were written the words (Medea kneels and prays). Mikki glanced questioningly at Cio. He nodded and gestured to the stage floor. Drawing a deep breath, Mikki knelt and began reading the invocation.

"Not for nothing I have worshipped the wild gray

goddess who walks in the dark, the wise one,

whose dominions are the crossroads of man, wild

beasts, and ancient secret magicks,

Hecate, sweet flower of the ebony moon."

As Mikki spoke, her voice gained power and the small electric thrill that had lodged in her stomach when the First Corinthian Woman began to speak swelled throughout her body. Excitement rushed, adrenaline-like, into her throat, so that when she continued the invocation, her voice strengthened and magnified. Had she been looking at the director, she would have seen him frantically adjusting switches and turning dials. Had she glanced at the actresses onstage with her, she would have seen their mildly amused expressions change to confusion and shock. But Mikki looked nowhere except the script before her and the words that suddenly appeared, glowing, on the page as if her voice had called them alive.

"Queen of Night, hear your errant priestess's prayer.

Forgive me that I have forgotten your ways."

Mikki faltered. The small, Band-Aid-covered cut on her palm throbbed painfully. There was a great rushing sound in her ears that reminded her of the ocean. She felt the night wind, which had only moments before been gentle and cool, whip in a sudden heat around her, lifting her hair as if it, too, along with her body, had been electrified. Caressed by the wind, the unusual scent of the perfume she'd dabbed on her pulse points lifted with the breeze to fill her senses. She breathed deeply, inhaling rose and spice and heat. Overwhelmed by the exquisite beauty of the rich oil, the glowing words on the script blurred until Mikki could no longer see them. But it didn't matter. Unbelievably, she heard the lines within her mind, and with a sob, she opened her mouth and cried the words that were echoing through her head.

"I call upon you now Hecate, by the blood that runs thick in my veins and ask that you help me to return to your service and your realm so that I might once again remember the use of the blood magick and the ancient beauty that is the Realm of the Rose."

A great roar split the night, ringing in Mikki's ears with an intensity that washed her in dizziness. She blinked tears from her eyes, looking around her as if she had just awakened from a dream.

Ah, hell! I'm having one of those damn episodes! Mikki frantically tried to make sense of the bright lights and the women who were staring open-mouthed at her. The play! Crap! Crap! Mikki looked down at the script she still clutched in her sweating hands. The words printed there in ordinary black and white made no sense. They weren't the lines she had just said. What the hell had happened to her?

Three single claps came from the rear of the stage.

"Lovely job of ad-libbing. Truly moving." The voice was filled with sarcasm.

Mikki managed to get awkwardly to her feet as an attractive petite woman wearing a gold toga and a long, dark wig stepped up to her.

"But the star has returned. So I'll take my mike and my stage position, and you can run along."

Mikki felt frozen with humiliation as the actress reached up to yank the neatly hidden microphone from her hair.

"Ouch! Fuck!" the diva shrieked, pulling back her hand and sucking on her bleeding finger. "The damn thing stabbed me."

Woodenly, Mikki raised her hand to touch the rose that still sat behind her ear.

"Sorry," she muttered, quickly pulling the mike from her hair. "Mikado Roses don't usually have prominent thorns."

"Catie, darling, it's all right. She was just helping us out with the sound check." Cio rushed onstage.

Catie snatched the mike from Mikki and turned her back dismissively as the sound manager hastily began working the tiny microphone into the hairline of the star's wig.

"Someone get me a Band-Aid before I bleed to death! And my God! What is that smell? Who has on too fucking much perfume? It's like I'm standing in the middle of a bordello, not a stage. For Christ's sake! I leave for half a second and everything goes to shit!"

Two more people hurried onstage, and Mikki sidled off, ignoring the director when he called insincere thanks and reminded her that she could pick up her tickets opening night at the Garden Center.