Tied With a Bow

in one deeply erotic dream, he made love to her on a mountain ridge under an amber sky. That dream left her twisted in her sheets, aching for him, and she woke breathless.
    Recently, the dreams had taken a darker turn. There were scenes of him fighting with another man, the one with white-blond hair and alabaster skin. She was often caught in the middle. What the hell does it all mean? she wondered.
    The memories of her dreams of the bronze man haunted her by day and chased her by night. Over the years, she’d tried to put a name to his face. She’d looked through thousands of student photos and had asked questions on message boards and alumni loops. No leads ever panned out. The man was a ghost. A ghost who lived in her subconscious and tantalized her. A mystery that could not be solved, but would not fade. For someone like Kate, it was torture.
    She’d begun to imagine that the ring had some sort of supernatural power, which initially had seemed ridiculous, but then she’d wondered, Why not? Magic existed. Muses and vampires proved that—although the vampires were all gone now, and the magic wielded by the muses was subtle and led to great things like Pulitzer Prizes rather than to unsettling recurring dreams that always left her wanting more. More information. And more of him.
     
     
    Determined to photograph the sunrise from a new vantage, Kate washed down a breakfast taco with milk and pulled on her ski jacket. She adjusted her camera strap and hung it from her neck, then clicked her boots closed. She took a deep breath as she stepped out onto the deck, bracing herself. The cold clean air startled her lungs in the best possible way.
    Once on her skis, she set out at a brisk pace, thinking about the upcoming night. As an aspirant—a human chosen to receive muse attention and magic—she would attend the muses’ exclusive holiday party. It was an invitation coveted by most of the world, and she’d been excited about it for months. This was her chance to celebrate her and Alissa’s accomplishments. With Alissa’s help, Kate had won awards and climbed to the top of her profession in seven short years.
    Dawn’s first light emerged, and Kate slowed to a stop. She raised her camera and trained the lens in different directions. So often, she chose the mountains for a backdrop, but this morning she wanted the endless expanse of snow stretched over what in summer was a field of yellow wildflowers.
    She popped out of her skis and lowered herself to rest her knee on the trail. The contours of the drifted snow were even more breathtaking from the new angle. Finding her shot, she waited for stronger light and saw a beam of it. She chased it with her camera, centering it within the frame. As her finger depressed the button, she paused. Something disturbed the snow’s perfect lines. She zoomed in, and her breath caught when she realized it was a hand, pale and unmoving.
    She shuddered, lowering her camera. Shocked, a part of her wanted to return home and call the police, but the investigative reporter within her moved of its own accord. She dropped the camera against her chest, not even bothering to cover the lens. She snapped her boots back into her skis and pointed them off the trail.
    Her legs glided back and forth in a steady rhythm; she was determined to learn who was dead and half buried in the snow.
    When she was only a few feet away, she noticed that there were no tracks around the body. She came to a stop next to the wintry crater that held him. The folds of snow cradled him like billowing fabric.
    “Oh my God,” she said, forgetting to breathe when she realized who it was.
    No!
    Frosted strands of brown hair clung to his neck and shoulders. Her body trembled.
    It can’t be.
    No, this is wrong—he can’t be dead, she thought frantically, staring at his handsome lifeless face. Her heart squeezed tight in her chest. All those dreams . . . all those moments . . . I was supposed to meet him, not find his body.
    Her eyes misted. I was supposed to have . . . What? A violent passion that consumed her? Something that would rival her love for her work? Yes. She had wanted something epic with this man.
    Wait! This—this is a dream. It’s a nightmare! she thought desperately. With trembling fingers she touched his outstretched hand, finding it cool as frost.
    His hand twitched.
    She gasped, recoiling in shock, then dropped to her knees next to him. He opened his eyes, the dark hazel reflecting the light. They