Key of Light, Page 29

  It was her face she’d painted. Her face and the first Daughter of Glass. She stood in a forest, full of sparkling gold light, softened with green shadows, with the river sliding over rock like tears.

  Her sisters sat on the ground behind her, their hands clasped.

  Venora, for she knew it was Venora, carried her harp, and with her face lifted toward the sky you could almost hear the song she sang.

  “Did you think I would settle for cold illusion when I have a chance for the real thing? Did you think I’d trade my life, and her soul, for a dream? You underestimate mortals, Kane.”

  As he spun toward her, fury leaping off him like flames, she prayed she hadn’t overestimated herself, or Rowena.

  “The first key is mine.” As she spoke she reached toward the painting, reached into it. A stunning blast of heat shot up her arm as she closed her fingers around the key she’d painted at the feet of the goddess.

  The key that gleamed in a beam of light that cut the shadows like a gilded sword.

  She felt its shape, its substance, then with a cry of victory, she drew it free. “This is my choice. And you can go to hell.”

  The mists roiled as he cursed her. As he lifted his hand to strike, both Flynn and Moe burst through the wall. With a barrage of sharp, staccato barks, Moe leaped.

  Kane faded like a shadow in the dark, and was gone.

  As Flynn plucked Malory off her feet, sunlight shimmered in the tiny windows, and rain dripped musically from the eaves outside. The room was only an attic, filled with dust and clutter.

  The painting she’d created out of love, knowledge, and courage was gone.

  “I’ve got you.” Flynn buried his face in her hair as Moe leaped on them. “You’re all right. I’ve got you.”

  “I know. I know.” She began to weep quietly as she looked down at the key still clutched in her fingers. “I painted it.” She held it out to Dana and Zoe. “I have the key.”

  BECAUSE she insisted, Flynn drove her directly to Warrior’s Peak, with Dana and Zoe following. He kept the heater on high, and had wrapped her in a blanket from his trunk that unfortunately smelled of Moe. And still she shivered.

  “You need a hot bath or something. Tea. Soup.” He dragged a hand that was still far from steady through his hair. “I don’t know. Brandy.”

  “I’ll take all of the above,” she promised, “as soon as we get the key where it belongs. I won’t be able to relax until it’s out of my hand.”

  She clutched it in a fist held tight to her breast.

  “I don’t know how it can be in my hand.”

  “Neither do I. Maybe if you explain it to me, we’ll both get it.”

  “He tried to confuse me, the way he separated us. To make me feel lost and alone and afraid. But he must have some limits. He couldn’t keep all three of us, and you, in those illusions. Not all at once. We’re connected, and we’re stronger than he realized. At least that’s what I think.”

  “I can go with that. To give him credit, he had Rhoda pretty much down pat.”

  “I made him mad, just mad enough, I guess. I knew the key was in the house.” She pulled the blanket a little tighter, but couldn’t find warmth. “I’m not telling this in good journalistic style.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll edit it later. How did you know?”

  “The attic’s where I made the choice, when he showed me all the things I wanted so much. I realized that was the dream place once I went upstairs with Zoe and Dana. And the studio, the artist’s studio, had been on the top floor. The attic. It had to be where I had that moment of decision—like in the paintings. At first I thought we would have to hunt through whatever was up there, and we’d find something that jibed with the clue. But it was more than that, and less.”

  She closed her eyes and sighed.

  “You’re tired. Just rest until we get there. We can talk later.”

  “No, I’m okay. It was so strange, Flynn. When I got up there and I realized it all. My place—in reality and in my dream. And how he brought the dream back, tried to slide me into it. I let him think he had. I thought about the clue and saw the painting in my head. I knew how to paint it, every stroke. The third painting of the set.

  “The key wasn’t in the world he created for me,” she said as she turned to him. “But it was in what I created, if I had the courage to do it. If I could see the beauty of it, and make it real. He gave me the power to bring the key into the illusion.”

  To forge it, she thought, with love.

  “I bet that burns his ass.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, that’s a nice side benefit. I heard you.”

  “What?”

  “I heard you calling to me. All of you, but especially you. I couldn’t answer you. I’m sorry because I know you were afraid for me. But I couldn’t let him know I heard.”

  He reached over to cover her hand with his. “I couldn’t get to you. I didn’t know what fear was until then, when I couldn’t get to you.”

  “I was afraid at first that it was just another of his tricks. I was afraid that if I turned around and saw you, I’d break. Your poor hands.” She lifted his hand, pressed her lips gently to the torn knuckles. “My hero. Heroes,” she corrected, looking back at Moe.

  She kept her hand in his as they drove through the gates at Warrior’s Peak.

  Rowena stepped out, her hands folded at the waist of a flame-red sweater. Malory could see the gleam of tears in her eyes as she walked across the portico to meet them.

  “You’re safe, and well?” She touched Malory’s cheek, and the chill Malory had been unable to shake slid into blessed warmth.

  “Yes, I’m fine. I have—”

  “Not yet. Your hands.” She laid her palms under Flynn’s, lifted them. “This will scar,” she said. “There, beneath the third knuckle of your left hand. A symbol, Flynn. Herald and warrior.”

  She opened the back door of the car herself so Moe could leap out and greet her with wags and licks. “Ah, there, the fierce and brave one.” She hugged him, then leaned back on her heels, listening attentively as he barked and grumbled. “Yes, you had quite the adventure.” She rose, resting a hand on Moe’s head as she smiled at Dana and Zoe. “All of you did. Please come in.”

  Moe didn’t need to be asked twice. He bounded across the stones and straight through the doorway where Pitte stood. Pitte raised an elegant eyebrow as the dog skidded over the foyer floor, then turned the look onto Rowena.

  She only laughed and hooked an arm through Flynn’s. “I have a gift for the loyal and courageous Moe, if you’ll allow it.”

  “Sure. Look, we appreciate the hospitality, but Malory’s pretty worn out, so—”

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  “We won’t keep you long.” Pitte gestured them into what Malory thought of as the portrait room. “We’re in your debt, more than can be paid. What you’ve done, whatever tomorrow brings, will never be forgotten.” He tipped Malory’s face up with one long finger and laid his lips on hers.

  Zoe nudged Dana. “I think we’re getting gypped in this one-for-all deal.”

  Pitte glanced over, and his sudden grin was alive with charm. “My woman is a jealous creature.”

  “No such thing,” Rowena objected, then lifted a brightly woven collar from a table. “These symbols speak of valor, and a true heart. The colors are also symbolic. Red for courage, blue for friendship, black for protection.”

  She crouched to remove Moe’s frayed and faded collar and replace it.

  He sat through the business of it, Flynn thought, with the stalwart dignity of a soldier being awarded a medal.

  “There. How handsome you are.” Rowena kissed Moe’s nose, then got to her feet. “Will you still bring him to see me, now and then?” she asked Flynn.

  “Sure.”

  “Kane underestimated you. All of you—heart and spirit and spine.”

  “He’s unlikely to do so again,” Pitte pointed out, but Rowena shook her head.

 
; “This is a time for joy. You are the first,” she told Malory.

  “I know. I wanted to get this to you right away.” She started to hold out the key, then stopped. “Wait. Do you mean I’m the first? The first to ever find a key?”

  Saying nothing, Rowena turned to Pitte. He walked to a carved chest beneath the window, lifted the lid. The blue light that spilled out made Malory’s stomach clutch. But this was different from the mist, she realized. This was deeper, brighter.

  Then he lifted from the chest a glass box alive with that light, and her throat filled with tears. “The Box of Souls.”

  “You are the first,” Pitte repeated as he set the box on a marble pedestal. “The first mortal to turn the first key.”

  He turned, stood beside the box. He was the soldier now, Malory thought, the warrior at guard. Rowena stepped to the other side so they flanked the glass and the swirling blue lights inside it.

  “It’s for you to do,” Rowena said quietly. “It was always for you to do.”

  Malory clutched the key tighter in her fist. Her chest was so full it hurt and still seemed incapable of containing the galloping racing of her heart. She tried to draw a calming breath, but it came out short and sharp. As she stepped closer, those lights seemed to fill her vision, then the room. Then the world.

  Her fingers wanted to tremble, but she bore down. She would not do this thing with a shaking hand.

  She slid the key into the first of the three locks worked into the glass. She saw the light spread up the metal and onto her fingers, bright as hope. And she turned the key in the lock.

  There was a sound—she thought there was a sound. But it was no more than a quiet sigh. Even as it faded, the key dissolved in her fingers.

  The first lock vanished, and there were two.

  “It’s gone. Just gone.”

  “A symbol again, for us,” Rowena said and laid a hand gently on the box. “For them. Two are left.”

  “Do we . . .” They were weeping inside that glass, Dana thought. She could almost hear them, and it ripped at her heart. “Do we pick now, which one of us goes next?”

  “Not today. You should rest your minds and hearts.” Rowena turned to Pitte. “There should be champagne in the parlor. Would you see to our guests? I’d like a private word with Malory before we join you.”

  She lifted the glass box herself, carefully placed it back in the chest. When she was alone with Malory she turned. “Pitte said we owe you a debt we can never pay. That’s true.”

  “I agreed to look for the key, and I was paid,” Malory corrected. She looked at the chest, imagined the box within. “It seems wrong now to have taken the money.”

  “The money is nothing to us, I promise you. Others have taken it and done nothing. Others have tried and failed. And you’ve done something brave and interesting with the money.”

  She crossed over, took Malory’s hands in hers. “That pleases me. But it isn’t dollars and cents I speak of when I speak of debt. If not for me, there would be no Box of Souls, no keys, no locks. You wouldn’t have had to face what you faced today.”

  “You love them.” Malory gestured toward the chest.

  “As sisters. Young, sweet sisters. Well . . .” She walked over to look at the portrait. “I have hope to see them like this again. I can give you a gift, Malory. It’s my right to do so. You refused what Kane offered you.”

  “It wasn’t real.”

  “It can be.” She turned back. “I can make it real. What you felt, what you knew, what you had inside you. I can give you the power you had in his illusion.”

  Dizzy, Malory groped for the arm of a chair, then slowly lowered herself into it. “You can give me painting.”

  “I understand the need—and the joys and pain of having that beauty inside you, feeling it leap out.” She laughed. “Or fighting to get it out, which is every bit as brilliant. You can have it. My gift to you.”

  For a moment, the idea of it swarmed through Malory, intoxicating as wine, seductive as love. And she saw Rowena watching her, so calm, so steady, with a soft smile on her lips.

  “You’d give me yours,” Malory realized. “That’s what you mean. You would give me your talent, your skill, your vision.”

  “It would be yours.”

  “No, it would never be mine. And I would always know it. I . . . painted them because I could see them. Just as I could see them in that first dream. As if I were there, in the painting. And I painted the key. I forged the key, was able to because I loved enough to give it up. I chose the light instead of the shadow. Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Having made that choice, knowing it was the right one, I can’t take what’s yours. But thank you,” she said as she rose. “It’s nice to know I can be happy doing what I do. I’m going to make a beautiful shop, and a successful business. And a damn good life,” she added.

  “I have no doubt. Will you take this, then?” Rowena gestured, smiling when Malory let out a shocked gasp.

  “The Singing Goddess.” She rushed to the framed canvas that rested on a table. “The painting I did when Kane . . .”

  “You painted it.” Rowena joined her, laid a hand on her shoulder. “Whatever his trick, this was your vision, and your heart that found the answer. But if having this, if seeing it is painful, I can put it away.”

  “No, it’s not painful. It’s a wonderful gift. Rowena, this was an illusion. You brought it into my reality. It’s solid. It exists.” Bracing herself, she stepped back, kept her eyes level with Rowena’s. “Can you—have you done the same with emotions?”

  “You question if your feelings for Flynn are real?”

  “No. I know they are.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “This is no illusion. But his for me—if that’s some kind of reward . . . it’s not fair to him, and I can’t accept it.”

  “You would give him up.”

  “No.” Her expression went combative. “Hell, no. I’d just deal with it, and him, until he fell in love with me. If I can find some mystical key, I can sure as hell make Michael Flynn Hennessy realize I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Which I am,” she added. “Which I absolutely am.”

  “I like you, very much,” Rowena said with a grin. “And I’ll promise you this. When Flynn walks into this room again, whatever he feels or doesn’t feel will be a true reflection of his heart. The rest is up to you. Wait here, I’ll send him in.”

  “Rowena? When will we begin the second round?”

  “Soon,” Rowena called out as she left the room. “Very soon.”

  Which one of them would be next? Malory wondered as she studied the portrait. And what would the second one risk? What would she win or lose in the search?

  She’d lost one love, she thought, lifting her painting. One love, so briefly tasted. And now, with Flynn, she had to risk another. The most vital love of her life.

  “I brought you some of this very jazzy champagne,” Flynn said, walking in with two brimming flutes. “You’re missing the party. Pitte actually laughed. It was a moment.”

  “I just needed a couple of minutes first.” She set the painting down and reached for a glass.

  “What’s this? One of Rowena’s?” He hooked an arm companionably around Malory’s shoulder, and she felt his body stiffen when he understood. “It’s yours? This is what you did? The painting you did in the attic, with the key. It’s here.”

  He brushed his fingers over the gold key, only painted now, at the feet of the goddess. “It’s amazing.”

  “Even more when you’re the one who reached into a painting and pulled out a magic key.”

  “No. I mean, yeah, that’s out there. But I meant the whole thing. It’s beautiful, Malory. Hell, it’s stupendous. You gave this up.” He spoke softly, then looked over at her. “You’re the one who’s amazing.”

  “I’ll have this. Rowena clicked her heels together, twitched her nose, whatever she does, and brought it here for me. It means a lot to have it. Flynn . .
.”

  She had to take a drink, had to put some distance between them. Whatever she’d said to Rowena, she understood now that she was a about to do something much more wrenching than giving up a talent with paint and brush.

  “This has been a strange month, for all of us.”

  “And then some,” he agreed.

  “Most of what’s happened, it’s beyond the scope of anything we could have imagined, anything we might have believed a few weeks ago. And what’s happened, it’s changed me. In a good way,” she added, turning toward him. “I like to think it’s a good way.”

  “If you’re going to tell me you turned the key in that lock, and now you don’t love me anymore, that’s too damn bad for you. Because you’re stuck.”

  “No, I’m . . . Stuck?” she repeated. “What do you mean stuck?”

  “With me, my ugly couch and my sloppy dog. You’re not wiggling your way out of it, Malory.”

  “Don’t take that tone with me.” She set the flute down. “And don’t think for one minute you can stand there and tell me I’m stuck with you, because you’re stuck with me.”

  He set his flute beside hers. “Is that right?”

  “That’s exactly right. I’ve just outwitted an evil Celtic god. You’re child’s play for me.”

  “You want to fight?”

  “Maybe.”

  They both grabbed for each other. With his mouth on hers, she let out a strangled sigh. And held on for her life. She drew back, but kept her arms linked around his neck.

  “I’m exactly right for you, Flynn.”

  “Then it’s really handy that I’m in love with you. You’re my key, Mal. The one key to all the locks.”

  “You know what I want right now? I want a hot bath, some soup, and a nap on an ugly couch.”

  “Today’s your lucky day. I can arrange that for you.” Taking her hand, he led her from the room.

  Later, Rowena leaned her head against Pitte’s shoulder as they watched the cars drive away.

  “It’s a good day,” she told him. “I know it’s not over, but today is a good day.”

  “We have a little time before we begin the next.”

  “A few days, then the four weeks. Kane will watch them more carefully now.”

  “So will we.”

  “Beauty prevailed. Now knowledge and courage will be tested. There’s so little, really, that we can do to help. But these mortals are strong and clever.”

  “Odd creatures,” Pitte commented.

  “Yes.” She smiled up at him. “Odd, and endlessly fascinating.”

  They stepped back into the house, closed the door. At the end of the drive, the iron gates quietly swung shut. The warriors that flanked them would stand vigil through the next phase of the moon.