Key of Light k-1

by Nora Robets

  Pleased that she wouldn't have to search the building to find her, Malory walked over. She wagged her fingers as Dana nodded at her and finished the call.

  "I was hoping you'd come by. Didn't expect you this soon."

  "I'm now a woman of leisure."

  "Oh." Sympathy softened Dana's face. "You got canned?"

  "Canned, booted, axed, then knocked on my ass by an idiot and his dog on the way home. All in all, it's been a lousy day, even with the expansion of my bank account."

  "I have to say, I didn't believe it. Those two up on the Peak are certifiable."

  "Lucky for us. But still, we have to earn it. I'm first up, so I figure I need to get started. Somewhere."

  "I'm ahead of you. Jan? Will you take the desk?" As she rose, Dana gathered a stack of books from under the counter. "Come with me," she told Malory. "There's a nice table by the window where you can work."

  "Work at what?"

  "Research. I've got several books on Celtic mythology, gods and goddesses, lore and legend. I'm going with the Celts since Rowena's from Wales and Pitte's Irish."

  "How do you know he's Irish?"

  "I don't. He sounded Irish. At this point I know little or nothing about Celtic myths, and I figure it's the same for you and Zoe."

  "I don't have a clue."

  Dana set the books down with a muffled thud. "So, we need to get one. I'm off in a few hours, then I can give you a hand. And I can call Zoe in if you like."

  Malory stared at the stack of books. "Maybe that's a good idea. I don't know where to start." "Pick one. I'll get you a notebook."

  After an hour Malory needed an aspirin as well. When Zoe rushed up to sit at the table beside her, she took off her glasses and rubbed her tired eyes. "Good. Reinforcements." She shoved a book across the table.

  "I'm sorry it took me so long. I was running errands. I bought Simon this video game he's been wanting. I know I probably shouldn't have spent the money, but I wanted to get him something, just for fun. I've never had so much money in my life," she whispered. "I know I have to be careful with it, but if you can't do a little something fun, what's the point?"

  "You don't have to sell me. And after you've been at this for a while, you'll know you earned it. Welcome to the wacky world of the Celts. Dana's probably got another notebook."

  "I brought my own." Out of an enormous bag, Zoe pulled a fresh notebook, thick as a brick, and a pack of pencils already sharpened to saber points. "It's sort of like going back to school."

  Zoe's eager optimism cut through Malory's foul mood. "Want to pass notes and talk about boys?"

  Zoe just grinned and opened a book. "We're going to find that key. I just know it."

  By the time Dana joined them, Malory had written reams of notes in the modified shorthand she'd developed in college, had drained her pen and borrowed two of Zoe's pencils.

  "Why don't we move this to my brother's place?" Dana suggested. "It's right around the corner. He's at work, so he won't be in the way. We can spread out a little, and you can give me the highlights."

  "Fine with me." Stiff from sitting, Malory got to her feet.

  "I can only stay for about an hour. I like to be there when Simon gets home from school, when I can."

  "Then let's get started. These books are on me," Dana said as she began gathering some up. "Anybody takes one home for personal research, I need it back in a timely fashion and in the same condition it was in when you took it."

  "She really is a librarian." Malory tucked books under her arm.

  "Bet your ass." Dana led the way out. "I'm going to see what I can get off the Net, and through interlibrary loan."

  "I don't know how much we're going to get out of books." Dana slipped on her sunglasses, then tipped them down and peered at Malory over the tops. "Anything worth anything can be found in books."

  "Okay, now you're heading toward Scary Library Lady. What we need to do is figure out the clue."

  "Without information on the story, the characters in it, we've got no base."

  "We've got four whole weeks," Zoe put in, and dragged sunglasses out of her shoulder bag. "That's enough time to find out a lot of stuff, look in a lot of places. Pitte said the keys were around here. So it's not like we have the whole world to worry about."

  "Around here could mean the Valley, or the highlands. It could mean the entire state of Pennsylvania." Malory shook her head at the sheer scope and disorder. "Pitte and pal left it pretty wide open. Even if it's close by, it could be in someone's dusty drawer, on the bottom of the river, in a bank vault, or buried under a rock."

  "If it was easy, somebody else would have found it by now," Zoe pointed out. "And the grand prize wouldn't be three million dollars."

  "Don't be sensible while I'm crabbing."

  "Sorry, but there's one other thing I was wondering. I couldn't sleep last night, going over and over the whole evening in my head. It's all so unreal. But even if you set all that aside for a minute, even if we're optimistic and say you find the key, how do we know it's your key, and not one of the other two?"

  "Interesting." Malory shifted her load of books as they turned the corner. "How come the Weird Twins didn't think of that?"

  "I figure they did. See, first you have to say it's all real."

  Dana shrugged. "We've all got money in the bank, and we're walking along with a load of books on Celtic myths. That's real enough for me."

  "If it's all real, then Malory can only find the first key. Even if the other two were right in front of her, she wouldn't find them. And we wouldn't either, not before it's our turn to look."

  Dana stopped, angling her head as she studied Zoe. "Do you really believe all this?"

  Zoe flushed but gave a careless shrug. "I'd like to. It's so fantastic and important. I've never done anything fantastic or important." She looked up at the narrow three-story Victorian painted a soft slate blue with creamy gingerbread trim. "Is this your brother's house? I've always thought it was so pretty."

  "He's been fixing it up bit by bit. Kind of a hobby."

  They started up the brick walk. The grass was green and trim on either side, but it needed flowers, Malory thought. Color and shape and texture. And an old bench on the porch, next to a big copper pot full of interesting sticks and grasses.

  The house looked lonely without them, like a perfectly attractive woman, she thought, who'd been stood up for a date.

  Dana took out a key, unlocked the door. "The best I can say about the inside is it'll be quiet." She stepped in, and her voice echoed. "And private."

  The foyer was empty but for a few boxes shoved into a corner. The stairway leading up was a lovely, fanciful curve with a griffin head as its newel post.

  The foyer spilled into a parlor, where the walls were painted a rich, shady-river green that went well with the warm honey-toned pine of the floor. But the walls, like the yard, were naked.

  There was a huge sofa in the middle of the floor, the sort that shouted to Malory, A man bought me! Despite the fact that some of the green in it matched the walls, it was a hideous plaid, clunky of style and too large for the charm potential of the room.

  Some sort of crate stood in as a table.

  There were more boxes, one of which sat on the hearth of a delightful little fireplace with an ornately carved mantel that she could envision dressing up with a fabulous painting.

  "So…" Zoe turned in a circle. "I guess he's just moving in."

  "Oh, yeah. For the last year and a half." Dana laid her books on the crate.

  "He's lived here for over a year?" It hurt, simply hurt Malory's heart. "And his single piece of furniture is this really ugly couch?"

  "Hey, you should've seen his room at home. At least this is neat. Anyway, he's got some halfway decent stuff upstairs. That's where he lives. There's probably not any food, but there'll be coffee, beer, Coke. Anybody?"

  "Diet Coke?" Malory asked.

  Dana sneered. "He's a guy."

  "Right. I'll live dangerous
ly and have the real thing."

  "Coke's fine," Zoe agreed.

  "Coming up. Go ahead and sit. The couch is an eyesore but it's comfortable." "All this wonderful space wasted," Malory decided, "on a man who would actually pay money for something like this." She dropped down on the couch. "Okay, it's comfortable. But it's still ugly."

  "Can you imagine living in a place like this?" Zoe turned a quick circle. "It's like a doll's house. Well, a really big doll's house, but just as sweet. I'd spend all my free time playing with it, hunting for treasures to put in it, fussing with paint and fabric."

  "So would I." Malory tilted her head. At her very best, she thought, she would never look as hip and exotic as Zoe managed to do in simple jeans and a cotton shirt. And she'd done the math, calculating how old Zoe had been when she'd had her baby. At that same age, Malory had been shopping for the perfect prom dress and preparing for college.

  And yet, here they were, together in a largely empty room of a stranger's house and having nearly identical thoughts.

  "It's strange how much we have in common. Strange, too, that we live in a relatively small town and never met before last night."

  Zoe sat on the opposite end of the couch. "Where do you get your hair done?"

  "Carmine's, out at the mall."

  “That's a good salon. Hair Today, here in town, where I worked? It's mostly women who want the same do week after week after week." She rolled her big, tawny eyes. "Can't blame you for heading out of town. You've got great hair. Did your stylist ever suggest that you take a couple inches off?"

  "Cut?" Instinctively Malory's hand went to her hair. "Cut?"

  "Just a couple inches, take some of the weight off. It's a terrific color."

  "It's mine. Well, I get it punched up a bit." She laughed and dropped her hand. "I get the feeling you're looking at my hair the way I'm looking at this room. Wondering just what I could do with it if I had a free hand."

  "Cokes and cookies." Dana brought in a trio of cans and a bag of store-bought chocolate chip cookies. "So, what have we got so far?"

  "I didn't find anything that mentions three daughters of a young god and a mortal woman." Malory popped the top and sipped, though she would have preferred a glass and some ice. "Jesus, this stuff is so sweet when you're not used to it. I also didn't find anything about trapped souls or keys. A lot of strange-looking names like Lug and Rhianna, Ami, Danu. Tales of battles—victories and death."

  She took out her notebook, flipped it open to the first neatly arranged page. One look at it had Dana's dimples popping out.

  "I bet you were an A student all the way through school. Honor roll, Dean's list. Fucking the curve for the rest of the class."

  "Why?"

  "You're too organized not to be. You made an outline and everything." She snatched the notebook, turned pages. "And time lines! Charts."

  "Shut up." Laughing at herself, Malory grabbed the notebook back. "As I was saying before being snickered at for my organized research style, Celtic gods die—they appear to pop back, but they can actually be killed. And unlike what I know about the gods in Greek and Roman mythology, these don't live on some magic mountaintop. They inhabit the earth, live among people. Lots of politics and protocol."

  Dana sat on the floor. "Anything that could be a metaphor for the keys?"

  "If there was, it was over my head."

  "Artists were gods, and warriors," Zoe added. "Or the other way around. I mean art—music, storytelling, all that—was important. And there were mother-goddesses. Motherhood was important. And the number three. So, it's like, Malory's the artist—"

  It was a quick and painful twist in Malory's heart. "No, I sell art."

  "You know art," Zoe said. "Like Dana knows books. I know about being a mother."

  "That's good." Dana beamed at her. "That gives each of us our role in this. Pitte said beauty, truth, courage. In the painting, Malory—let's simplify by calling them by our names for now— Malory was playing an instrument. Music-art-beauty. I was holding a scroll and quill—bookknowledge-truth. And Zoe had the sword and the puppy. Innocence-protection-courage."

  "Which means?" Malory demanded.

  "We could say the first key, your key, is somewhere that has to do with art and/or beauty. That goes along with the clue."

  "Great. I'll pick it up on my way home." Malory nudged a book with her toe. "What if they just made it up? The whole story?"

  "I refuse to believe they made the whole thing up just to have us scrambling around looking for keys." Thoughtfully, Dana bit into a cookie. "No matter what we believe, they believe it's true. So there's got to be some root, some basis for this legend or myth or story they told us last night. If there's a root, it's in a book. Somewhere."

  "Actually…" Zoe hesitated, then went on, "the book I was reading talked about how a lot of the Celtic mythology and legends didn't get written down. They were passed orally."

  "Those damn bards," Dana muttered. "Look, Pitte and Rowena heard it somewhere, and whoever told them heard it from someone else. The information is out there, and information is my god."

  "Maybe what we have to do is get information on Pitte and Rowena. Who the hell are they?" Malory spread her hands. "Where do they come from? Where do they get the kind of money that allows them to pass it out like cupcakes?"

  "You're right." Annoyed with herself, Dana blew out a breath. "You're absolutely right, and I should've thought of that before. It happens I know somebody who can help us with that while we're looking into the myth." She glanced toward the doorway as she heard the front door open. "And here he comes now."

  They heard a thud, a slam, a scramble, and a curse.

  It was just familiar enough to have Malory pressing her fingers to her temples. "Holy Mother of God."

  Even as she spoke, the huge black dog raced in. His tail swung like a demolition ball, his tongue lolled. And his eyes went bright as stars as he spotted Malory.

  He let out a series of ear-shattering barks, then leaped into her lap.

  Chapter Four

  Flynn saw three things when he charged into the room after his dog: his sister sitting on the floor laughing like a lunatic; a sharp-looking brunette standing at the end of the couch heroically trying to dislodge Moe; and, to his surprise and delight, the woman he'd been thinking about for the better part of the day, mostly buried under Moe's bulk and insane affections.

  "Okay, Moe, down. I mean it. That's enough." He didn't expect the dog to listen. He always tried; Moe never listened. But it seemed the right thing to do as he gripped the dog around the barrel of his belly.

  He had to lean down—well, maybe not quite as far as he did. But she had the prettiest blue eyes, even when they were shooting daggers at him. "Hi. Nice to see you again."

  Muscles jumped in her jaw when she clenched it. "Get him off!"

  "Working on it."

  "Hey, Moe!" Dana shouted. "Cookie!"

  That did the trick. Moe leaped over the crate, nipped the cookie out of the hand Dana held in the air, then landed. It might have been a graceful landing if he hadn't skidded several feet over the uncarpeted floor.

  "Works like a charm." Dana lifted her arm. Moe loped back, the cookie already history, and insinuated his bulk under it.

  "Wow. He's really a big dog." Zoe eased over, held out a hand, then grinned when Moe licked it lavishly. "Friendly."

  "Pathologically friendly." Malory brushed at the dog hair that had transferred itself to her once pristine linen shirt. "That's the second time today he's landed on me."

  "He likes girls." Flynn took off his sunglasses, tossed them on the crate. "You never told me your name."

  "Oh, so you're the idiot and his dog. Should've known. This is Malory Price," Dana said. "And Zoe McCourt. My brother, Flynn."

  "Are you Michael Flynn Hennessy?" Zoe crouched to stroke Moe's ear, looked up at Flynn under her bangs. "M. F. Hennessy, with the Valley Dispatch !"

  "Guilty."

  "I've read a lot of your articl
es, and I never miss your column. I liked the one last week on the proposed ski lift up on Lone Ridge and the environmental impact."

  "Thanks." He reached down for a cookie. "Is this a book club meeting, and will there be cake?"

  "No. But if you've got a minute, maybe you could sit down." Dana patted the floor. "We'll tell you what it is."

  "Sure." But he sat on the couch. "Malory Price? The Gallery, right?"

  "Not anymore," she grimaced.

  "I've been in a couple times, must've missed you. I don't cover arts and entertainment. I see the error of my ways."

  His eyes, she noted, were the same color as the walls.

  That lazy-river green. "I doubt we have anything to offer that could complement your decor."

  "You hate the couch, right?" " 'Hate' is much too mild a word."

  "It's very comfortable."

  He glanced over at Zoe's comment and smiled. "It's a napping couch. You nap, your eyes are closed, so you don't care what it looks like. Celtic Mythology" he read, angling his head to read the titles on the books scattered over the crate. " Myths and Legends of the Celts"He picked one up, turned it in his hands as he studied his sister. "What gives?"

  "I told you I was going to that cocktail party at Warrior's Peak?"

  His face went hard the instant the affable smile faded. "I thought you weren't going because I said there had to be something off about that since nobody I talked to got an invitation."

  Dana picked up her Coke can, gave him a mildly interested look. "Do you actually think I listen to you?"

  "No."

  "Okay, then. Here's what happened."

  She'd barely begun when he turned away from her and those green eyes sharpened on Malory's face. "You got an invitation?"

  "Yes."

  "And you." He nodded at Zoe. "What do you do, Zoe?"

  "Right now I'm an unemployed hairdresser, but—"

  "Married?"

  "No."

  "Neither are you," he said as he looked at Malory again. "No ring. No 'I'm married' vibe. How long have the three of you known each other?"

  "Flynn, stop doing a damn interview. Just let me tell you what happened."