Key of Light k-1

by Nora Robets

  Dana started again, and this time he boosted a hip off the couch, took a notebook out of his back pocket. Doing her best to appear as if she wasn't the least bit interested in what he was doing, Malory slid her gaze to the left and down.

  He used shorthand, she realized. And real shorthand, not any sort of bastardized version, as she did.

  She tried to decipher it as Dana spoke, but it made her a little dizzy.

  "

  “The Daughters of Glass,' " Flynn muttered and kept scribbling.

  "What?" Without thinking, Malory reached over and clamped her fingers on his wrist. "You know this story?"

  "A version of it, anyway." Since he had her attention, he shifted toward her. His knee bumped hers. "My Irish granny told me lots of stories."

  "Why didn't you recognize it?" Malory asked Dana.

  "She didn't have my Irish granny."

  "Actually, we're steps," Dana explained. "My father married his mother when I was eight."

  "Or my mother married her father when I was eleven. It's all point of view." He reached up to toy with the ends of Malory's hair, grinned easily when she batted his fingers aside. "Sorry. There's just so much of it, it's irresistible. Anyway, my granny liked to tell stories, so I heard plenty of them. This one sounds like “The Daughters of Glass.' Which doesn't explain why the three of you were invited up to the Peak to listen to a faerie tale."

  "We're supposed to find the keys," Zoe put in, and snuck a peek at her watch.

  "You're supposed to find the keys to unlock their souls? Cool." He stretched out to prop his feet on the crate, crossed his ankles. "Now it's my duty to ask how, when, and why."

  "If you'd shut up for five minutes, I'd tell you." Dana reached for her Coke and drained it. "Malory goes first. She has twenty-eight days, starting today, to find the first key. When she does, either Zoe or I goes next. Same drill. Then the last of us gets her shot."

  "Where's the box? The Box of Souls?"

  Dana frowned as Moe deserted her to sniff Malory's toes. "I don't know. They must have it. Pitte and Rowena. If they don't the keys won't do them any good."

  "You're telling me you're buying this? Miss Steeped-in-Reality? And you're going to spend the next few weeks looking for keys that open a magic glass box that holds the souls of three goddesses."

  "Demigoddesses." Malory nudged Moe with her foot to discourage him. "And it isn't a matter of what we believe. It's a business deal."

  "They paid us twenty-five thousand each." Dana offered. "In advance." "Twenty-five thousand dollars' ! Get out!"

  "The money's been deposited in our bank accounts. It's been verified." Forgetting herself, Malory reached for a cookie. Moe immediately dropped his heavy head on her knee. "Could you call off your dog?"

  "Not as long as you've got cookies. These two people, whom you don't know, gave each of you twenty-five grand to look for magic keys? Did they have any beans for sale? A golden goose, maybe?"

  "The money's real," Malory said stiffly.

  "And what if you don't deliver? What's the penalty?"

  "We lose a year."

  "You're, what, indentured to them for a year?"

  "A year gets taken away from us." Zoe looked at her watch again. She really had to go.

  "What year?"

  She gave him a blank look. "Well, I… The last year, I guess. When we're old."

  "Or this year," he said and pushed to his feet. "Or next. Or ten years back, if we're being weird, which we sure as hell are."

  "No, that can't be." Pale now, Zoe shook her head. "It can't be from before. That would change everything. What if it's the year I had Simon, or the year I got pregnant? That can't be."

  "No, it can't, because none of this can be." He shook his head and looked down at his sister. "Where's your head, Dana? Didn't it occur to you that when you don't come up with the goods these people might hurt you? Nobody dumps that kind of money on strangers. Which means you're not strangers to them. For whatever reason, they know you. They've looked into you."

  "You weren't there," Dana said. "Eccentric is definitely apt in their case. Psychotic isn't."

  "Besides, there's no motive for them to hurt us."

  He spun back to Malory. No, he wasn't affable now, she realized, but annoyed. And working his way rapidly to irate. "And there is one for them to dump big gobs of money on you?"

  "I've got to go." Zoe's voice shook as she grabbed her bag. "I have to get to Simon. My son."

  She streaked out, and Dana leaped to her feet. "Nice job, Flynn. Very nice job scaring the single mother witless." She bolted after Zoe, hoping to calm her.

  He jammed his hands in his pockets, stared hard at Malory. "You scared?"

  "No, but I don't have a nine-year-old boy to worry about. And I don't believe Pitte or Rowena wants to hurt us. Besides, I can take care of myself."

  "Why do women always say that after they've gotten themselves in a really big jam?"

  "Because men usually come along and make things worse. I'm going to look for the key, as I agreed to do. We all are. So would you."

  She had him there. He jingled the change in his pocket, considered. Cooled off. "What did they tell you would happen if you found the keys?"

  "The souls would be unlocked. And we'd each get a million dollars. And yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds. You had to be there."

  "When you add that these three goddesses are currently sleeping in crystal beds in a castle behind the Curtain of Dreams, I guess you did have to be there."

  "They have a painting of the Daughters of Glass. They look like us. It's a brilliant painting. I know art, Hennessy, and this is no paint-by-numbers deal. It's a goddamn masterpiece. It has to mean something."

  His face sharpened with interest. "Who painted it?"

  "It wasn't signed, not that I could see."

  "Then how do you know it's a masterpiece?"

  "Because I know . It's what I do. Whoever painted it has an amazing talent, and a great love and respect for the subject matter. That sort of thing shows. And if they'd wanted to hurt us, why didn't they do something last night, when we were all there? Dana was there, alone with them, before I arrived. Why not bash her over the head and chain her in the dungeon, then do the same with me, with Zoe. Or drug the wine? I've already thought about all that, already asked myself all the questions. And I'll tell you why. Because they believe everything they told us."

  "And this eases your mind? Okay, who are they? Where do they come from? How did they get here? Why did they come here? This isn't exactly Mystic Central."

  "Why don't you find out instead of scaring people?" Dana demanded as she returned.

  "Is Zoe okay?" Malory asked her.

  "Sure, she's just great now that she has visions of somebody using her kid as a human sacrifice." She punched Flynn in the shoulder.

  "Hey, if you didn't want somebody to point out the flaws in the plan, you shouldn't have had your party at my place. So, tell me everything you know about this Rowena and Pitte."

  He took more notes, managing to hold back any scathing comments on the lack of information.

  "Anybody still got the invitation?"

  He took the one Malory pulled out of her bag. "I'll see what I can find out."

  "Did your grandmother's story say anything about where the keys were hidden?"

  "No, just that they couldn't be turned by the hand of the gods. Which leaves a pretty open field."

  Flynn waited until Malory left, then crooked a finger so Dana would follow him into the kitchen.

  As rooms went it was a sad statement, with its ancient coppertone appliances, white-with-goldspeckled counter-tops and fake-brick linoleum floor.

  "When are you going to do something about this room? It's awful."

  "All in good time, my pretty, all in good time." He got a beer out of the fridge, wagged it at her.

  "Yeah, why not?"

  He got out a second, popped the tops on the wall opener that was in the shape of a bikini-clad blonde wit
h a toothy grin.

  "Now, tell me what you know about the very sexy Malory Price of the big blue eyes."

  "I just met her last night."

  "Uh-uh." He held back the beer. "Women know stuff about women. Like telepathically. The more a woman likes or dislikes another woman, the more she knows. There have been several scientific studies to verify this phenomenon. Give, or no beer for you."

  She hadn't particularly wanted the beer, until he'd used it as a hammer. "Why do you want to know about her specifically? Why not Zoe?"

  "My interest in Zoe is more academic. I can hardly start the wild and passionate affair I have in mind with Malory until I know all her secrets and desires."

  "You're going to make me sick, Flynn." He merely tipped up his beer, took a long, slow sip, while holding hers out of reach.

  "I'm not your silly dog who'll beg for cookies. I'm only going to tell you so I can sit back and laugh derisively when she blows you off. I do like her," she added and held out a hand for the beer. "She strikes me as smart, ambitious, open-minded without being naive. She worked at The Gallery, just got canned over a dispute with the owner's new trophy wife. Since Malory called the new wife a bimbo, to her face, I'd say she doesn't always rate high on the tact and diplomacy scale, but calls 'em like she sees 'em. She likes good clothes and knows how to wear them— spends too much on them, which is why she was broke before this morning's windfall. She's not currently in a relationship and would like to own her own business."

  "You really buried the lead." He took a long, slow sip. "So, she's not dating anyone. And she's gutsy. Not only does she tell off the boss's wife, but she drives alone, at night, to the spookiest house in western Pennsylvania."

  "So did I."

  "I can't have a mad, passionate affair with you, sweetie. It would just be wrong."

  "Now, there, you have made me sick."

  But she smiled when he leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Why don't you move in here for a couple weeks?"

  Her dark chocolate eyes went baleful. "Stop looking out for me, Flynn."

  "Can't do it."

  "If I wouldn't move in when I was broke, why would I now that I'm flush? You know I like my own space, and you do too. Such as it is. And the goblins of Warrior's Peak are not going to come down and spirit me away in the night."

  "If they were goblins, they wouldn't worry me." But because he knew her, he eased off. "How about telling your new pal Malory what an amazing man I am. All brainy and sensitive and buff."

  "You want me to lie to her?"

  "You're mean, Dana." He gulped down more beer. "You're just mean."

  When he was alone, Flynn settled down in his upstairs study. He preferred the term "study" to "office," as an office meant work. No way around it. In a study, you could, well, study, or nap or read, or stare into space thinking long thoughts. You could certainly work, but it wasn't a requirement.

  He'd outfitted the room with a big, brawny desk and a couple of wide leather chairs that he thought felt as if you might sink into them until you disappeared.

  He had files as well, but he disguised them with manly-looking chests. One wall was covered with framed prints of pinup girls from the forties and fifties.

  If all else failed, he could kick back, study them, and pass an enjoyable hour in solitude.

  He booted up his computer, stepped over Moe, who had already flopped in the middle of the floor, and pulled a second beer out of the mini fridge he'd installed under a work counter.

  He'd considered that idea pretty damn clever.

  Then he sat, rolled his head as a boxer might before a round, and got down to some serious surfing.

  If there was anything in the cyberworld about the new residents of Warrior's Peak, he would find it.

  As always, he got sucked into the sirens' song of information. His beer went warm. One hour passed into two, two headed toward three, before Moe solved the matter by giving the desk chair a push that shot it and Flynn halfway across the room.

  "Damn it, you know I hate that. I just need a few more minutes."

  But Moe had heard that one before, and he protested by plopping massive paws and a great deal of body weight onto Flynn's thighs. "So, maybe we'll take a walk. And if we happen to wander by a certain blonde's door, we could just stop in and share currently gathered information. And if that doesn't work, we'll pick up some pizza so it won't be a complete loss."

  The word "pizza" had Moe tearing to the doorway. By the time Flynn made it downstairs, the dog was by the front door, his leash clamped between his teeth.

  It was a nice evening for a walk. Quiet, balmy, with his little postcard town basking under the late-summer sun. At such moments, when the air was soft, the breeze fragrant, he was glad he'd made the decision to take over the Dispatch from his mother rather than heading out to make his mark at some big-city paper.

  A lot of his friends had gone to the city, and the woman he'd thought he loved had chosen New York over him.

  Or he'd chosen the Valley over her.

  It depended, he supposed, on your point of view.

  Maybe the news here didn't have the scope or the edge of the news in Philly or New York, but there was still plenty of it. And what happened in the Valley, in the hills and mountains that surrounded it, mattered. And just now he scented a story that would be bigger and juicier than anything the Dispatch had reported in the sixty-eight years since its presses began to run.

  If he could help three women, one of whom was a sister he loved very much, flirt with an incredibly attractive blonde, and expose a major con… well, that would be a hell of a hat trick.

  "You have to be charming," he told Moe as they approached the trim brick building that he'd watched Malory enter that morning. "You act like a dog, we'll never get through the door."

  As a precaution, Flynn wrapped the leash twice around his fist before going into the twelve-unit building.

  He considered it good luck that M. Price was on the ground floor. Not only would he not have to drag Moe up steps or pull him into an elevator, but the building's ground level had little patios.

  That gave him the option of bribing Moe with the cookie he'd stuffed in his pocket and staking him outside.

  "Charming," he said again, sotto voce, giving Moe a narrow stare before he knocked on Malory's door.

  Her greeting, when she answered, wasn't what he could call flattering.

  She took one look at him and Moe. "Oh, my God. You've got to be kidding."

  "I can put him outside," Flynn said quickly. "But we really need to talk."

  "He'll dig up my flowers."

  "He doesn't dig." Please God, don't dig. "I've got a—I can't say the C word, or he'll get excited. But I've got one in my pocket. I'll just put him out there, out of the way."

  "I don't—" Moe's nose arrowed straight into her crotch. "Christ." In defense she skipped back, which was all the invitation Moe required.

  He was through the door, dragging Flynn merrily over an antique Turkish carpet, barely missing slapping his lethal tail into a Deco vase filled with late-summer lilies.

  Terrified, Malory made a dash for her patio door, yanked it open. "Out, out, straight out."

  It was a word Moe knew. And he objected to going out when he'd just come in to so many fascinating scents. He simply dropped his wide butt on the floor and dug in.

  With dignity no longer an option, Flynn hooked both hands in Moe's collar and dragged him bodily across the room and out the door.

  "Oh, yeah, that was charming." Out of breath, Flynn looped the leash around the trunk of a tree. And as Moe began to howl, he dropped to his knees. "Stop it. Have you no pride? Have you no sense of masculine solidarity? How am I going to get my hands on that woman if she hates us?"

  He pushed his face into Moe's. "Lie down and be quiet. Do this for me, and the world is yours. Starting with this."

  He pulled out the cookie. The howling stopped instantly, and the tail began to thump.

  "Screw this up and nex
t time I leave you home."

  He stood up and sent what he hoped was an easy smile toward Malory, who stood warily on the other side of the door.

  He figured it was a major victory when she opened it and let him in.

  "Have you tried obedience school?" she demanded.

  "Ah, well, yeah, but there was an incident. We don't like to talk about it. This is a great place."

  Stylish, arty, and female, he decided. Not delicate-little-trinket female but bold-uniquefascinating female.

  The walls were a deep, rich rose, a strong background for the paintings. She favored antiques, or reproductions that looked enough like the real thing to pass. Soft fabrics and sleek sculpture.

  And everything tidy as a shiny new pin.

  It smelled female, classily so, from the lilies and the dried flower petals that women were forever putting in bowls. And, he supposed, from the woman herself.

  She had music on low. What was that… Annie Lennox, crooning slyly about sweet dreams.

  It seemed to Flynn that the entire place spoke of very specific, very high-toned taste.

  He wandered over to a painting of a woman rising up out of a dark blue pool. There was a sense of speed about it, of sexuality, and of power.

  "She's beautiful. Does she live in the sea or on the land?"

  Malory arched her brow. At least he'd asked an intelligent question.

  "I think she has yet to choose." She pondered him as he wandered around. He seemed more… well, male, she supposed, here in her place than he had on the sidewalk or stalking around the largely unfurnished room in his own house. "What are you doing here?"

  "First, I came because I wanted to see you again."

  "Why?"

  "You're really pretty." Because he found it both relaxing and entertaining to look at her, he hooked his thumbs in his front pockets and did just that. "You might think that's a shallow reason, but I like to think it's simply basic. If people didn't like looking at attractive things, we wouldn't have any art."

  "How long did it take you to think of that one?"

  His grin was fast and appreciative. "Not long at all. I'm pretty quick. Have you had dinner?"

  "No, but I have plans. Why else are you here?"