Key of Knowledge k-2

by Nora Roberts

  “You know the truth when you hear it. You may turn your ear from it, close your mind to it. As my man is pessimistic, you are stubborn by nature.”

  “Got that in one,” Jordan muttered.

  “But when you choose to hear it, the truth rings clear for you. This is your gift. He cant deceive you unless you allow it. When you accept what you already know youll have the rest.”

  “You wouldnt like to be a little more specific?”

  A smile touched the corners of Rowenas mouth. “You have enough to think of for now.”

  * * *

  LATER, when they were alone, Rowena curled on the sofa besidePitte , rested her head on his shoulder and watched the fire. In the flames she studied Dana, her hands competent on the steering wheel as she drove through the night toward the quiet valley below the Peak.

  She admired competence, in gods and mortals.

  “She worries him,” she said quietly.

  Pittewatched the fire, and the images in it as well. “Whom does she worry? The soul-stealer or the story-spinner?”

  Absently, for comfort, Rowena rubbed her cheek againstPittes shoulder. “Both, certainly. And both have hurt her, though only one with intent. But a lovers blade slices deeper than any enemys. She worries Kane,” she said, “but the man is worried for her.”

  “They have heat.”Pitte turned his head to brush his lips over Rowenas hair. “He should take her to bed and let the heat seal old wounds.”

  “So like a male, to think bedding is always the answer.”

  “Its a good one.”Pitte gave her a little shove, and when she fell, it was onto the big bed they shared.

  She cocked an eyebrow at him. Her silver dress had melted away so that she wore only her own skin. Such things, she knew, were one of his more playful, and interesting, habits.

  “Heat isnt enough.” She spread her arms, and dozens of candles flared into flame. “Its warmth, my love, my only love, that heals the wounded heart.”

  With her arms still open wide, she sat up and welcomed him to her.

  * * *

  DANA had hardly gotten back in the door—and kept Jordan out—had barely settled down with Othello again and cleared her mind enough to focus on the task at hand, when there was another knock.

  Figuring Jordan had come back with some new ploy to wheedle his way in, she ignored it.

  She was, by Jesus, going to spend two hours working on this book angle, and then she was going to think about the drive to the Peak, what had been said there. What hadnt been said on the drive home.

  If she had to think about Jordan, she sure as hell wasnt going to do it when he was around.

  Hed sniff it out of her head like a bloodhound. There was another knock, more insistent this time. She merely bared her teeth and kept scanning the play.

  But the barking got her attention.

  Realizing that she would get nowhere until the door was answered, she got up and opened it. “What the hell are you doing here? Both of you.” She scowled at Flynn, then leaned down to rub Moes floppy ears and make kissing noises. “Did Malory kick you out? Poor baby.” Her sympathetic tone turned icy as she straightened and peered at her brother. “Youre not sleeping here.”

  “Dont plan to.”

  “Then whats in the bag?”

  “Stuff.” He squeezed inside, around his dog and his sister. “I hear you had a rough one last night.”

  “It was an experience, and Im not in the mood to rehash it. Its after ten. Im working, then Im sleeping.”

  With, she thought, every light in the apartment burning, just as she had the night before.

  “Fine. Heres his stuff.”

  “Whose stuff?”

  “Moes. Ill haul over the big-ass bag of dog food tomorrow, but theres enough in there for his breakfast.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” She looked in the bag hed shoved into her arms and saw a mangled tennis ball, a tattered rope, a box of dog biscuits on top of about five pounds of dry dog food.

  “What the hell is this?”

  “His stuff,” Flynn repeated cheerfully, and grunted when Moe leaped up to plant his paws on his shoulders. “Moes your new temporary roommate. Well,gotta go. See you tomorrow.”

  “Oh, no, you dont.” She tossed the bag on a chair, beat him to the door by a step, and threw herself against it. “Youre not walking out that door without this dog.”

  He gave her a smile that was both mildly quizzical and wholly innocent. “You just said I couldnt sleep here.”

  “You cant. Neither can he.” “Now look, youve hurt his feelings.” He looked sorrowfully at Moe, who was trying to nose his way into the bag. “Its all right, big guy. She didnt mean it.”

  “Give me a break.”

  “You dont know what dogs understand. Scientific tests are inconclusive.” He gave Dana a brotherly pat on the cheek. “So anyway, Moes going to stay for a couple weeks. Play guard dog.”

  “Guard dog?” She noted that Moe was now chewing on the bag. “Give me a serious break.”

  Obviously not finding the brown paper to his taste, Moe wandered off to sniff for crumbs, and Flynn sat down, stretched out his legs. Hed reconsidered his strategy and decided that this tack was foolproof with Dana. “Okay. Ill stay and be guard dog since you have no faith in Moe. Lets flip a coin for the bed.”

  “Im the only one sleeping in my bed, and I have less faith in you than I do in that big mutt, who is currently chasing his own tail. Moe! Cut that out before you wreck my place.”

  She considered just tearing out her own hair when Moe bashed against a table in his desperate attempt to latch teeth onto tail, and sent books thudding down on his head.

  He gave a startled bark and scrambled toward Flynn for protection.

  “Go away, Flynn, and take your klutzy dog with you.”

  Flynn simply lifted his legs and used Moe as a footstool. “Lets just go over our options,” he began.

  Twenty minutes later Dana stomped into the kitchen. She stopped short, hissed through her teeth when she saw the contents of her trash can strewed from one end of the floor to the other and Moe happily sprawled over the mess of it, chewing on a wad of paper towels.

  “How does he do it? How the hell did he talk me into this?” And that, she admitted, was the mystery of Flynn Hennessy. You never knew just how he managed to box you into the corner of his choice.

  She crouched down, got nose to nose with Moe.

  Moe rolled his eyes to the side, avoiding hers. Dana swore that if dogs could whistle, shed have heard the I-wasnt-doing-anything tune coming out of the dogs mouth. “Okay, pal, you and I are going to go over the rules of the household.”

  He responded by licking her face, then flopping over to expose his belly. * * *

  SHE woke with the sun streaming over her face and her legs paralyzed. The sun was easy to explain. Shed forgotten to draw the curtains again. And her legs werent paralyzed, she realized after a moment of panic. They were trapped under the massive bulk of Moe.

  “Okay, this is no way to begin.” She sat up, then shoved the dog hard.“

  “I said no dogs allowed on the bed. I was very clear about that rule.”

  He moaned, an oddly human sound that made her lips twitch. Then he opened one eye. Then that eye brightened with manic joy.

  “No!”

  But it was too late. In one leap, hed trapped not only her legs but her entire body. Dancing paws pressed into her belly, her breasts, her crotch. His tongue slathered her face with desperate love.

  “Stop it! Down! Mary Mother of God!” And she was laughing hysterically, wrestling with him, until he leaped off the bed and raced out of the room.

  “Whew.” She pushed at her hair. It was definitely not the way she cared to wake, as a rule. But for one day she could make an exception.

  Now she needed coffee. Immediately.

  Before she could throw back the covers, Moe bounded back in.

  “No! Dont you do it! Dont you bring that horrible, dis
gusting ball into this bed.”

  Her usual morning speed approximated that of a snail on Valium, but one look at the tennis ball in Moes mouth had her moving like an Olympic sprinter. She hit the floor, causing Moe to change direction and go into a skid. He thudded against the bed frame, then, undaunted, spat the ball at her feet.

  “We do not play fetch the ball in the house. We do not play fetch the ball when Im naked, which, you may notice, I am. We do not play fetch the ball before I have coffee.”

  He cocked his head charmingly and lifted a paw.

  “Were going to have to compromise. First Ill getunnaked .” She went to the closet for her robe. “Then Ill have my first cup of coffee. After which Ill take you for a very, very brief walk during which you can relieve your bladder and play fetch the ball for exactly three minutes. Take it or leave it.”

  * * * SHE didnt know how he did it—like master, like dog, she supposed—but she ended up spending a good twenty minutes playing with Moe in the park.

  This was not her morning routine, and if there was anything that was sacrosanct to Dana, it was her morning routine. She could admit that she felt more energized and more cheerful after the interlude with the goofy dog. But she wasnt going to tell Moe that, or anyone else.

  He gobbled down his breakfast while she ate hers, then fortunately for all involved, plopped down for a quick morning nap while she substituted Othello for her current breakfast book.

  To stay fresh, to let it all simmer in her head, she switched gears after thirty minutes, and chose one of the books on sorcery. However wily and amoralIago was, Kane was more so—and he had power. Maybe there was a way to undermine it, or deflect it, while she searched for the key.

  She read of white magic, and of black. Of sorcery and necromancy. And it was different, she realized as she made her notes, when you knew the fantastic you read of was real.

  Not fantasy. Not lies, but truth.

  She had to remember that, she thought as she closed—the book. It was essential that she remember the truth.

  * * *

  IT was very satisfying, Dana discovered when she was hip-deep in work at Indulgence, to prime the dull wall with fresh white paint.

  Our place, she thought.

  As they painted, she briefedZoe and Malory on her visit to the Peak and what shed learned.

  “So he can hurt us.” Frowning,Zoe added more paint to the automatic roller for Malory. “Or we can hurt ourselves. I guess thats what it really means.”

  “If we drift too far beyond actual reality, yeah,” Dana agreed. “I think thats what it means.”

  “But he cant hurt us unless we allow it,” Malory put in. “The trick is not to allow it, which is not as easy as it sounds.”

  “You dont have to tell me.” The memory of her brush with Kane still made Dana shudder. “Its not just finding the last two keys, its protecting ourselves.”

  “And the people around us,”Zoe reminded her. “He went after Flynn, too. If he tries anything with Simon— anything—Ill spend the rest of my life hunting him down.”

  “Dont worry, Mom.” Dana reached over to squeezeZoes shoulder. “When your turn comes, well all look after Simon. We can always send Moe to protect him,” she added to lighten the mood. She sent a steely look at Malory. “A true friend wouldve called and warned me I was about to get a dog.”

  “A true friend knew youd sleep better at night with a dog snoring beside the bed.”

  “Beside, my ass. He snuck onto the bed when I was sleeping. Which means Id have slept through an earthquake last night, as hes not what we can call stealthy. And Moe-proofing the apartment is no snap, just let me add. Not to mention Im not allowed to have dogs in my building in the first place.”

  “Its just for a few weeks and mostly at night,” Malory reminded her. “You did sleep better, too. I can tell by your mood.”

  “Maybe I did. Anyway, I should fill you in on what Im doing about the key.”

  * * *

  WITH the first room primed, they moved to the next and the more tedious chore of cutting in around the trim.

  “Jealousy, sorcery, getting inside Kanes skin.” Standing on the new stepladder, Malory took on the task of painting the ceiling. “Thats very smart.”

  “I think so. The answers in a book. Its got to be. Yours dealt with painting, and one of the daughters, the one who looks like you, is an artist. Well, a musician, but thats an art.”

  Zoeglanced over. “I sure as hell hope that means I dont have to take up fencing because my goddess carries a sword.”

  “She also has that cute little puppy,” Malory put in.

  “I cant get a dog right now. I know Simon would love one, but—oh, you were taking my mind off the sword.”

  “There you go.”

  Dana sat back on her heels, stretched her back. “Puppy, sword—metaphors for something. Well figure it out when the time comes. But if we follow this theme, Malorys key dealt with painting. Malorys dream was being an artist, but she didnt have the chops for it…”

  She stopped, considered biting her tongue in half. “Sorry. That sounded harsh.”

  “No, it didnt. It sounded true.” Malory stared up at the ceiling. She seemed to have the knack for this kind of painting. “I didnt have the talent to paint, so I directed my energies into a career where I could be part of the art world in other ways. It doesnt hurt my feelings, Dana.”

  “Okay, but you get a free kick later if you want it. Kane used Malorys desire to paint to pull her in, to distract her from the search. But our heroine proved much too clever for him and turned the tables.”

  Malory inclined her head regally. “I like that part.”

  “Its one of my favorites,”Zoe agreed. “Do you want to write, Dana?”

  “No.” She pursed her lips for a moment, thought about it. “No, I dont. But I have to be around books, have them around me. Im fascinated with the people who can and do write them.”

  “Including Jordan?”

  “Lets not go there, at least not yet. What Im saying is books are personal to me, the way art is to Mal. So thats why I think my key is connected to books. Ive got this gut instinct that it has to do with a book Ive read. Something personal again.”

  “Im going to do another title search, one using „key, and see what books I come up with.” Her brows drew together as she tried to puzzle it out. “The whole key-in-the-title angle may be too simple, too obvious, but it gives me another place to look.”

  “We could split it up,” Malory suggested. “If you make a list of the books you think might be the one, we could divide it into three and each take a chunk.”

  “That would help. We dont know what were looking for,” Dana continued. “But weve got to believe well know it when we see it.”

  “Maybe you should put together a list with „goddess in the title, too,” Malory told her. “My key had to do with the singing goddess, from Rowenas clue. Yours might link to the goddess who walks, or waits, in your clue.”

  “Good thinking.” With her section of wall finished, Dana got to her feet. “God, our eyes are going to bleed. Theres this other thing.” Wanting to keep busy, she went back to her brush roller. “Your key had to do with this place, Mal, with the way he—or your head—transformed it into your fantasy of happy home, family, painting in your studio. So far, mines been a deserted tropical island. I dont think Im going to find its root here in the Valley.”

  “You dont know where youll go next time.”

  Dana set down the brush and stared. “Well, gee. Thats a happy thought.”

  Chapter Eight

  SHE may have been unemployed, but Dana doubted that shed ever worked harder or put in longer days.

  There was Moe to deal with, which she equated with having an eighty-pound toddler on her hands. He needed to be fed, walked, scolded, entertained, and watched like a hawk.

  There was the sheer physical demand of painting for several hours a day, which had considerably upped her respect for anyone who did it
for a living. But as Moe came with comfort and amusement, so did the work on the building bring satisfaction and pride.

  Maybe it didnt look like much yet—theyd decided to prime all the walls before starting on color—but when you had three determined, dedicated women working as a unit, you saw considerable progress.

  There was the design and strategy of the business she would debut in a matter of months. She had long, long lists of books, intriguing sidelines, possible styles for shelves and tables, for glasses and cups.

  It had been one thing to fantasize about owning a bookstore, but it was another matter entirely to deal with the thousands of details involved in creating one.

  Added to that were the hours of midnight oil she burned searching for the key. Reading had always been a passion, but now it was a mission. Somewhere in a book was the answer. Or at least the next question.

  And what if the answer, or the question, was in one of the books shed assigned to her friends? What if they missed it because it would only resonate with her?

  That way lay madness, she told herself.

  On top of everything else she had to do, had to think about, had to worry about, she had to get ready for a date. A date, she reminded herself, that she should never have agreed to.

  Talk about the road to madness.

  If she canceled, Jordan would either nag and harangue her until she sliced him to pieces with a butcher knife and spent the rest of her life in prison, or, even worse, hed get that smug, told-youso look on his face and claim hed only proven that she was afraid to be around him.

  In which case, it was back to the kitchen knife and life in the womens penitentiary.

  The only choice left was to go—and to go fully armed. She would not only prove she wasnt the least bit concerned about spending a few hours with him, she would drive him mad while she was at it.

  She knew he was a sucker for scent, so she slathered herself in perfumed body cream before slipping into what she thought of as her tonights-the-night underwear. Not that she would give Jordan the chance to see it, but she would know she was wearing the sexy black bra, the lacy panties, the lace-trimmed garter belt and sheer hose.