by Nora Roberts
“Well, I certainly do,” Jordan confirmed.
“And me,” Brad agreed.
“Yeah. Clink, clink, clink,” Dana said. “That’s the sound of links fusing on the chain. Come on, Flynn, how hard can it be to find a book?”
“When’s the last time you’ve been up in one of those spare rooms?” Malory asked.
“Good point.” She began to pace. “It’s in there. It’s in there. I know it. I’ll go up and find it myself.”
She spun toward the doorway just as Flynn came jogging down the stairs.
“Got it. Hah. It was in a box labeled ‘Books.’ I didn’t know I had a box labeled ‘Books.’ ” He handed the book to Dana.
She ran her hand over it, hoping for some sort of sign, and studied the silhouette of Warrior’s Peak brooding under a full moon. She opened it, fanned the pages, and smelled paper and dust.
“Where’s the line, Jordan?”
“It’s the end of the prologue.”
She turned the first few pages, read the words in her head, spoke them out loud. Waited.
“I don’t feel anything. I should feel something. Malory?”
“There was an awareness, a kind of knowing. It’s hard to explain.”
“But I’d know it if I felt it,” Dana finished. “And I don’t. Maybe I have to read it, get the whole picture. The way you had to paint the whole portrait before you could reach the key.”
“I wonder . . .” Zoe hesitated. “Well, I just wonder if maybe it’s not in that book, because that book’s not yours. Jordan wrote it, so all the copies are his in a way. But only one is yours. And you’re the key, so wouldn’t it make more sense for it to have to be your own book?”
Dana stared at her, then grinned. “Zoe, that’s absolutely brilliant. Okay, troops, saddle up. Let’s move this to my place.”
“I’ll be right behind you.” Zoe picked up her purse. “I’ll just run Simon home and see if my neighbor will sit with him.”
“Let me just get rid of these boxes. Zoe, I’m going to wrap up some of this leftover pizza for Simon.”
Life, Dana decided, didn’t stop. Not even for magic keys and wicked sorcerers. And wasn’t that why it was life?
“Meet us there after you’re done the domestic stuff.” She grabbed Jordan’s hand, headed for the door. “And you could wrap up some slices for me while you’re at it.”
Chapter Nineteen
“DID you read the book, or did you just say you read the book?” Jordan asked as they drove back to her apartment.
“Why would I just say I read it?”
“Beats me. But you said just the other day that you’d never been in a book before. So I figured you’d never read Phantom Watch.”
“You lost me.”
“Did you read the book?”
“Yes, damn it. I hated that book. It was so good, and I wanted it to suck. I wanted to be able to say, See, he’s no big deal. But I couldn’t. I was going to toss it out, even fantasized briefly about burning it.”
“Jesus, you were pissed.”
“Oh, brother, let me tell you. Of course, I couldn’t burn a book. My librarian’s soul would wither and die. I couldn’t toss it out, either, for much the same reason. And I could never bring myself to turn it in at the used bookstore or just give it away.”
“I haven’t seen any of my books in your apartment.”
“You wouldn’t. They’re camouflaged.”
He took his eyes off the road to laugh at her. “Get out.”
“I didn’t want people seeing I had your books. I didn’t want to see I had your books. But I had to have them.”
“So you read Phantom Watch, but you didn’t recognize Kate.”
“Kate?” She reached back in her memory. “The heroine? Ah . . . good brain, a little arrogant about it. Strong-willed, self-reliant, content in her own company—which is why she took all those long walks and ended up with that fascination for the Peak—or the Watch, I should say.”
She dug back a little deeper, let the image form. “Had a mouth on her. I admired that. A tendency toward crankiness, especially toward the hero, but you couldn’t blame her. He asked for it. A small-town girl, and happy to stay that way. Worked in, what was it, this little antiquarian bookshop, which is what put her in the villain’s cross-hairs.”
“That’s our girl.”
“She had a healthy outlook toward sex, which I appreciated. Too many women in fiction are painted as either virgin or slut. She used her head, which was a good one, but it was that and a stubborn streak that got her in a jam.”
“No bells ringing?” Jordan said after a moment.
“What bells? I don’t . . .” A ripple of shock had her gaping at him. “Are you saying you based her on me?”
“Bits and pieces. A lot of bits and pieces. Jesus, Dana, she even had your eyes.”
“My eyes are brown. Hers were . . . something poetic.”
“ ‘The color of chocolate, both rich and bitter.’ Or something like that.”
“I’m not stubborn. I’m . . . confident in my decisions.”
“Uh-huh.” He pulled up outside her building.
“I’m not arrogant. I simply have little patience for narrow minds or supercilious behavior.”
“Yep.”
She shoved out of the car. “It’s starting to come back to me now. This Kate could be a real pain in the ass.”
“At times. It’s what made her interesting and real and human. Especially since she could also be generous and kind. She had a great sense of humor, the kind of woman who could laugh at herself.”
Scowling at him, she unlocked her door. “Maybe.”
As they walked in, Jordan gave her a friendly pat on the butt. “I fell pretty hard for her. Of course, if I were to write her today—” He backed Dana against the door, braced his hands on either side of her head.
“Yes?”
“I wouldn’t change a thing.” He lowered his mouth to hers, slid into the kiss. “I was so sure you’d read it, see yourself and get in touch with me. When you didn’t get in touch, I figured you’d never read it.”
“Maybe I wasn’t ready to see myself. But you can be sure I’m going to read it again. The fact is, it’s the only one of your books I never reread.”
With a half laugh, he eased back. “You reread my books?”
“I can actually see your head swelling, so I’m going to get out of the way before somebody gets hurt.” She ducked under his arm, headed toward one of the bookshelves.
“To the woman I lost. To the woman I found. To the only woman I’ve loved. How fortunate for me that all three are one.”
She looked back at him as she reached for a book. “What was that about?”
“It’s the dedication I just wrote in my head for the book I’m working on now.”
She dropped her hand. “God, Jordan, you’re going to turn me into a puddle of mush. You never used to say things like that to me.”
“I used to think things like that. I just didn’t know how to say them.”
“This is the one I read a piece of. The one about redemption. I’ll look forward to reading the rest of it.”
“I’ll look forward to writing it for you.”
He watched her remove a book from the shelf, slip off the outer dust jacket to reveal the one beneath.
“ ‘Phantom Watch,’ ” he read, “ ‘Jordan Hawke.’ Covered up by . . .” The laughter rolled out of him. “ ‘How to Exterminate Pests from Home and Garden.’ Good one, Stretch.”
“Worked for me. I have another of yours under the cover of a novel titled Dog-Eaters. A surprisingly dull and bloodless book, despite the title. Then there’s . . . Well, doesn’t matter. Just variations on the theme.”
“I get it.”
“Tell you what.” She covered his hand with hers. “After we’re done, you and I will have a ritual unveiling, after which I will, with some ceremony, place your books in their rightful place on the shelves.”
“Soun
ds good.” He looked down at the book, then back at her. “Going to wait for the others?”
“I can’t.” She could see he hadn’t expected her to wait. “I’m too wound up. And I think, I feel, that this is something we’re supposed to do. You and me.”
“Then let’s do it.”
As she had with Flynn’s copy, she ran her fingers over the cover, over the illustration of the Peak.
But this time, she felt . . . something. What had Malory called it? An awareness. Yes, Dana decided, exactly that. “This is it, Jordan,” she whispered. “The key’s in the book.” Hands steady, she opened it.
Focus, she told herself. Concentrate. It was there. She only had to see it.
He watched her skim her fingers down the title page, the tips running lightly over his name. Her breath quickened.
“Dana.”
“I feel it. It’s warm. It’s waiting. She’s waiting.”
She flipped pages gently, then let out a single shocked gasp as the book fell out of her hands. He called her name again and caught her as she collapsed.
Stunned, scared, he lowered her to the rug. She was breathing, he could feel her breathing, but she’d gone pale and cold as ice.
“Come back. Dana, damn it, you come back.” On a spurt of panic, he shook her. Her head rolled limply to the side.
“Where did you take her, you son of a bitch?” He started to haul her up, and his gaze landed on the book that had fallen, open, on the floor. “Oh, my God.”
He picked her up, clamping her against him to warm her, to protect. He heard the voices out in the hall and fumbled the door open before Flynn could knock.
“Dana.” Flynn grabbed for her, ran his hands over her face. “No!”
“He’s got her,” Jordan spat out. “The son of a bitch pulled her into the book. He’s got her trapped in the goddamn book.”
SHE felt him take her. He’d wanted her to, she’d known that immediately. He’d taken her with pain so she would be sure to know he could. He’d ripped the consciousness from her body as gleefully as an evil boy rips wings off flies.
After the pain, there was cold. Bitter, brutal cold that shot straight to the bones, seemed to turn them brittle and thin as glass.
She was torn from the warmth and the light and thrust into the cold and the pain, through the damp, hideous fingers of the blue mist. It seemed to wrap around her, binding arms and legs, strangling her until she wheezed for even one breath of that cold air, wheezed for another even though it was like inhaling iced blades.
Then even the mist was gone, and she lay shivering, alone in the dark.
Panic came first, made her want to curl up tight and whimper. But as she sucked in air, she tasted . . . pine, autumn. Forest. She pushed to her hands and knees and felt, yes, pine needles, fallen leaves, under her hands. And as the first edge of fear eased, she saw the sprinkle of moonlight coming through the trees.
It wasn’t so cold now, she realized. No, it was more brisk than cold, the way it was meant to be on a clear fall night. She could hear the sounds of night birds, the long, long call of an owl, the hushed music of the wind soughing through the trees.
A little dazed, she braced a hand on the trunk of a tree, nearly wept with relief at the texture of the rough bark. It was so solid, so normal.
Fighting a wave of dizziness, she pulled herself to her feet, then leaned against the tree while her eyes adjusted to the dark.
She was alive, she told herself. She was all in one piece. A little light-headed, a little shaky, but whole. She had to find her way back home, and the only way to get there was to move.
Which way, that was the question. She decided to trust her instincts and move forward.
The shadows were so deep, it seemed she might stumble into one and fall forever. The light that struggled through the trees was silver, the dull tone of unpolished swords.
The thought passed through her mind, absently, that there were too many leaves on the trees for so late in October.
She stepped on a twig, and the sound of it snapping under her heel was like a gunshot that had her stumbling forward in reaction.
“All right, it’s all right.” Her own voice echoed back to her, had her pressing her lips together to prevent herself from speaking again.
She looked down to check her footing, then simply stared, puzzling over her shoes. She was wearing sturdy brown hiking boots, not the dressy black leather pumps that she’d pulled on for the evening.
She’d wanted to dress up because . . . The thought faded in and out of her mind until she bore down, grabbed it. She’d wanted to show off her ring. Yes, she’d wanted to look fabulous to match her engagement ring.
But when she lifted her hand, she wore no ring.
Her heart jumped, and every other terror faded to nothing at the idea of losing Jordan’s ring. She swung around, raced back through the woods, trying to find the place where she’d fallen.
Wakened?
And running, searching the ground for a glint of gold, she heard the first sly rustle behind her, felt the bright chill sprint up her spine.
She’d been wrong. She wasn’t alone.
She ran, but not in blind panic. She ran in a headlong rush to escape and survive. She heard him coming behind her, too arrogant to hurry. Too sure he would win this race.
But he would lose, she promised herself. He’d lose because she was not going to die here.
Her breath whistling, she burst out of the trees and into the shimmering light of a full white moon.
It was the wrong moon. Part of her mind registered that as she loped across the grass. It shouldn’t be full. It should be in its last quarter, waning toward the new moon, and the end of her four weeks.
The end of her quest.
But here the moon was full, swimming in a black glass sky over the shadow of Warrior’s Peak.
She slowed to a walk, pressed a hand to her side to ease a stitch.
There was no white flag with the emblem of a key flying from the tower. There were no lights gleaming gold against the windows. It would be empty now, she thought, but for the busy spiders and the skittering mice.
Because that was how Jordan had written it.
She was in the book, walking through the pages of his book.
“You’ve a very strong mind.”
She whirled. Kane stood behind her, just at the edge of the woods.
“This is false. Just another fantasy.”
“Is it? You know the power of the written word, the reality created on the pages. This is his world, and was real to him when he built it. I’ve only brought you here. I wondered if your mind would hold up to it, and I see it has. That pleases me.”
“Why should you be pleased? I’m only that much closer to the key.”
“Are you? I wonder, do you remember what happens next?”
“I know this wasn’t in the book. You weren’t in the book.”
“A few changes.” He lifted an arm, swept it out in an elegant gesture. “That will lead to a different ending. You can run if you like. I’ll give you a sporting chance.”
“You can’t keep me here.”
“Perhaps not. Perhaps you’ll find your way out. Of course, if you leave, you lose.” He took a step closer, held up a hand that dangled a long white scarf. “If you stay, you’ll die. Your man made death in Phantom Watch.”
He gestured toward the great house that Jordan had called the Watch in his novel. “How could he know it would be yours?”
She spun toward the Watch, and ran.
WE have to get her back.” Helpless, Flynn rubbed Dana’s cold hand between his. They’d laid her on the bed, tucked blankets around her.
“If this is what she’s meant to do,” Brad began, “she shouldn’t have to do it alone.”
“She’s not going to be alone.” Seeing only one choice, Jordan got to his feet. “We’re not bringing her back. The contact, calling her, being here. None of it’s bringing her back. Brad, I need you to go get Rowena.
I need you to get her here, and fast.”
“That’ll take an hour.” Zoe, standing at the foot of the bed, now moved to the side. “An hour’s too long. Malory, Rowena came to us before. We have to try to make her come to us again. Dana’s not supposed to be alone. That’s what he does. He separates us, isolates us. We don’t have to let him get away with it.”
“We can try. We’re strongest when we’re together.” Malory reached across the bed for Zoe’s hand, kept her other clasped around Dana’s. “We’ll ask her to come.”
“Not this time.” Zoe’s fingers tightened, and the light of battle shone in her eyes. “This time we tell her.”
“How do they intend to order a god to make a house call?” Flynn said.
Brad laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s going to be all right, Flynn. We’re going to get her back.”
“She looks like the portrait.” His throat burned as he stared down at his sister’s face. Her white, empty face. “Like the daughter in your portrait. After . . .”
“We’re going to get her back,” Brad said more firmly. “Look, I’ll head out right now, get up to the Peak. I’ll bring Rowena or Pitte, or both of them back if I have to do it at gunpoint.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Rowena stood in the doorway, with Pitte behind her.
DANA ran toward the house, fled toward it, hoping that the stone and glass would offer some kind of protection.
What happened in the book? What chapter had she fallen into? Were her actions her own will, she wondered, or written?
Think! she ordered herself. Think back and remember. Once she’d read a story, it became part of her. It was in her memory. She just had to clear away the fear and bring it back.
She was so scared. The screech of an owl had her heart pounding at the base of her throat. Fog was eating over the ground now, thin and white, just edged with blue. It thickened, seemed to boil around her feet until it was as if she waded through smoke.
It muffled the sound of her running footsteps. And his, she realized. God, and his.
If she could reach the house, just reach the house, she could find somewhere to hide until she caught her breath. She could find a weapon, defend herself.
For he meant to kill her, he meant to wrap that long white scarf around her neck and pull, pull while she struggled for air, while her eyes wheeled frantically in her head, while her veins burst with her blood.