by Nora Roberts
A dresser that needed to be stripped or painted, lamps without shades, a rocking chair with a broken runner, boxes gathering dust, books gathering mildew.
Spiders had been busy up here, she noted, and mice were likely making cozy nests inside the unfinished walls. It needed to be swept out. Traps should be set. This was good, practical storage space going to waste.
She remembered what it had been like filled with blue mist, and a cold that chilled to the bone.
Better, she reminded herself, to remember there had been victory here. Nevertheless, she walked to the window and shoved it open to let the chilly evening air chase the musty smell away.
Being up here, alone, was a major step, she decided. Not only a kind of reclamation but proof to herself that she wouldn’t be blocked by fear. Next time, she promised herself, she would bring a broom, a dust cloth, and a scrub bucket. But for now she could take the time to look through what had been left behind and see what could be kept and used, and what needed to be hauled away.
There was an old birdcage that could be cleaned up and painted. She would find a use for that. And the metal pole lamp, the lopsided end table. The books were likely full of silverfish, so she made a mental note to take a look, box up whatever was too far gone, and cart it away herself to spare Dana the distress.
She found an ancient Raggedy Ann doll with a torn shoulder. Someone had loved it once, she thought. Maybe with a good wash and a few stitches someone would love it again. She tucked it in the crook of her arm as she pushed through boxes, shoved pieces of furniture out of the way.
She considered the long oval mirror with beveled edges a treasure. Yes, it needed resilvering, but it was a really nice shape. They could hang it from a ribbon in the central area or, better yet, use it in place of the medicine cabinet in the powder room on the main floor.
With the doll still resting in her arm, she tilted the mirror against the wall and stepped back to visualize.
She saw herself in the flyspecked glass, standing in the hard, unfiltered light, dust in her hair, on her cheek, with a wounded rag doll cradled in her arm.
Like the mirror, like the doll, she mused, she wasn’t anything special to look at, at the moment. But potential was the important thing. She was looking a little tired around the eyes, but that was nothing a ten-minute break with cucumber eye pads wouldn’t fix. She knew how to buff herself up, appearance wise. That was just routine, and a few tricks of the trade.
And she knew how to keep herself in tune inside, too. As long as she considered herself a work in progress, she wouldn’t stop trying to learn, to become, to make more of herself.
She wasn’t a sad Raggedy Ann who needed to be tended to. She knew, very well, how to tend to herself and those who needed her.
Kyna needed her, she thought. Kyna and her sisters needed her to find the last key to unlock their prison. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, give up until she’d done everything possible.
“Whatever it takes,” she said aloud. “I won’t walk away.”
The glass misted as she watched, a thin sparkle dancing over the pocked surface. Through it she saw herself. Then it was no longer her but a tall, slim young woman in green robes, a puppy in the crook of her arm and a sword at her side.
Fascinated, she stepped forward, reached up to touch her fingers to the mirror. And watched them slide into the glass. Shocked, she snatched them back, fisted her hand over her speeding heart.
The image in the glass remained, looking back at her. Waiting.
She wanted to bolt, could feel her legs tense for the rush to the door and away. But hadn’t she just promised? Whatever it takes. Closing her eyes for a moment, she struggled to steady herself. What Malory had told her about Brad applied to just about everything there was in life, didn’t it? You just did what came next.
Zoe gathered her courage, clutched the doll for comfort, and walked into the mirror.
She stood with her sisters under the bright wash of sunlight with the scent of the garden rioting in the air. Birds sang in a kind of desperate joy that lifted her heart.
In her arm, the puppy wriggled and twisted himself to lick her jaw. She set him down to romp for a bit and joined her laughter with her sisters’.
“We should teach him to dance.” Venora fluttered her fingers over the strings of her harp while the puppy leaped clumsily at a passing butterfly.
“What he’ll do is dig in the garden.” Bending, Niniane petted the pup’s head. “And be in constant trouble, just as he should. I’m so glad you found him, Kyna.”
“He looked like he was waiting for me.” Madly in love already, she crouched, tickling the pup’s soft, fat belly. “Sitting on the path of the forest as if saying, ‘It’s about time you got here to take me home.’ ”
“Poor little thing. I wonder how he got lost.”
Kyna glanced at Venora. “I don’t think he was lost. I think he was found.” She lifted him up, stood to turn in a circle while he yipped and wriggled with joy. “We’ll take care of you, and protect you. And you’ll grow big and strong.”
“Then he’ll protect us,” Niniane said and reached out to give the puppy’s tail a gentle tug.
“We have more than enough guards already.” Rubbing her cheek against the pup’s head, Kyna turned to look back across the garden to the two figures who embraced under the blossoms of a tree. “Rowena and Pitte are either watching us, or watching each other.”
“Our father worries too much.” Niniane set down her quill and lifted her face to the sky. A perfect bowl of blue. “How could we be safer than here, in the heart of the kingdom?”
“There are those who would strike the heart, if they dared.” Unconsciously, Kyna laid a hand on the hilt of her sword. “Who would harm our parents, our people, and our world, even the world beyond, through us.”
“I don’t understand the need for hate when there’s such beauty. And such love,” Venora added.
“As long as there are those like Kane and his followers there will be a battle between what is good and what is evil. So it is in all the worlds,” Kyna told them. “There must be warriors as well as artists and bards, rulers and scholars.”
“There’s no need for a sword today.” Niniane touched Kyna’s hip.
“For Kyna there’s always a need for a sword,” Venora said with a laugh. “But only look. Love is surely as valiant and true a weapon as steel.” She plucked her harp as she studied Rowena and Pitte. “See how they are together, as if they need nothing but each other. One day we’ll find that.”
“But the man I love must be as handsome as Pitte,” Niniane said, “and clever of mind.”
“And mine will be all that, but with the soul of a poet.” With a flutter of her lashes, Venora pressed a hand to her heart. “Yours, Kyna?”
“Ah, well.” Kyna tucked the puppy in the crook of her arm again. “Handsome, of course, and clever of mind, with that poet’s soul—and a warrior’s heart. And he must be the most skilled of lovers.”
They giggled together, as sisters do, gathered close, and didn’t see that perfect bowl of sky begin to boil black in the west.
Venora shivered. “It grows chilly.”
“The wind,” Kyna began, and the world went mad.
She whirled, her sword singing as she drew it from its sheath, as she stepped between her sisters and the shadow that spilled out of the woods.
She heard the screams, the vicious lashing of the wind, the shouts of those who ran to defend. She saw the sly slither of a snake on the tiles and the crawl of a blue mist.
And Kane, his eyes black with power in his handsome face, stepped out of the shadows. He raised his arms toward that boiling sky, his voice like thunder.
Even as she charged, sword held high, the pain ripped through her like vicious fingers, tearing at her heart and dropping her to her knees.
She saw him smile an instant before she was yanked from her own body.
In the attic, under the harsh light of the overhead bulb, Zoe stood a
gain, with an icy pain in her chest and tears spilling down her cheeks.
“I hurt for them.” Zoe pressed her hands together on her kitchen table. “I felt what she felt—the emotions, the sun, the warm fur of the puppy, but I was still apart from it. I don’t know how to explain.”
“A kind of mirror image?” Brad suggested, and nudged the wine he’d poured her a little closer. She’d held on, putting Simon to bed, but whatever she’d been feeling had showed in her eyes.
He’d sensed it, and he suspected Simon had, too, as the boy had gone to bed without even a token protest.
But now she was pale, and she struggled to keep her hands from trembling.
“Yes.” It seemed to relieve her to have a name for it. “Like that, like a reflection. I walked into the mirror, like Alice,” she said with wonder. “And I knew them, Bradley. I loved them, just as she did. They were sitting in the garden, enjoying the puppy and the sunlight, a little amused, a little envious of the way Rowena and Pitte were so absorbed in each other, and talking, just young girls chatting about the kind of men they would fall in love with. Then it was dark and cold and terrifying. She tried to fight.”
Overcome again, Zoe brushed fresh tears from her cheeks. “She tried to protect them. It was her first and last thought. He—he reveled in their pain. He celebrated her failure. I could see it on his face. She couldn’t stop it. Neither could I.”
She picked up her wine, took a small sip.
“You shouldn’t have been up there alone.”
“I think I did have to be alone. I understand what you’re saying, but I think, I feel, this was something I had to experience on my own. Bradley.” She pushed the wine aside, reached across the table for his hand. “He didn’t know I was there. Kane didn’t know. I’m sure of it. It has to mean something that I was brought there without him knowing it. I think it means she’s still fighting, or trying to.”
He sat back, considered. “Maybe it’s possible, that with the first two locks opened the daughters are able to get something through. Their thoughts, their feelings, their hope. It could be enough to connect to you, especially if they had help.”
“Rowena and Pitte.”
“It’s worth finding out. If you can get someone over to stay with Simon, we’ll go up and ask them.”
“It’s nearly ten now. We wouldn’t be able to get up there and back before close to midnight. I don’t want to ask anyone to come over at this time of night.”
“Okay. I will.” He rose, picked up the kitchen phone.
“Bradley—”
“Do you trust Flynn with Simon?”
“Of course I do,” she said as he dialed. “But he shouldn’t have to leave his own house and come baby-sit.”
Brad merely lifted a brow. “Flynn, can you come over to Zoe’s and stay with Simon? We’ve got to run up and see Rowena and Pitte. I’ll fill you in on that later. Great. See you and Malory.” He hung up the phone. “Ten minutes. That’s what friends do, Zoe.”
“I know that.” Agitated, she pushed at her hair. “I just don’t like putting people out because I’ve got the jitters.”
“A woman who walks into a mirror shouldn’t get the jitters driving up to the Peak.”
“I guess not.”
MAYBE it wasn’t the jitters so much as anticipation, she decided as they drove through the gates at the Peak. There was a new sense of urgency now that she, in some very real way, had been inside the skin of the woman in the portrait.
The girl, she corrected herself. She’d felt all that innocence and hope and courage—the sheer youth of it. For that time in the mirror, she’d known the goddess, heart and soul.
And her own heart ached from it.
She glanced up at the moon as she got out of the car. It was their hourglass, she thought. And time trickled steadily away while they waited.
It was Pitte who came to the door, opening it before they’d crossed the portico. He looked relaxed, Zoe noted, and less formal than usual, in a stone-gray sweater.
“I’m sorry to come by so late,” she began.
“Is it?” He took her hand and had her flushing by bringing it to his lips. “There’s no hour you’re not welcome here.”
“Oh.” Flustered, she looked at Brad to see him watching Pitte steadily. “That’s very nice of you. But still, we’ll try not to keep you long.”
“As long as you like.” He kept her hand in his and drew her inside. “The nights grow cold. We’ve a fire in the parlor. Your son is well?”
“Yes.” Had she ever had a real conversation with Pitte before? Zoe wondered. “He’s sleeping. Flynn and Malory are with him. Bradley drove me up because . . . I have some questions about things that have happened.”
“She was attacked,” Brad said flatly as they stepped into the parlor.
Rowena rose quickly. “Are you injured?”
“No. No, I’m fine. Bradley, you shouldn’t scare people that way.”
“She was attacked,” Brad repeated. “And though she got off with scrapes and bruises, it could’ve been considerably worse.”
“You’re angry,” Pitte acknowledged. “So would I be, if she were mine. Even a warrior,” he said to Zoe before she could speak, “should appreciate having a champion.”
“Sit, please.” Rowena gestured to the sofa. “Tea, I think. Something soothing. I’ll arrange it.” But she went to Zoe first, cupped Zoe’s face in her hand and kissed her cheeks. “I’m in your debt,” she said softly. “And there is no payment full enough.”
Staggered, Zoe simply stood as Rowena glided from the room. Then she looked at Pitte. “It was you. In the woods. The buck in the woods. It was you.”
He touched her again, just a skim of fingertips over her cheek. “Why didn’t you run, little mother?”
“I couldn’t. You were hurt.” Her legs trembled, so she lowered to the couch. “I was too scared, and too mad to run. And you were hurt.”
“She rushed him, with a tree branch for a club,” he told Brad. “And she was magnificent. You are a fortunate man.”
“She’s not as convinced of that as I am. Yet.”
Confused, Zoe pressed her fingers to her temples. “You were in the woods, watching out for me. The buck . . . it had your eyes.”
He smiled when Rowena came back into the room. “I might not have been there, if Rowena hadn’t nagged at me.”
“Would he have killed me?”
“He has spilled human blood.” Pitte settled into a chair. “He might have spilled yours.”
“Would he—could he have killed you?”
Pitte’s chin angled just enough for arrogance. “He would have tried.”
“Might have been a bit more effective to come as yourself, with a shotgun,” Brad pointed out.
“I can’t battle him in human form while he takes the form of an animal.”
“You were badly hurt,” Zoe remembered. “Your side was gouged.”
“And has been tended. Thank you.”
“Ah, here’s the tea. He grumbled when I tended him.” Rowena scooted forward to lift the teapot the servant set on the table. “Which is a good sign. Were Pitte seriously wounded he would say nothing.”
“I was right to go back there. I feel, most of the time, I feel I’m not doing enough. But I was right to go back there.”
“The path is yours to take.” Rowena offered Zoe a cup. “Your man is worried for you. I understand,” she said to Bradley and poured a second cup. “I can promise you we’ll do all we can to keep her safe.”
“You put protection around Simon. Put protection around her.”
Rowena’s face mirrored sympathy as she held out the second cup. “There is no key without risk. There is no end to risk without the key. She needs your faith in her. It’s as vital as a shield and a sword.”
“I have all the faith in the world in Zoe. And no trust whatsoever for Kane.”
“You’re wise on both counts,” Pitte acknowledged. “He may be licking his wounds for the mom
ent, but he’s not finished. With either of you.”
“He hasn’t bothered with me,” Brad pointed out.
“A canny foe chooses the time and the field. The more she cares for you, the harder the blow. After all, the surest way to the soul is through the heart.”
As Zoe’s cup rattled in its saucer, Brad nodded to Pitte. “Let’s worry about what is for now, and handle what comes as we get to it. You’re the keeper of the keys,” he said to Rowena. “The rules have changed, you’ve said so yourself. Give her the key, and end it.”
“He negotiates.” Obviously pleased, Pitte sat straighter. “There is a contract.”
“Which stated nothing about danger to life and limb,” Brad said easily. “The terms of which were voided when attacks were made on the people involved.”
“They waived recompense for any injuries beyond our control.”
“There wasn’t full disclosure.”
Rowena let out a sigh. “Must you get him started?” she said to Brad. “I’m sure both of you would enjoy a good wrangle over contracts and terms and what have you. And the fact is, I would agree there would no longer be the penalty of a year of your lives, as stated in the contract, if Zoe decides to end her quest. Pitte would agree as well, though he would enjoy arguing the terms first for form.”
“And entertainment,” he added.
“I can’t give her the key,” Rowena continued. “Once the quest was accepted, once it was begun, it was out of my hands. I can’t touch the keys until they’re found by the ones chosen to find them, or until the time has elapsed. Such is the nature of this.”
“Then tell her where it is.”
“I can’t.”
“Because it’s not anywhere until I find it,” Zoe said softly as it settled clearly into her mind. “It’s not there,” she said, looking over at Rowena now, “until I know.”
“You have all the power in this, and have only to understand how to use it.”
“Did I send myself through the mirror? Or did you?”