Key Trilogy (63 page)

“Like Apollo?”

“Sort of. But not Greek. He was Celtic. He was the son of the king, and when he was of age, he visited our world and he met a girl and fell in love.”

Simon’s mouth twisted. “How come that always happens?”

“Can we get into that area of things later? We’re a little pressed for time. So, they fell in love, and even though it wasn’t really allowed then, his parents let him bring the girl home with him so they could be married. This was okay with some of the gods, but it wasn’t okay with some of the others. There were battles and—”

“Cool.”

“The world split into two kingdoms, I guess you could say. One with the young god becoming ruler with his human wife, and the other ruled by, well, a wicked sorcerer.”

“Way cool.”

“The young king had three daughters. They call them demigoddesses because they’re part human. Each of the daughters had a special gift. One was music, or art, another was writing, or knowledge, and the third was courage, I guess. Valor.”

It made her mouth a little dry to think of it, but she swallowed and went on. “She was a kind of warrior. They were very close to each other, the way sisters should be, and their parents loved them. To keep them safe while there was this trouble going on, they had them guarded and taught by a warrior and a teacher. Then—try not to groan—the warrior and the teacher fell in love.”

He let his head fall back and stared upward. “I just knew it.”

“Not being sarcastic nine-year-old boys, the daughters were happy for them, and covered for them when they slipped off a little way to be alone. So these girls weren’t guarded as well as maybe they should have been. The wicked sorcerer took advantage of that, and he snuck close and cast a spell. The spell stole the souls of the daughters and locked them in a glass box with three locks and three keys.”

“Man, that sucks for them.”

“It sure does. The souls are trapped there, in the box, and can’t get out until the keys are turned in the lock—one by one—and only by the hand of a mortal. A human.”

Because her fingers tingled, she rubbed them on the skirt of her dress. “See, because they were half human, this sorcerer made it so only someone from our world could save them. Because he didn’t think it could be done. The teacher was given the keys—but she can’t work them—and she and the warrior were cast out, and into this world. In every generation they have to ask three humans, the three humans who are the only ones who can unlock the box, to find the keys. They have to be hidden and found as part of the quest, part of the spell. And each one of the chosen has to go in turn, and has just four weeks to find the key and put it in the lock.”

“Wow, are you one of the ones who has to find a key? How come you were chosen?”

She let out a little breath. Her son was a bright and logical boy. “I don’t know exactly. We look—Mal, Dana, and I—we look like the daughters. The Daughters of Glass, they’re called. Rowena’s an artist, and she has a painting of them at the Peak. It’s connections, Simon. There’s something that connects us to each other, to the keys, and to the daughters. I guess you could say it’s fate.”

“If you don’t find the keys, they’re just stuck in the box?”

“Their souls are. Their bodies are in glass coffins—um, like Snow White. Waiting.”

“Rowena and Pitte, they’re the teacher and the guard.” He nodded. “And you and Malory and Dana have to find the keys and fix everything.”

“Pretty much. Malory and Dana have already had their turns, and they each found the key. It’s my turn now.”

“You’ll find it.” He gave her a solemn nod. “You always find stuff when I lose it.”

If only, she thought, it was as simple as finding her son’s favorite action figure. “I’m going to try as hard as I can. I have to tell you, Simon, the sorcerer—his name is Kane—he’s tried to stop us. He’ll try to stop me. It’s really scary, but I have to try.”

“You’ll kick his butt.”

The laugh eased some of the knots in her stomach. “That’s my plan. I wasn’t going to tell you all this, but then it didn’t seem right not to.”

“Because we’re a team.”

“Yeah, we’re a great team.”

She paused at the open gates of Warrior’s Peak.

The gates were flanked by two stone warriors, hands ready on the hilts of their swords. They looked so fierce to her, so formidable. Connections? she thought. What connection could someone like her have to warriors at the gate?

Still, taking a deep breath, Zoe drove through.

“Holy cow,” Simon said beside her.

“And then some.”

She understood his reaction to the house. Hers had been the same wide-eyed, slack-jawed stare the first time she’d seen it up close.

Though “house,” she supposed, was too ordinary a word for the Peak. Part castle, part fortress, it stood high over the Valley, rose up like the majestic hills and ruled them. Its
peaks and towers were made of black stone with gargoyles perched on eaves as if they might leap, not so playfully, at their whim. It was a massive place, surrounded by lush lawns that slid into thick woods gone shadowy with evening.

High on the topmost tower flew a white flag with the emblem of a golden key.

The sun was setting behind it, so the canvas of the sky was streaked with red and gold, adding yet another layer of drama.

Soon the sky would be black, Zoe thought, with only the thinnest sliver of moon. Tomorrow was the first night of the new moon, the beginning of her quest.

“It’s really something inside, too. Like something you’d see in a movie. Don’t touch anything.”

“Mom.”

“I’m nervous. Give me a break.” She drove slowly toward the entrance. “But, really, don’t touch anything in there.”

She stopped the car, and hoped she wasn’t the first, or the last, to arrive, then took out a lipstick to replace what she’d worried off since leaving home. Automatically, she flicked her fingers over the ruler-straight ends of the hair she now wore shorter than her son’s.

“You look good, okay? Can we go?”

“I want us to look great.” She caught his chin in her hand, and used the comb she’d plucked out of her purse to tidy his hair while he crossed his eyes at her. “If you don’t like what they give us for dinner, just pretend to eat it, but don’t say you don’t like it, or make those gagging noises. I’ll fix you something else when we get home.”

“Can we go by McDonald’s?”

“We’ll see. We’re fine. We’re great. Okay.” She dropped the comb back in her purse and started to open the car door.

The old man who greeted guests and took care of their
cars was there to do it for her. He always made her jump. “Oh. Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Miss. Good evening to you.”

Simon gave him a long study. “Hi.”

“Hello, young master.”

Liking the title, Simon grinned at him and walked closer. “Are you one of the magic people?”

The creases in the old face deepened and shifted into a broad smile. “It might be I am. What would you think of that?”

“Sweet. But how come you’re so old?”

“Simon.”

“It’s a good question, Miss,” he said in response to Zoe’s horrified hiss. “I’m so old because I’ve had the pleasure of living a long time. I wish you the same pleasure.” He leaned down with a creak of bones until his face was level with Simon’s. “Would you like to know a true thing?”

“Okay.”

“We’re all of us magic people, but some know it and some don’t.”

He straightened again. “I’ll see to your car, Miss. Have a nice evening.”

“Thank you.” She took Simon’s hand and walked to the portico and the twin entrance doors. They opened before she could knock, and there was Rowena.

Her flame-tipped hair tumbled gloriously over the shoulders of a long dress the green of forest shadows. A silver pendant hung between her breasts, its clear center stone winking in the sparkling light of the entrance hall.

As always, her beauty was a quick shock, like an electric jolt.

She held out a hand in welcome to Zoe, but her eyes—a bolder, richer green than her gown—were all for Simon.

“Welcome.” There was a lilt to her voice, echoing those of the foreign lands Zoe had once longed to see. “It’s good
to see you again. And such a pleasure to meet you, Simon, at last.”

“Simon, this is Miss Rowena.”

“Just Rowena, please, for I hope we’ll be friends. Come in, won’t you?” She kept Zoe’s hand in hers, and touched the other to Simon’s shoulder.

“I hope we’re not late.”

“No, not at all.” Rowena stepped back, leading the way over the tile floor with its colorful mosaics. “Most of the others are here, but Malory and Flynn haven’t yet arrived. We’re in the parlor. Tell me, Simon, do you like calf’s liver and brussels sprouts?”

He made gagging noises before he remembered his mother’s order, but even as he caught himself Zoe was flushing. And Rowena’s laugh flowed around them. “Since I feel exactly the same, it’s fortunate they’re not on the menu tonight. Our latest arrivals,” she announced as she stepped into the parlor. “Pitte, come meet young Master McCourt.”

Simon slid his gaze up to his mother, nudged her with his elbow. “Master,” he said with great satisfaction, out of the corner of his mouth.

Rowena’s lover matched her in looks. His powerful warrior’s build was garbed in an elegant dark suit. His mane of black hair swept back from a strong face where the bones seemed carved under the flesh. His eyes, a brilliant blue, studied Simon as he lifted one elegant brow and extended a hand.

“Good evening, Mr. McCourt. And what can I offer you to drink?”

“Can I have a Coke?”

“Certainly.”

“Please, be at home.” Rowena gestured.

Dana had already risen to cross the room. “Hey, Simon. How’s it going?”

“Fine. Except I lost a buck because that guy and Brad are wearing suits.”

“Bad luck.”

“I’m going to go talk to Brad, okay, Mom?”

“All right, but—” She sighed as he dashed off. “Don’t touch anything,” she added under her breath.

“He’ll be fine. How about you?”

“I don’t know.” She looked at her friend, one of the people she’d come to trust completely. The dark brown eyes looked back at hers with an understanding that only one other person could have. “I guess I’m a little wound up. Let’s not think about it yet. You look great.”

It was perfectly true. The dense brown hair fell in a sleek, swinging bell two inches below Dana’s strong chin. It was a good look for her, if Zoe, who’d styled it, said so herself.

It relieved her that Dana had chosen a brick-colored jacket over the more formal black.

“Even better,” she added, “you look happy.” She lifted Dana’s left hand to admire the square-cut ruby. “Jordan has great taste in jewelry, and in fiancées.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Dana glanced back toward the sofa, where Jordan and Pitte were talking.

They looked, she thought, very much like the warriors who flanked the gates. “I got me a big, handsome guy.”

They looked wonderful together, Zoe thought. Dana’s sexy amazon build, Jordan’s tall, muscled frame. Whatever happened, or didn’t, Zoe was glad they’d found each other again.

“I thought you would enjoy a glass of champagne.” Rowena stepped over, offering Zoe bubbling wine in a carved crystal flute.

“Thanks.”

“Your son is beautiful.”

Nerves took a backseat to pride. “Yes, he is. The most beautiful thing in my life.”

“That makes you a wealthy woman.” Rowena touched a hand to her arm and smiled. “He and Bradley appear to be fast friends.”

“They hit it off,” Zoe agreed.

She didn’t know what to think about it; it seemed so unlikely. Yet there they were, huddled together across the room, obviously in some deep discussion. The man in the elegant slate-gray suit and the boy in his dark brown one that was already—God—a smidgeon too small for him.

It seemed odd that Simon should be so easy with the man while she was so uneasy with him. She and her son were usually in tandem.

Then Brad glanced over and his eyes, nearly the exact color of his suit, met hers.

Oh, yeah, she thought, there was the reason. This was the only person of her and Simon’s acquaintance who could have bats doing cartwheels in her stomach with just one look.

He was too handsome, he was too rich, he was too
everything
. Way, way out of your league, Zoe, and we’ve already been there once.

Bradley Charles Vane IV made James Marshall look like a yokel, in every possible way. The Vane fortune, built with lumber, spreading its commerce across the country with its top-rated HomeMakers chain of stores, made Brad a powerful and privileged man.

His looks—the dark gold hair, the sooty eyes and sorcerer’s mouth—made him, in her opinion, a dangerous one. He had the toned, rangy build made for those designer suits. Long legs that she imagined could eat up ground quickly on his way out the door.

Plus, she found him unpredictable. He could be arrogant and cool one minute, hot and bossy the next, then surprisingly sweet.

She didn’t trust a man she couldn’t predict.

Yet she trusted him with Simon, so that was another puzzle. He would never hurt her boy. She was down to the gut certain of that. Nor could she deny that he was good with him, good to him.

Still, when Brad rose to walk toward her, every muscle in her body went tight.

“Doing okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“So, you told Simon what was going on.”

“He has a right to know. I—”

“You might want to stop the leap down my throat so I can tell you I agree with you. He not only has the right, but his mind’s bright and agile enough to deal with it.”

“Oh.” She stared down into her glass. “Sorry. I’m a little nervous.”

“Maybe it’ll help to remember you’re not in this alone.”

As he spoke there was a commotion in the hall. An instant later, Moe, Flynn’s big black disaster of a dog, bounded into the room. He gave a delighted bark, then charged toward the tray of canapés on a low table.

Flynn and Malory rushed in in his wake, followed by a laughing Rowena. There were shouts, more barks, and one unfortunate crash.

“In fact,” Brad added as he watched the ensuing chaos, “you’ll be lucky to find five minutes to be alone with this crew.”