Key of Light (Key 1)

“I intend to. You could help me.”

“We’re not free to help in that way. But I will tell you this. Not only teacher and warrior but companions and friends to those precious ones, and so only more responsible.”

“It’s only a legend.”

The intensity in his eyes dimmed, and he leaned back again. “It must be, as such things are beyond the limits of your mind and the boundaries of your world. Still, I can promise you the keys exist.”

“Where is the Box of Souls?” Flynn asked him.

“Safe.”

“Could I see the painting again?” Now Malory turned to Rowena. “I’d like Flynn to see it.”

“Of course.” She rose and led the way into the room dominated by the portrait of the Daughters of Glass.

Malory heard Flynn catch his breath, then they were moving together closer to the painting. “It’s even more magnificent than I remembered. Can you tell me who painted this?”

“Someone,” Rowena said quietly, “who knew love, and grief.”

“Someone who knows Malory. And my sister, and Zoe McCourt.”

Rowena let out a sigh. “You’re a cynic, Flynn, and a suspicious one. But as you’ve put yourself in the role of protector, I’ll forgive you for it. We don’t wish Malory, Dana, or Zoe any harm. Quite the opposite.”

Something in her tone made him want to believe her. “It’s pretty disconcerting to see my sister’s face up there.”

“You’d do whatever needed to be done to keep her safe and well. I understand that kind of loyalty and love. I admire and respect it. She’s in no danger from me or Pitte. I can swear that to you.”

He turned now, zeroing in on what hadn’t been said. “But from someone else?”

“Life’s a gamble,” was all Rowena said. “Your tea’s getting cold.”

She turned toward the door just as Pitte stepped to it. “There seems to be a very large, very unhappy dog of some sort outside.”

The temper and sharp words hadn’t ruffled Flynn a bit, but that single statement made him wince. “He’s mine.”

“You have a dog?” The change in Rowena’s tone was almost girlish. Everything about her seemed to go light and bright, then bubble out as she gripped Flynn’s hand.

“He calls it a dog,” Malory said under her breath.

Flynn merely gave her a sorrowful look before speaking to Rowena. “You like dogs?”

“Yes, very much. Could I meet him?”

“Sure.”

“Ah, while you’re introducing Rowena and Pitte to Moe, at their peril, could I take a minute to freshen up?” Casually, Malory gestured toward the powder room. “I remember where it is.”

“Of course.” For the first time since Malory had met her, Rowena seemed distracted. She already had a hand on Flynn’s arm as they started down the hall. “What kind of a dog is he?”

“That’s debatable.”

Malory slipped into the powder room and counted to five. Slowly. Heart pounding, she opened the door a crack and did her best to peer up and down the corridor. Moving quickly now, she dashed back to the portrait, dragging out the little digital camera in her purse as she ran.

She took half a dozen full-length shots, then some of smaller details. With a guilty look over her shoulder, she shoved the camera back into the purse and pulled out her glasses, a plastic bag, and a small palette knife.

With her ears buzzing, she stepped up on the hearth and carefully, gently, scraped flakes of paint into the bag.

The entire process took less than three minutes, but her palms were slick with sweat, her legs loose and wobbly by the time she’d finished. She took another moment to compose herself, then strolled—with what she hoped was casual ease—out of the room and out of the house.