Key Trilogy (22 page)

“I
can’t believe they didn’t show it to you.” Dana dug the key to Flynn’s house out of her purse.

“Neither can I. I didn’t even think,” Malory added, as annoyance propelled her from the car to Flynn’s front door. “I just assumed Jordan was having it shipped. Plus the three of them were half naked. It was distracting.”

“Don’t blame yourself.” Zoe gave her a bolstering pat on the back. “And anyway, you’ll get to see it now.”

“They’re up to something,” Dana muttered. “I can just feel it. When the three of them get together, they’re
always
up to something.” She unlocked the door, pushed it open. Waited a beat.

“Nobody’s home.”

“They were just getting up when I was here a couple of hours ago.” Malory walked inside without a qualm. “And now that I think about it, Flynn did look like he was up to something.”

“They’ll try to cut us out.” Ready and willing to work herself into a rant on men in general, Dana tossed her
keys back in her purse. “It’s typical behavior for their species. Oh, we know better, don’t you worry your pretty head, little lady.”

“I hate that.” Firing up, Zoe hissed a breath between her teeth. “You know how an auto mechanic always gives you that smirk and says he’ll explain the problem to your husband?”

Dana sucked air through her nose. “That burns my ass.”

“If you ask me, that Bradley Vane’s at the bottom of it.” Zoe set her fists on her hips. “He’s just the type to try to run everything and everyone. I pegged him from the get-go.”

“No, it’ll be Jordan.” Dana kicked a shoe out of her way. “He’s an instigator.”

“It’s Flynn’s responsibility,” Malory disagreed. “It’s his house, they’re his friends, and . . . oh, my God.”

Light slanted across both paintings as they stood propped carelessly against the wall just where Flynn had left them. Her heart squeezed with admiration and envy at the sight.

She walked toward them slowly, as she might a lover who both dazzled and titillated. Her throat ached as she knelt on the floor in front of them.

“They’re beautiful,” Zoe said from behind her.

“They’re more.” Gently, Malory lifted the portrait of Arthur, tilting it toward the light. “It’s not just talent. Talent can be technical, achieve a kind of perfection of balance and proportion.”

She came close to that, she thought, when she painted. Fell just short of technical perfection. And miles away from the magic that made an image art.

“It’s genius when you’re able to take that talent beyond technique and into emotion,” she continued. “To message, or just to simple beauty. When you have that, you light up the world. Can’t you feel his heart pounding?” she asked as she studied the young Arthur. “His muscles
quivering as he takes the hilt? That’s the power of the artist. I’d give anything—anything—to be able to create like this.”

A shiver ran through her, twin snakes of hot and cold. For a heartbeat her fingers seemed to burn. And for that heartbeat something inside her opened, and lit, and she saw how it could be done. Must be done. How she could explode on canvas into art.

The knowledge filled her to bursting, left her breathless.

Then was gone in an instant.

“Mal? Malory?” Zoe crouched down, took her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing. I got dizzy for a second.”

“Your eyes went funny. They went huge and dark.”

“It must’ve been the light.” But she felt strangely queasy as she pulled her purse over and took out her magnifying glass.

Using the natural light, she began a slow, careful study of each painting.

There was the shadow, just the hint of a form lurking deep, deep in the green of the forest. And two figures—a man and a woman—watching the boy, the sword, the stone, from the far background. From a chain at the woman’s waist hung three gold keys.

“What do you think?” Dana demanded.

“I think we’ve got a couple of choices.” Considering them, Malory sat back, rolled her shoulders. “We can convince Brad and Jordan to have these sent to experts for verification of whether or not it’s the same artist. And by doing so, we risk this entire business getting out.”

“What’s the other choice?” Zoe asked her.

“We can take my word for it. Everything I know, everything I’ve studied and learned tells me the same person painted both of these. The same person who painted the portrait at Warrior’s Peak.”

“If we go with that, what do we do with it?” Dana demanded.

“We figure out what the paintings are telling us. And we go back up to Warrior’s Peak. We ask Rowena and Pitte how at least two of these works were done more than a century apart.”

“There’s another part that goes with that,” Zoe said quietly. “We accept the magic. We believe.”

“I
always have time to entertain three handsome men.” Rowena all but purred it as she showed Flynn, Brad, and Jordan into the parlor where the portrait of the Daughters of Glass dominated.

She paused, waiting until all attention was focused on it. “I assume the painting interests you, Mr. Vane. Your family has quite an extensive and eclectic art collection, I’m told.”

He stared at the portrait, at the figure carrying both a short sword and a little dog. Zoe’s eyes stared back at him. “Yes, we do.”

“And has the interest passed down to you?”

“It has. As a matter of fact, I believe I own another painting by this artist.”

She sat, a secret smile playing around her mouth as she spread the long skirts of her white dress. “Is that so? What a small world.”

“It gets smaller,” Jordan put in. “I seem to have another painting that may be by this artist.”

“Fascinating. Ah.” She gestured as a servant rolled a cart in. “Coffee? I assumed you’d prefer it to tea. American men aren’t much on tea, are they?”

“You don’t ask about the subject of the other paintings.” Flynn sat beside her.

“I’m sure you’ll tell me. Cream, sugar?”

“Black. Seems a waste of time when I’m pretty sure you already know. Who’s the artist, Rowena?”

She poured the coffee with a steady hand, taking the liquid to within a half inch of the rim while her gaze stayed level with Flynn’s. “Did Malory ask you to come here today?”

“No. Why?”

“The quest is hers, as are the questions. Such matters have rules. If she asked you to represent her, that’s a different thing altogether. Did you bring your dog?”

“Yeah, he’s outside.”

Her face went wistful. “I don’t mind if he comes in.”

“White dress, big black dog. You might want to rethink that. Rowena, Malory didn’t ask us to come, but she and the others know we’re helping them look into things. It’s okay with them.”

“But you didn’t tell them you were coming to speak with me. Men often make the mistake of assuming that a woman wishes to be relieved of responsibilities and details.” Her face was open and friendly, her voice carrying the lilt of a laugh. “Why is that?”

“We didn’t come here to discuss male-female dynamics,” Jordan began.

“What else is there, really? Man to man, woman to woman, certainly,” Rowena continued with an elegant spread of her hands. “But it all comes down to people, what they are to each other. What they’ll do for and to one another. Even art is only a representation of that, in one form or another. If Malory has concerns or questions about the painting or paintings she must ask. You won’t find the key for her, Flynn. It’s not for you.”

“I dreamed I was in this house last night. Only it wasn’t a dream. It was more.”

He watched her eyes change, go dark with shock. Or something else, something bigger.

“Such a dream isn’t unusual under the circumstances.”

“I’ve only been in the foyer and in two rooms in this place. Or had been until last night. I can tell you how many rooms are on the second floor, and that there’s a
staircase on the east side leading to the third that has a newel post carved like a dragon. I couldn’t see it well in the dark, but I felt it.”

“Wait. Please.”

She rose quickly and hurried from the room.

“This is some strange deal you’ve got going here, Flynn.” Jordan poked at the pretty cookies arranged on a glass plate. “There’s something familiar about that woman. I’ve seen her somewhere before.”

“Where?” Brad demanded.

“I don’t know. It’ll come to me. Hell of a looker. A face like that, you don’t forget. And why should she freak over you having a dream? Because freak’s just what she did, in her own classy way.”

“She’s afraid.” Brad walked closer to the portrait. “She went from sly to scared in a heartbeat. She knows the answer to the paintings, and she was having a good time toying with us about that until Flynn dropped his dream adventure on her.”

“And I didn’t even get to the best part.” Flynn got to his feet to explore the room before Rowena got back. “Something’s off here.”

“You just getting that, son?”

Flynn spared a glance at Jordan as he opened a lacquered cabinet. “Not just the already established ‘off.’ That’s a woman in control,” he said with a jerk of his thumb toward the doorway. “Cool, confident, sure of herself. The woman who just took a flyer out of here wasn’t any of those things. Man, there’s some high-class booze in here.”

“Would you care for a drink, Mr. Hennessy?”

Though he winced a little, Flynn turned toward the doorway and spoke equably to Pitte. “No, thanks. A little early for me yet.” He closed the cabinet. “How’s it going?”

Rowena laid a hand on Pitte’s arm before he could
respond. “Finish it,” she ordered Flynn. “Finish the dream.”

“Let’s talk quid pro quo.” Inclining his head, Flynn walked back to sit on the sofa. “You want to hear about the rest of the dream, and we want to know about the paintings. I show you mine, you show me yours.”

“You bargain with us?”

Flynn was amazed at the stunned outrage in Pitte’s voice. “Yeah.”

“It’s not permitted.” Again Rowena laid a hand on Pitte’s arm. But from the hot, impatient look he sent her, Flynn didn’t bank on her restraining him for long. “We can’t give you answers just because you ask. There are limits. There are paths. It’s important that we know what happened to you.”

“Give me something back.”

Pitte snapped something out, and though the language was a mystery to Flynn, he recognized an oath when he heard one. Following it was a bright flash, an electric slice through the air. Warily, Flynn looked down at his lap, and the banded stacks of hundred-dollar bills that now rested there.

“Ah. Nice trick.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Jordan had already leaped forward and now reached down and plucked up a stack of bills. He fanned them, then patted them against his palm as he stared at Pitte. “Definitely time for some answers.”

“Do you require more?” Pitte demanded, and Rowena turned on him with a kind of stunning female fury.

The words they hurled at each other were unintelligible. Gaelic, Flynn thought. Maybe Welsh. But the gist was clear enough. Their temper rocked the room.

“Okay, take five.” With three determined strides, Brad moved forward, stepped between them. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.” His voice was calm and controlled, and had both of them snarling at him. Still, he stayed where he
was and glanced back at Flynn. “Our host just pulled . . . how much?”

“Looks like about five thousand.”

“Five grand out of thin air—and boy, have I got some stockholders who’d like to talk to you. He seems to think you want cash for information. Do you?”

“Tough as it is to turn down five thousand magic dollars, no.” It stung, he could admit it, but Flynn set the stack on the table. “I’m worried about three women who haven’t hurt anyone, and I’m a little worried about myself. I want to know what’s going on.”

“Tell us the rest, and we’ll tell you what we can. Tell us freely,” Rowena added as she moved back to Flynn. “I’d prefer not to make you tell us.”

Irritated now, Flynn leaned forward. “Make me?”

Her voice was winter cool against the heat of his when she spoke. “My dear, I could make you quack like a duck, but as I imagine your brave and sensible friend would say, such an incident wouldn’t accomplish anything. You think we wish harm to you, or to your women? We don’t. We wish harm to none. That I can tell you freely. Pitte.” She shifted, angled her head. “You’ve insulted our guest with this crass display. Apologize.”

“Apologize?”

“Yes.” She sat again, brushed at her skirts. Waited.

Pitte bared his teeth. He tapped his fingers restlessly on his thighs. “Women are a plague to man.”

“Aren’t they just?” Jordan agreed.

“I’m sorry to have offended you.” Then he flicked a wrist. The money vanished. “Better?”

“There’s no reasonable way to answer that question, so I’ll ask one instead. Who the hell are you people?” Flynn demanded.

“We’re not here to answer your questions.” Pitte walked over to the silver pot, poured coffee into a Dresden cup. “Even a journalist—which I warned you would be an annoyance,” he added as an aside to Rowena—
“should be aware of certain rules of behavior when invited into someone’s home.”

“Why don’t I just tell you who you are,” Flynn began, then broke off as the delighted bark banged into the room seconds before Moe arrived. “Oh, shit.”