Key of Knowledge

by Nora Roberts

  could sort of push our energy toward you.”

  “Perhaps you recall a small incident last month involving a Ouija board?” Dana asked.

  “Not likely to forget.” Zoe gave a quick shudder. “But we wouldn’t be using anything but our own connection. It’s not like we’re playing around with the dark arts, or whatever it is.”

  “Okay.” Lips pursed, Dana looked around. “But it seems kind of silly. The three of us sitting on a drop cloth in an empty, half-painted room trying to conjure up a magic key. But . . .” She gripped Zoe’s hand, then Malory’s. “I’m in.”

  “Mal, maybe you could give her some tips. What it was like for you, what you did.”

  “I don’t know if I can explain it. So much of it just happened. It’s like being in a dream, but knowing you’re dreaming, and at the same time knowing it’s not a dream.”

  “That’s a big help.” But with a half laugh, Dana squeezed her hand. “Actually, I know what you mean. It’s the way I felt when he took me into the bookstore.”

  “I don’t know how I understood what to do, but it was suddenly so clear. The one thing was focusing on what I had to do without letting him know I was focusing on it. And that was hard, really hard, but part of that was because I was so scared. For me, it helped to concentrate on painting, the actual art and act. The colors, the tone, the detail. I don’t know if that helps you.”

  “I don’t know either. So let’s find out.”

  “We’re not going to let anything happen to you,” Zoe told her. “We’re going to be right here.”

  “Okay.”

  Taking that long breath, Dana shut her eyes. It was a comfort to feel the hands gripped on hers. Like an anchor, she supposed, that would prevent her from floating off somewhere she shouldn’t go.

  She let herself listen again to the sounds of the house, to her own quiet, steady breathing matching the rhythm of her friends’. She smelled paint, and perfume.

  There was the key again, shining on the colored field she now realized was the wall she’d just painted. Her wall, with the color chosen by the woman flanking her.

  But when she reached out for it with her mind, she could bring it no closer.

  She struggled with impatience and tried to imagine how the key would feel in her hand. Smooth, she thought, and cool.

  No, it would have heat. It held power. She would feel that fire from which it was forged, and when she closed her fist over it, it would fit easily in her palm.

  Because she was meant to hold it.

  The color washed away to a strong white lined with black. The key seemed to melt into it, a shimmering gold pool that dripped over black and white, then faded away.

  In her mind she heard a long sigh. A woman’s sigh. And felt, heard, a rush of wind that smelled like autumn burning.

  She walked at night, and was the night with all its shadows and all its secrets. When she wept, she wept for day.

  The words that ran through her mind brought such an ache she thought her heart might bleed dry from it, as from a mortal wound. In defense, she shut them off.

  Everything faded again. And she could smell the paint, and the perfume.

  She opened her eyes, saw her friends watching her.

  “Honey, are you all right?” Zoe spoke gently as she freed her hand from Malory’s and touched Dana’s cheek.

  “Sure. Yeah.”

  “You’re crying.” Zoe dried Dana’s cheek with the bandanna.

  “Am I? I don’t know why. Something hurt, I guess. You know.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “In here. I don’t know where it is. I still don’t know where the key is.”

  She scrubbed the heels of her hands over her face and told them what she’d imagined.

  “She walks at night,” Malory repeated. “The goddess walks.”

  “Yeah. It sounded sort of familiar, but I could’ve made it up. Or it could apply to Niniane. I just know it made me horribly sad.”

  She got to her feet, walked to the window to open it. She needed air. “She’s alone in the dark—that’s how I think of her. They’re all alone in the dark. If I don’t do what needs to be done, they’ll stay in the dark.”

  Zoe walked over to press her cheek to the back of Dana’s shoulder. “They’ve got each other, and they’ve got us. Don’t beat yourself up. You’re trying.”

  “And I think you’re getting somewhere.” Malory joined them at the window. “I’m not saying that to be annoyingly optimistic. You’re putting the different parts of Rowena’s clue together. Your brain’s working them out, shifting them around, trying to make them fit. And I think with this last attempt, you’ve started to use your heart.

  “It’s not just your mind that has to be open,” Malory added when Dana turned her head to stare at her. “Your heart has to be. That’s one thing I learned. You can’t take that last leap otherwise. You won’t be ready to risk what’s on the other side.”

  SHE didn’t know why it bothered her, bothered her to the point of anger. Open her heart? What was that supposed to mean? Was she supposed to strip her emotions bare so anyone could come in on a whim and dance all over them?

  Wasn’t it enough that she was working her ass off, giving herself headaches with hours of research, note-taking, calculating, and supposition?

  She cared, damn it, she thought as she slammed into her apartment. She cared about those three young women, half goddess, half mortal, and trapped for eternity inside a glass prison.

  She had shed tears for them, would shed blood if necessary.

  How much more open did she have to be?

  Tired, achy, irritable, she strode to the kitchen, popped the top on a beer, ripped open a bag of pretzels to go with it. She dropped into a chair in the living room to sip, munch, and sulk.

  Take the last leap?

  She was going up against an ancient and powerful sorcerer. She was risking nearly every cent she had on a new business. She’d ordered shelving and tables, chairs, and books. Let’s not forget the books.

  Then there was the cappuccino machine, the individual teapots, the glassware, the paper products that would max out her credit card in very short order.

  And she was doing it all without any projected income. If that wasn’t a goddamn leap, what was?

  Easy for Malory to talk about open hearts and last leaps. She’d already done her part, and was all cozied up with Flynn in connubial bliss.

  Got your house and your dog and your man, Dana thought with a scowl. Congratulations all around.

  And, God, she was being such a bitch.

  She let her head fall back and stared up at the ceiling.

  “Face it, Dana, you’re jealous. Not only did Malory come through the test with a big fat A, she earned all the goodies. And here you are, spinning your wheels, sleeping with a man who’s already broken your heart once, and terrified you’re going to blow it all.”

  She hauled herself up at the knock on her door, and took the beer with her to answer.

  Moe shoved his nose into her crotch by way of greeting, then rushed past her to claim the mangled rope he’d left on the rug during his last visit.

  He pranced back, ears flopping, to whack the rope hopefully against her knees.

  “You didn’t come by to get Moe,” Jordan commented.

  “I forgot.” She shrugged, then walked back and dropped into the chair again.

  Jordan closed the door behind him, tossed the manila envelope he carried on a table. He knew that look, he thought as he studied Dana’s face. She was sulking and working her way up to a serious mad.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing much.” Since Moe was trying to crawl into her lap, she tugged the rope out of his teeth and tossed it to Jordan.

  It had the expected and for her, gratifying, result of causing Moe to charge him like a bull charges a matador. And like a matador uses his cape, Jordan flicked the rope down and to the side. Man and dog played tug-of-war while dog growled playfully and man stared at woman.r />
  “Long day? I was going to come by and give you a hand, but I got caught up in stuff.”

  “We’re managing everything.”

  “An extra pair of hands couldn’t hurt.”

  “You want to put your hands to good use?”

  “It’s a thought.”

  “Fine.” She pushed out of the chair, headed toward the bedroom. “Bring them along with you.”

  Jordan lifted a brow at Moe. “Sorry, kiddo, you’re on your own. I think I’m about to play a different sort of game.”

  He followed Dana into the bedroom, shut the door. He heard Moe collapse on the other side with a huge doggie sigh.

  She’d already stripped off her sweatshirt and shoes and was unbuttoning her jeans. “Lose the clothes.”

  “Got an itch, Stretch?”

  “That’s right.” She wiggled out of the jeans, tossed back her hair. “Got any problem scratching it?”

  “Can’t seem to think of one.” He shrugged out of the coat, threw it aside.

  He got rid of his shoes, his shirt, while she pulled down the covers. He’d been off about her mood, he realized. She’d already worked herself up to a good mad and was looking for a handy place to put it.

  When she reached up to unclasp her bra, he stepped over, gripped her hands, trapping them—for one erotic moment—behind her. Then he released her to trail his fingers down her spine. “Leave something for me, will you?”

  She shrugged, then fisting a hand in his hair, yanked his mouth to hers.

  She used her teeth, her nails, setting the mood for fast, hot sex with just a hint of mean. She wasn’t looking for fancy touches or soft flourishes but for sweat and speed.

  She felt his body’s instant response, the hard hammer blow of his heart, the lightning strike of heat that punched out of him and straight through her. His mouth fed off hers, and his hands began to take, fingers digging in to brand and bruise.

  She was already wet and ready when she shoved him back on the bed.

  She would have straddled him and made quick work of it, but he flipped her over, trapped her body under his. Set his teeth on her breast. Her hips jerked, her hands clamped on his, and she ground herself against him in frantic, furious demand.

  His vision hazed with red as the fierce bite of need tore through his system. He yanked her bra down to her waist, filled his mouth with her even as he shoved his hand between them, drove his fingers into the heat of her and shot her brutally over the edge.

  She exploded under him, her body writhing, straining, then gathering itself for another leap. Her nails bit into him, her hips pistoned until he was as wild as she.

  They rolled, grappling for more in a slippery, mindless battle that had thrill ramming into thrill. Her mouth was fevered and ravenous, her hands greedy and swift.

  He knew he’d rather die warring with her than live in peace with anyone else.

  With her breath sobbing, she rose over him and took him inside her with one hard thrust.

  The dark glory of it gushed through her, flooded her until the anger and doubts drowned.

  This was real, she told herself. This was enough.

  And she watched him watch her take him.

  Fast and hot, focused on those twin goals of pleasure and release. She rode him with a ruthless energy that turned her own body into a morass of greed. For speed, for passion. For more.

  When she felt his fingers vise her hips, when she saw those brilliant blue eyes go blind, she threw her head back and flew off the end of the world with him.

  She was still shuddering as she slid down to him. Her breath was as ragged as his when her head fell heavy on his shoulder. He managed to hook an arm around her and decided he would probably regain feeling in his extremities at some point.

  For now, it was just fine to lie there bruised, battered, and blissful.

  “Feel better?” he asked her.

  “Considerably. You?”

  “No complaints. When my ears stop ringing, you might want to tell me what set you off today.”

  “No one thing.” She lifted her head just enough to sweep her hair aside so she could feel her cheek against his flesh. “I just feel like I’m fumbling at most everything, but then I remembered this is one thing I do really well.”

  “You won’t hear any argument from me on the last part. What’s the fumble?”

  “You want the list? I feel like I’m so close to finding the key, then I don’t. Then I feel like I’m miles away from it, and the whole business is going to crash and burn. I spent most of the day painting because I exhibited very little, if any, aptitude for hand tools.”

  “Then you probably don’t want me to mention you’ve got some paint in your hair.”

  She heaved a sigh. “I know it. Even Malory’s better with a screwdriver than I am, and she’s a total girl. And Zoe? She’s a regular Bob Vila with breasts. Did you know she’s got her belly button pierced?”

  “Really?” There was a long pause. “Really,” he repeated with enough male interest to make her laugh.

  “Anyway.” She flopped over on her back. “There was all that, then I started doing some mental number crunching and got depressed realizing how close to the edge financially all this stuff is taking me. All the output, no income—and without the output there’ll never be an income. And even when the income comes, it’s going to be a serious juggling act for the foreseeable future.”

  “I could lend you some money, give you some breathing room.” Her silence spoke volumes. “It’d be an investment. Writer—bookstore. Makes sense.”

  “I’m not interested in a loan.” Her voice had chilled, and just under the chill was a sulk. “I’m not looking for another partner.”

  “Okay.” He shrugged it off, then tugged on her hair. “I’ve got it. I can pay you for sex. Like you said, you are really good at it. But I’d get to set the price for each specific act, and I think there should be something in the rates about buy three, get one free. We’ll work it out.”

  Since he was watching her face, he saw her dimples flutter as she struggled with a grin. “You’re a pervert.” She rolled over on her stomach, braced herself on her elbows. “It was nice of you to reach down into the gutter to cheer me up.”

  “We do what we can.” He trailed a finger down her cheek. “I bet you could use some food. You want to go out to eat?”

  “I absolutely don’t want to go out.”

  “Good. Neither do I.” He shifted a bit, worked considerable charm into his expression. “I don’t suppose you’d care to cook.”

  “I don’t suppose I would.”

  “All right. I will.”

  She blinked, then sat up and tapped her fingers on her head. “Excuse me, did you just say you’d cook?”

  “Don’t get excited. I was thinking of something along the lines of scrambled eggs or grilled-cheese sandwiches.”

  “Let’s damn the cholesterol and have both.” She leaned down, gave him a quick kiss. “Thanks. I’m going to grab a shower.”

  WHEN she came out, comfortable in sweats, he was in the kitchen, pouring eggs into one skillet while sandwiches browned in another, and the dog inhaled a bowl of kibble.

  He was missing the frilly apron, Dana noted, but all in all, he made a hell of a picture.

  “Look at Mr. Domestic.”

  “Even living in New York, it pays to be able to throw an emergency meal together. You want to get out plates?”

  New York, she thought, as she opened a cabinet. It wouldn’t do to forget the guy lived in New York and wasn’t going to be making her grilled-cheese sandwiches on a regular basis.

  She pushed the thought away, set the table, and added a couple of candles for the fun of it.

  “Nice,” she said over the first bite when they’d settled down. “Really, thanks.”

  “My mother used to make me grilled-cheese sandwiches when I was feeling out of sorts.”

  “They’re comforting—the toasty bread, the butter, the warm, melty cheese.�
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  “Mmm. Look, if you’re interested in my hands doing more than driving you wild with passion, I can give you some time tomorrow.”

  “If you’ve got it.”

  “I’d have come by today, but I had homework.” He pointed toward the envelope he’d dropped when he’d come in.

  “Oh. You wrote everything up.”

  “Think I got it all. You can look it over, see if I left anything out.”

  “Cool.” She got up, hurried across the room to fetch the envelope.

  “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s impolite to read at the table?”

  “Certainly not.” Tossing back her hair, she settled back down. “It’s never impolite to read.” She tapped out the pages, surprised to see how many there were. “Busy boy.”

  He forked up more eggs. “I figured it would work better to get it down in one big gush.”

  “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”

  She ate and she read, read and ate. He took her back to the very beginning, to the night she’d driven through a storm to Warrior’s Peak. He made her see it again, feel it again. That and all that had happened since.

  That was his gift, she realized. His art.

  He told it like a story, each character vivid and true, each action ringing clear, so that when you came to the end, you wanted more.

  “Flynn was right,” she said as she turned the last page over. “It helps to see it like this in my head. I need to absorb it, read it again. But it puts everything that’s happened on one winding path instead of having a lot of offshoots that just happen to run into each other.”

  “I’m going to have to write it.”

  “I thought you just did,” she replied, shaking her head.

  “No, that’s only part of it. Half of it at best. I realized today when I was putting it all down that I’m going to have to write it when it’s all done, turn it into a book. Do you have any problem with that?”

  “I don’t know.” She smoothed her fingers over the pages. “I guess not, but it feels a little strange. I’ve never been in a book before.”

  He started to speak, then stopped himself and polished off his eggs. She hadn’t been in a book she’d read before, he thought. Which, when it came down to it, amounted to the same thing.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “LOOK,” Kane said, “how you betray yourself in sleep.”

  Dana stood looking down at the bed where she and Jordan slept. On the floor beside them, Moe twitched and made excited sounds.

  “What did you do to Moe?”

  “I gave him a dream, a harmless, happy dream. He chases rabbits on a sunny spring day. It will keep him safe and occupied, as we have much to talk about, you and I.”