by Nora Robets
Flynn did what he could to inject a little energy into the subject matter and still stay true to the reporter's code of objectivity.
The Dispatch wasn't exactly the Daily Planet , he reflected. But then again, he wasn't exactly Perry White. Nobody around here would ever call him Chief. Even without Rhoda's periodic snits, he wasn't certain that anyone, including himself, really believed he was in charge.
His mother cast a very long shadow. Elizabeth Flynn Hennessy Steele. Even her name cast a very long shadow.
He loved her. Of course he did. Most of the time he even liked her. They'd butted heads plenty when he was growing up, but he'd always respected her. You had to respect a woman who ran her life and her business with equal fervor, and expected everyone else to do the same.
Just as you had to give her credit for stepping out of that business when necessity demanded it. Even if she had dumped it in her reluctant son's lap.
She'd dumped it all, including, he thought with a wary glance toward Rhoda's desk, surly reporters.
She was filing her nails instead of working, he noted. Baiting him. File away, he thought. Today's not the day we square off, you cranky old bat.
But that day soon will come.
He was deep into adjusting the layout on page 1 of section B when Dana walked in.
"Not even a cursory knock. No flirtatious little head peek in the door. Just stomp right in."
"I didn't stomp. I've got to talk to you, Flynn." She threw herself into a chair, then glanced around. "Where's Moe?"
"It's backyard day for the Moe."
"Oh, right."
"And maybe you could go by, hang out with him for a while this afternoon. Then maybe you could throw together some dinner, so I'd come home to a hot meal."
"Sure, that'll happen."
"Listen, I've had a rough morning, I've got a goddamn headache, and I've got to finish this layout."
Dana pursed her lips as she studied him. "Rhoda sniping at you again?"
"Don't look," Flynn snapped before Dana could turn around. "You'll just encourage her."
"Flynn, why don't you just fire her ass? You take entirely too much crap off her."
"She's been with the Dispatch since she was eighteen. That's a long time. Now, while I appreciate you dropping in to tell me how to handle my employee problems, I need to finish this."
Dana just stretched out her endless legs. "She really stirred you up this time, huh?"
"Fuck it." He blew out a breath, then yanked open his desk drawer to hunt up a bottle of aspirin.
"You do a good job here, Flynn."
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered as he dug a bottle of water out of another drawer.
"Shut up. I'm serious. You're good at what you do. As good as Liz was. Maybe better at some areas of it because you're more approachable. Plus you're a better writer than anybody you've got on staff." He eyed her while he washed the aspirin down. "What brought this on?"
"You look really bummed." She couldn't stand to see him seriously unhappy. Irritated, confused, pissed off, or surly was fine. But it hurt her heart to see misery etched on his face. "Pleasant Valley needs the Dispatch , and the Dispatch needs you. It doesn't need Rhoda. And I bet knowing that just sticks in her craw."
"You think?" The idea of that smoothed out the raw edges. "The sticking-in-the-craw part, I mean."
"You bet. Feel better?"
"Yeah." He capped the water bottle, dropped it back in the drawer. "Thanks."
"My second good deed for the day. I've just spent an hour at Malory's, and another twenty minutes wandering around trying to decide if I should dump on you or just keep it between us girls."
"If it has to do with hairstyles, monthly cycles, or the upcoming Red Tag sale at the mall, keep it between you girls."
"That's so incredibly sexist, I'm not even going to… what Red Tag sale?"
"Watch for the ad in tomorrow's Dispatch . Is something wrong with Malory?"
"Good question. She had a dream, only she doesn't believe it was a dream."
Dana related the discussion before digging in her bag for the typed account Malory had given her. "I'm worried about her, Flynn, and I'm starting to worry about me, because she's got me half convinced that she's right."
"Quiet a minute." He read it through twice, then sat back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. "What if she is right?"
Exasperation spiked into her voice. "Do I have to start playing Scully to your Mulder? We're talking about gods and sorcery and the capture of souls."
"We're talking about magic, about possibilities. And possibilities should always be explored. Where is she now?"
"She said she was going to The Gallery, to do some research on the painting."
"Good. Then she's sticking with the plan." "You didn't see her."
"No, but I will. What about you? Dig anything up?"
"I'm tugging a few lines."
"Okay, let's all meet at my place tonight. Let Zoe know, I'll tell Mal." When Dana frowned at him, he only smiled. "You came to me, honey. I'm in it now."
"I really owe you for this…"
"Oh, sweetheart, any day I can do something behind the bimbo-nazi's back is a day of celebration."
Still, Tod cast a cautious look right and left before he opened the door to what had once been Malory's office and was now Pamela's domain.
"Oh, God, what has she done to my space?"
"Hideous, isn't it?" Tod actually shuddered. "It's like the walls vomited Louis XIV. My only satisfaction is that she actually has to look at this when she comes in."
The room was jammed full. The curvy desk, the tables, the chairs, and two tasseled ottomans all vied for space on a rug that screamed with red and gold. The walls were covered with paintings overpowered by thick, ornate gold frames, and statuary, ornamental bowls and boxes, glassware and whatnots crowded every flat surface.
Each piece, Malory noted, was a small treasure in itself. But packing it all together in this limited space made it look like someone's very expensive garage sale.
"How does she manage to get anything done?"
"She has her slaves and minions—meaning me, Ernestine, Julia, and Franco. Simone Legree sits up here on her throne and gives orders. You had a lucky escape, Mai."
"Maybe I did." But still, it had been a wrench to come through the front door again, knowing she no longer belonged.
Not knowing where she belonged.
"Where is she now?"
"Lunch at the club." Tod checked his watch. "You've got two hours."
"I won't need that much. I need the client list," she said as she headed for the computer on the desk.
"Oooh, are you going to steal clients from under her rhinoplasty?"
"No. Hmm, happy thought, but no. I'm trying to pin down the artist on a particular painting. I need to see who we have that buys in that style. Then I need our files on paintings with mythological themes. Damn it, she's changed the password."
"It's mine."
"She uses your password?"
"No—M-I-N-E." He shook his head. "She wrote it down so she wouldn't forget it—after she forgot two other passwords. I happened to, ah, come across the note."
"I love you, Tod," Malory exclaimed as she keyed it in.
"Enough to tell me what this is all about?"
"More than enough, but I'm in kind of a bind about that. A couple of people I'd have to talk to first." She worked fast, locating the detailed client list, copying it to the disk she'd brought with her. "I swear I'm not using this for anything illegal or unethical."
“That's a damn shame."
She chuckled at that, then opened her bag to offer him a look at the printout she'd made from the digital photo. "Do you recognize this painting?"
"Hmm, no. But something about the style."
"Exactly. Something about the style. I can't quite place it, but it's nagging at me. I've seen this artist's work before, somewhere." When the file was copied, she switched to another, put in a fresh disk. "If yo
u remember, give me a call. Day or night."
"Sounds urgent."
"If I'm not having a psychotic episode, it may very well be."
"Does this have anything to do with M. F. Hennessy? Are you working on a story for the paper?"
She goggled. "Where did that come from?"
"You were seen having dinner with him the other night. I hear everything," Tod added.
"It doesn't have anything to do with him, not directly. And no, I'm not writing a story. Do you know Flynn?"
"Only in my dreams. He's very hot."
"Well… I think I might be dating him. I wasn't going to, but I seem to be."
"Lip lock?"
"Several of them."
"Rating?"
“Top of the scale."
"Sex?"
"Almost, but cooler heads prevailed."
"Damn."
"Plus he's funny and interesting and sweet. Pretty bossy in a really clever way so you barely notice until you've been bossed. Smart, and I think tenacious."
"Sounds perfect. Can I have him?"
"Sorry, pal, but I may have to keep him." She snatched out the disk, then carefully closed documents and shut down. "Mission accomplished with no loss of life. Thanks, Tod." She threw her arms around him, gave him a big, noisy kiss. "I've got to get to work on this."
She hunkered down in her apartment, systematically going through the data, cross-referencing, eliminating, until she had a workable list. By the time she left for Flynn's, she'd winnowed The Gallery's client list by seventy percent.
Dana was already there when she arrived.
"Had dinner?"
"No." Malory looked, cautiously, for Moe. "I forgot."
"Good. We've got pizza coming. Flynn's out back with Moe for their daily romp. You're okay that I told him about your dream?"
"Yeah. We seem to have brought him into this."
"Okay. Go in and flop. We'll have some wine."
She'd barely done so when Zoe arrived with Simon in tow. "I hope it's all right. I couldn't get a sitter."
"I don't need a sitter," Simon declared.
"I need a sitter." Zoe hooked an arm around his neck. "He's got homework, so if there's a corner he can use. I brought the shackles."
Dana winked at him. "We'll use the dungeon. Can we torture him, then feed him pizza?"
"We've already had—"
"I could eat pizza," Simon interrupted. Then he let out a whoop as Moe charged in from the back of the house. "Wow! That's some dog!"
"Simon, don't—"
But boy and dog were already rushing together, caught in the throes of mutual love at first sight.
"Hey, Flynn, look what Zoe brought us. We get to make him do homework."
"I've always wanted to do that with somebody. You must be Simon."
"Uh-huh. This is a great dog, mister."
"The dog's Moe, I'm Flynn. Zoe, can Simon take Moe back out so they can run around like maniacs for a while?"
"Sure. Twenty minutes, Simon, then you hit the books."
"Sweet!"
"Straight out the back," Flynn told him. "There's a ball out there with toothmarks and drool all over it. He likes you to chase it and fetch it back to him."
"You're funny," Simon decided. "Let's go, Moe!"
"Pizza," Dana announced when the bell rang. "Want to call him back?"
"No, he's fine. He just finished eating three helpings of spaghetti."
"Flynn, be a man. Pay for the pizza."
"Why do I always have to be the man?" Then he zeroed in on Malory and grinned. "Oh, yeah. That's why."
Dana sat on the floor with a fresh notebook in her lap. "Let's be organized about this. The librarian in me demands it. Zoe, pour yourself some wine. We can each report what we've found or thought or speculated on since the last time we got together."
"I haven't found much." Zoe took a folder out of her canvas bag. "I typed up all my notes, though."
"Aren't you a good girl?" Delighted, Dana took the folder, then pounced on the first box of pizza when Flynn dropped two of them on the coffee table. "I'm starving ."
“There's news." He sat on the sofa beside Malory, turned her face toward him with his hand, then kissed her long and firm. "Hi."
"Gee, don't I get one of those?"
At Zoe's question, he shifted and leaned toward her, but she laughed and gave him a light shove. "I'd better settle for the wine."
"If Flynn's finished kissing girls," Dana began.
"Which won't be until I've drawn my last, gasping breath."
"Settle down," Dana ordered. "We know about Mai's experience. I have the typed report of it here, which I'll add to the collection of notes and other data."
"I've got more." Since it was there, Malory took a slice of pizza from the box and dropped it onto a paper plate. "I have a list of people—clients through The Gallery— who've purchased or shown interest in classical and/or mythological subject matter in art. I've also started a search of like styles, but that's going to take some time. I intend to start making phone inquiries tomorrow."
"I could help," Zoe offered. "I was thinking that maybe we should do a search for paintings that include the element of a key. Like a theme."
"That's good," Malory acknowledged, and tore a sheet off the roll of paper towels that stood in for napkins.
"I've got some appointments tomorrow, but I'll work around them."
"I've been working on the clue itself." Dana picked up her wineglass. "I'm wondering if we should take some of the key phrases and do a search on place names. Like restaurants or shops. Take the Singing Goddess, for example. I didn't find anything on that, but it's the sort of thing that could be the name of a shop or a restaurant or a site."
"Not bad," Flynn said and helped himself to another slice of pizza.
"I've got some more." Still she said nothing as she reached into the box herself, topped off her wine. "I put in some Internet time running the three names Malory heard in her… in her dream. "Niniane" comes up a few times. Some legends have her as the sorceress who enchanted Arthur's Merlin and trapped him in the cave of crystal. There's another that has her as Merlin's mother. But when I put her together with the other two, I found one hit from this esoteric little site on goddess worship. It gives a variation on the Daughters of Glass—and calls them by those names."
"Those are their names. You can't think it's a coincidence that I dreamed those names and you found them today."
"No," Dana said carefully. "But isn't it possible you came across the same site and the names stuck in your head?"
"No. I would've written it down. I would've remembered. I never heard them before the dream."
"Okay." Flynn patted her knee. "First, I'll tell you I haven't found any record of a shipping or moving company that serviced Warrior's Peak. And no record of any company shipping furniture here for clients under Triad."
"They had to get all that stuff in there somehow," Dana protested. "They didn't just click the heels of their ruby slippers together."
"Just giving you the facts. The real-estate company didn't make the arrangements for them, either. At this point, I haven't found any trail leading Rowena or Pitte to the Peak. Not saying there isn't one," he continued before Dana could protest. "Just saying I haven't found one through the logical sources."
"I guess we have to look at the illogical ones."
He shifted to beam at Zoe. "There you go. But I've got one more logical step to take. Who do I know who collects art seriously, someone I could use as a source? The Vanes. So I gave my old pal Brad a call. It so happens he's heading back here in a couple of days."
"Brad's coming back to the Valley?" Dana asked.
"He's taking over the local headquarters for Home-Makers. Brad's got the Vanes' passion for art. I described the painting to him, or started to. I wasn't close to being finished when he gave me the title. The Daughters of Glass ."
"No, that can't be. I'd have heard of it." Malory pushed herself to her feet and began
to pace. "Who's the artist?"
"Nobody seems to be sure."
"Just not possible," Malory continued. "A major talent like that, I'd have heard. I'd have seen more of the artist's work."
"Maybe not. According to Brad, nobody seems to know much about the artist. The Daughters of Glass was last seen in a private home in London. Where it was, by all accounts, destroyed during the Blitz. In 1942."
Chapter Eight
Malory closed herself in her apartment for two days. She submerged herself in books, telephone calls, E-mail. It was foolish, she'd decided, to run around chasing a dozen different angles and suppositions. Better— far better—to conduct the search with technology and systematic logic.
She couldn't function, simply couldn't think , in disorder. Which was why, she admitted as she carefully labeled yet another file, she'd failed as an artist.
Art, the creation of true art, required some mysterious, innate ability to thrive in chaos. Or that was her opinion. To be able to see and understand and feel dozens of shapes and textures of emotions at one time.
Then, of course, there was the little matter of possessing the talent to transfer those emotions onto a canvas.
She lacked the gift, on all levels, while the artist of The Daughters of Glass had it in spades.
The painting at Warrior's Peak, or one done by the same artist, was the path. She was sure of that now. Why else did she keep coming back to it? Why had she somehow in her dreams walked into it?
Why had she been chosen to find the first key, she thought, if not for her knowledge of and contacts in the art world?
She'd been told to look within and without. Within the painting, or another by the same artist? Did "without" mean to look at what surrounded the painting?
Opening a file folder, she studied the printout of the painting again. What surrounded the daughters? Peace and beauty, love and passion—and the threat to destroy it. As well as, she mused, the method to restore it.
A key in the air, in the trees, in the water.
She was damn sure she wasn't about to pluck a magic key out of the air or from a tree branch, so what did it meant And which of those three was hers?
