The Key Trilogy

by Nora Roberts

  “You will be given, each in turn, a guide.” Rowena gestured to a small chest. “This we can do, if all agree. You may work together. In fact, we hope that you will. You must all agree. If one refuses the challenge, it’s done. If all accept the challenge and the terms, you’ll each be given twenty-five thousand dollars. It remains yours whether you fail or succeed.”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Malory held up a hand, then pulled off her glasses. “Wait a minute,” she repeated. “You’re saying if we agree to look for these keys, just to look for them, we get twenty-five K? Free and clear?”

  “The amount will be deposited in an account of your choosing. Immediately,” Pitte stated.

  “Oh, my God!” Zoe clasped her hands. “Oh, my God,” she repeated and sat down heavily. “This has got to be a dream.”

  “A scam, you mean. What’s the catch?” Dana questioned. “What’s the fine print?”

  “If you fail, any one of you, the penalty for all will be a year of your lives.”

  “What, like in jail?” Malory demanded.

  “No.” Rowena motioned to a servant to enter with a coffee cart. “A year of your life will not exist.”

  “Poof!” Dana snapped her fingers. “Like magic.”

  “The keys exist. Not in this house,” Rowena murmured, “but in this world, this place. This we are able to do. More we are not allowed to say, although we may offer a little guidance. The quest isn’t simple, so you will be rewarded for the attempt. Should you succeed, the reward is greater. Should you fail, there is penalty. Please, take this time to discuss it. Pitte and I will give you some privacy.”

  They walked out of the room, and Rowena turned back to slide the wide pocket doors shut.

  “This,” Dana said as she plucked a tiny cream puff from the dessert tray, “is a nuthouse. And if either of you is actually considering playing along with these fruitcakes, you belong in this nuthouse.”

  “Let me just say one thing.” Malory poured a cup of coffee, stirred in two lumps of sugar. “Twenty-five thousand dollars. Each.”

  “You don’t really believe they’re going to plunk down seventy-five large because we say, oh, sure, we’ll look for the keys. The ones that unlock the box holding the souls of a trio of demigoddesses.”

  Malory debated over a mini éclair. “Only one way to find out.”

  “They look like us.” Ignoring the coffee and pastries, Zoe stood beneath the painting, staring up. “So much like us.”

  “Yes, they do, and that’s just creepy.” Dana nodded when Malory held up the coffeepot. “Why paint the three of us together that way? We’ve never met before tonight. And the idea of somebody watching us, taking pictures or sketches or whatever so they could put this portrait together, spooks me.”

  “It wasn’t something painted on a whim, or quickly.” Malory handed Dana the coffee cup. “It’s a masterpiece—the skill, the scope, the detail. Someone poured himself or herself into that piece, someone with incredible talent. And it took an incredible amount of work. If this is a scam, it’s an elaborate one. Plus, what’s the point? I’m broke. You?”

  Dana puffed out her cheeks. “Close enough.”

  “I’ve got some savings,” Zoe put in. “But I’m going to go through them pretty quick if I don’t get another job, and fast. I don’t know a lot about it, but it doesn’t look like these people would be after the little bit of money we’ve got.”

  “Agreed. You want some coffee?”

  “Thanks.” She turned back to them and spread her hands. “Look, you all don’t know me, and you’ve got no reason to care, but I could really use this money.” Zoe came forward. “Twenty-five thousand would be like a miracle. Security for my son, a chance maybe to do what I’ve always wanted. Have my own little salon. All we have to do is say yes. So we look for some keys. It’s not illegal.”

  “There are no keys,” Dana insisted.

  “What if there are?” Zoe put her cup down without drinking. “I have to say, the idea of twenty-five thousand dollars really helps open my mind to possibilities. And a million?” She gave a quick, baffled laugh. “I can’t even think about it. It makes my stomach hurt.”

  “It’d be like a treasure hunt,” Malory murmured. “It could be fun. God knows, it could be profitable. Twenty-five thousand would really close the gap for me, and that’s a very practical priority just now. I might be able to have my own place, too. Not like The Gallery, but just a little place that spotlights artists and craftspeople.”

  It was a full ten years before that was due in the order of her life plan, but she could be flexible.

  “Nothing’s that simple. Nobody hands you money because you say you’ll do something.” Dana shook her head. “There’s got to be more under all this.”

  “Maybe they believe it. The story,” Malory added. “If you believed it, twenty-five thousand would be chump change. We’re talking souls here.” Unable to help herself, she looked back at the portrait. “A soul’s worth more than twenty-five thousand dollars.”

  Excitement bounced inside her like a bright red ball. She’d never had an adventure, certainly not a paying adventure. “They’ve got money, they’re eccentric, and they believe it. The fact is, going along with it sort of feels like we’re the ones pulling the scam. But I’m going to get over that.”

  “You’ll do it?” Zoe grabbed her arm. “You’re going to do it?”

  “It’s not every day you get paid to work for the gods. Come on, Dana, loosen up.”

  Dana’s brows drew together, her forehead forming a stubborn, vertical line between them. “It’s asking for trouble. I don’t know where or how, but it just feels like trouble.”

  “What would you do with twenty-five thousand?” Malory purred it, then offered another cream puff.

  “Invest what I could so I could have my own little bookstore.” Her sigh was wistful, and a sign that she was weakening. “I’d serve tea in the afternoons, wine in the evenings. Have readings. Oh, boy.”

  “It’s strange how we’re all having a job crisis, and that the thing we all want is to have our own place?” Zoe sent a wary look at the portrait again. “Don’t you think it’s strange?”

  “No more strange than being here in this fortress and talking about going on a treasure hunt. Well, I’m in a fix,” Dana muttered. “I say no, it kills it for both of you. Saying yes makes me feel like an idiot. I guess I’m an idiot.”

  “Yes?” With a hoot of laughter, Zoe threw her arms around Dana. “This is great! This is amazing!”

  “Take it easy.” Chuckling, Dana patted Zoe on the back. “I guess this is the time to pull out the right quote. ‘One for all, and all for one.’ ”

  “I got a better one.” Malory picked up her cup again, lifted it in a toast. “ ‘Show me the money.’ ”

  As if on cue, the doors opened. Rowena entered first. “Shall we sit?”

  “We’ve decided to accept the . . .” Zoe trailed off, looked at Dana.

  “The challenge.”

  “Yes.” Rowena crossed her legs. “You’ll want to look over the contracts.”

  “Contracts?” Malory echoed.

  “Naturally. A name has power. The writing of one’s name, the promise of it, is necessary for all. Once you’re satisfied, we’ll select for the first key.”

  Pitte took papers out of a desk, handed one set to each woman. “They’re simple, I believe, and cover the terms already discussed. If you’ll write in where you wish the money to be sent, it will be done.”

  “Doesn’t it matter to you that we don’t believe in them?” Malory lifted a hand toward the portrait.

  “You’ll give your word that you’ll accept the terms. That’s enough for now,” Rowena told her.

  “Pretty straightforward for such an odd business,” Dana commented. And promised herself she would take the contract to a lawyer the next day to see if it was binding.

  Pitte handed her a pen. “As you are straightforward. If and when your turn comes, I know you
’ll do all you can.”

  Lightning sizzled along the window glass as the contracts were signed, then countersigned.

  “You are the chosen,” Rowena said as she rose again. “Now it’s in your hands. Pitte?”

  He walked back to the desk, picked up a carved box. “Inside are three disks. One has a figure of a key. The one who chooses that disk begins the quest.”

  “I hope it’s not me.” With a shaky laugh, Zoe wiped her damp palms on her skirt. “I’m sorry, I’m just really nervous.” She closed her eyes, reached into the box. Keeping the disk clutched in her fist, she looked at Malory and Dana. “Let’s all look at the same time. Okay?”

  “Fine. Here goes.” Dana reached in, kept the disk palmed against her side as Malory reached for the final one.

  “Okay.”

  They stood in a circle, facing each other. Then held out the disks. “Wow.” Malory cleared her throat. “Lucky me,” she whispered as she saw the gold key etched into the white disk she had selected.

  “You are the first,” Rowena said, walking to her. “Your time starts at sunrise tomorrow and ends at midnight on the twenty-eighth day thereafter.”

  “But I get a guide, right. A map or something?”

  Rowena opened the small chest and withdrew a paper, which she offered to Malory. She then spoke the words written on it.

  “You must seek beauty, and truth and courage. One alone will never stand. Two without the third is incomplete. Search within and know what you have yet to know. Find what the dark covets most. Search without, where the light conquers shadows, as love conquers sorrow. Silver tears fall for the song she makes there, for it springs from souls. Look beyond and between, see where beauty blooms and the goddess sings. There may be fear, there may be grief, but the true heart vanquishes both. When you find what you seek, love will break the spell, and the heart will forge the key and bring it to light.”

  Malory waited a beat. “That’s it? That’s supposed to be a clue?”

  “I’m so glad I didn’t have to go first,” Zoe said.

  “Wait—can’t you tell me anything else? You and Pitte already know where the keys are, right?”

  “This is all we are allowed to give you, but you have all you need to have.” Rowena laid her hands on Malory’s shoulders, then kissed her cheeks. “Blessings on you.”

  LATER Rowena stood, letting the fire warm her hands as she stared up at the painting. She felt Pitte come in to stand behind her, turned her face into his hand when he touched her cheek.

  “I had higher hopes before they came,” he told her.

  “They’re bright, resourceful. None are chosen who aren’t capable.”

  “Yet we remain in this place, year by century by millennium.”

  “Don’t.” She turned, slid her arms around his waist, pressed herself to him. “Don’t despair, my dearest love, before it really begins.”

  “So many beginnings, but never an end.” He bent his head, touched his lips to her brow. “How this place crowds me.”

  “We’ve done all that can be done.” She laid her cheek on his chest, comforted by the steady sound of his heartbeat. “Have a little faith. I liked them,” she added, and took his hand as they started toward the doors.

  “They’re interesting enough. For mortals,” he replied.

  As they passed through the archway, the roaring fire vanished and the lights snapped off, leaving behind a trail of gold in the dark.

  Chapter Three

  SHE couldn’t say she hadn’t seen it coming. And James was certainly gentle, even paternal. But the boot was the boot however it was administered.

  Being prepared, even having the miraculous cushion of the twenty-five thousand dollars now tucked away in her account—a fact that she had confirmed that morning—didn’t make being fired any less horrible and humiliating.

  “Things change.” James P. Horace, natty as always in his bow tie and rimless glasses, spoke in modulated tones.

  In all the years Malory had known him, she’d never heard him raise his voice. He could be absentminded, occasionally negligent about practicalities when it came to business, but he was unfailingly kind.

  Even now his face held a patient and serene expression. A little like an aged cherub, Malory thought.

  Though the office door was closed, the rest of The Gallery’s staff would know, very shortly, the outcome of the meeting.

  “I like to think of myself as a kind of surrogate father, and as such I want only the best for you.”

  “Yes, James. But—”

  “If we don’t move in some direction, we stand still. I feel that though this may be difficult for you initially, Malory, you’ll soon see it’s the best thing that could happen.”

  How many clichés, Malory wondered, could one man use when lowering the boom?

  “James, I know Pamela and I haven’t seen eye to eye.” I’ll see your cliché, and raise you. “As the new kid on the block, she’s bound to be a bit defensive, while I tend to be territorial. I’m so terribly sorry I lost my temper. Spilling the coffee was an accident. You know I’d never—”

  “Now, now.” He waved his hands in the air. “I’m sure it was. I don’t want you to give that another thought. Water under the bridge. But the point is, Malory, Pamela wants to take a more active role in the business, to shake things up a bit.”

  Desperation slithered into her belly. “James, she moved everything in the main room, jumbled pieces in from the salon. She brought fabric in—gold lamé, James—and draped it over the Deco nude like a sarong. Not only was the flow interrupted by the placements, but the result was, well, just tacky. She doesn’t understand art, and space. She—”

  “Yes, yes.” His voice never changed pitch, his face never altered its placid expression. “But she’ll learn. And I believe that teaching her will be enjoyable. I appreciate her interest in my business, and her enthusiasm—just as I’ve always appreciated yours, Malory. But the fact is, I really think you’ve outgrown us here. It’s time for you to stretch yourself. Broaden your horizons. Take some risks.”

  Her throat closed, and her voice sounded thick when she managed to speak. “I love The Gallery, James.”

  “I know you do. And you’re always welcome here. I feel it’s time for me to give you a nudge out of the nest. Naturally, I want you to be comfortable while you’re deciding what you’d like to do next.” He took a check out of his breast pocket. “A month’s severance should help keep the wolf from the door.”

  What will I do? Where will I go? Frantic questions flew around her brain like terrified birds. “This is the only place I’ve ever worked.”

  “Which makes my point.” He set the check on the desk. “I hope you know how fond I am of you, and that you can come to me anytime, anytime at all, for advice. Though it would probably be best if we kept that between ourselves. Pamela is a little annoyed with you just now.”

  He gave her an avuncular peck on the cheek, a pat on the head, then strolled out.

  PATIENT and placid he might be, but he was also weak. Weak, and though she hated to admit it—hated to realize it after all these years—selfish. It took a selfish weakness to fire an efficient, creative, loyal employee on the whim of his wife.

  She knew it was useless to cry, but she cried a little anyway as she stood in the small office that she’d decorated herself and boxed up her personal things. Her lifetime, career-wise, fit into a single storage box.

  That was efficient again, practical. And, Malory decided, pathetic.

  Everything was going to be different now, and she wasn’t ready. She had no plan, no outline, no list for what came next. She wouldn’t be getting up tomorrow, eating a light, sensible breakfast, dressing for work in the outfit carefully selected tonight.

  Day after day without purpose, without plan, stretched out in front of her like some bottomless canyon. And the precious order of her life was strewn somewhere down there in the void.

  It terrified her, but marching along with the fear wa
s pride. So, she repaired her makeup and kept her chin up, her shoulders back, as she carried the box out of the office and down the stairs. She did her best to muster up a smile when Tod Grist rushed to the base of the stairs.

  He was short and trim, clad in his signature black shirt and pants. Two tiny gold hoops glinted in his left earlobe. His hair was a shoulder-length streaky-blond, which Malory had always envied. The angelic face that it framed drew middle-aged and elderly ladies like the sirens’ song drew sailors.

  He’d started at The Gallery the year after Malory arrived and had been her friend, confidant, and bitching partner ever since.

  “Don’t go. We’ll kill the bimbo. A little arsenic in her morning latte and she’s history.” He grabbed at the storage box. “Mal, love of my life, you can’t leave me here.”

  “I got the boot. A month’s severance, a pat on the head, and a pack of homilies.” She fought to keep the tears from blurring her vision as she looked around the lovely, wide foyer, the streams of filtered light spilling over the glossy oak floor. “God, what am I going to do tomorrow when I can’t come here?”

  “Aw, baby. Here, give me that.” He took the box, gave her a little nudge with it. “Outside, so we can blubber.”

  “I’m not going to blubber anymore.” But she had to bite her lip when it quivered.

  “I am,” he promised and kept nudging until she was out the door. He set the box down on one of the iron tables on the pretty covered porch, then flung his arms around her. “I can’t stand it! Nothing’s going to be the same without you here. Who will I gossip with, who’ll soothe my broken heart when some bastard breaks it? You notice this is all about me.”

  He made her laugh. “You’ll still be my best bud, right?”

  “Sure I will. You’re not going to do something crazy, like move to the city?” He eased back to study her face. “Or fall in with bad companions and work in a strip mall gift shop?”

  A lead weight landed—ka-boom—in her stomach. Those were the only two reasonable choices she had if she was going to make a living. But because he looked as if he might cry, she waved them away to bolster him. “Perish the thought. I don’t know what I’m going to do, exactly. But I’ve got this thing—” She thought of her odd evening, and the key. “I’ll tell you about it later. I’ve got something to keep me occupied for a while, then . . . I don’t know, Tod. Everything’s out of kilter.”