Key of Light
Page 89
“Not today. You should rest your minds and hearts.” Rowena turned to Pitte. “There should be champagne in the parlor. Would you see to our guests? I’d like a private word with Malory before we join you.”
She lifted the glass box herself, carefully placed it back in the chest. When she was alone with Malory she turned. “Pitte said we owe you a debt we can never pay. That’s true.”
“I agreed to look for the key, and I was paid,” Malory corrected. She looked at the chest, imagined the box within. “It seems wrong now to have taken the money.”
“The money is nothing to us, I promise you. Others have taken it and done nothing. Others have tried and failed. And you’ve done something brave and interesting with the money.”
She crossed over, took Malory’s hands in hers. “That pleases me. But it isn’t dollars and cents I speak of when I speak of debt. If not for me, there would be no Box of Souls, no keys, no locks. You wouldn’t have had to face what you faced today.”
“You love them.” Malory gestured toward the chest.
“As sisters. Young, sweet sisters. Well . . .” She walked over to look at the portrait. “I have hope to see them like this again. I can give you a gift, Malory. It’s my right to do so. You refused what Kane offered you.”
“It wasn’t real.”
“It can be.” She turned back. “I can make it real. What you felt, what you knew, what you had inside you. I can give you the power you had in his illusion.”
Dizzy, Malory groped for the arm of a chair, then slowly lowered herself into it. “You can give me painting.”
“I understand the need—and the joys and pain of having that beauty inside you, feeling it leap out.” She laughed. “Or fighting to get it out, which is every bit as brilliant. You can have it. My gift to you.”
For a moment, the idea of it swarmed through Malory, intoxicating as wine, seductive as love. And she saw Rowena watching her, so calm, so steady, with a soft smile on her lips.
“You’d give me yours,” Malory realized. “That’s what you mean. You would give me your talent, your skill, your vision.”
“It would be yours.”
“No, it would never be mine. And I would always know it. I . . . painted them because I could see them. Just as I could see them in that first dream. As if I were there, in the painting. And I painted the key. I forged the key, was able to because I loved enough to give it up. I chose the light instead of the shadow. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes.”
“Having made that choice, knowing it was the right one, I can’t take what’s yours. But thank you,” she said as she rose. “It’s nice to know I can be happy doing what I do. I’m going to make a beautiful shop, and a successful business. And a damn good life,” she added.
“I have no doubt. Will you take this, then?” Rowena gestured, smiling when Malory let out a shocked gasp.
“The Singing Goddess.” She rushed to the framed canvas that rested on a table. “The painting I did when Kane . . .”
“You painted it.” Rowena joined her, laid a hand on her shoulder. “Whatever his trick, this was your vision, and your heart that found the answer. But if having this, if seeing it is painful, I can put it away.”
“No, it’s not painful. It’s a wonderful gift. Rowena, this was an illusion. You brought it into my reality. It’s solid. It exists.” Bracing herself, she stepped back, kept her eyes level with Rowena’s. “Can you—have you done the same with emotions?”
“You question if your feelings for Flynn are real?”
“No. I know they are.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “This is no illusion. But his for me—if that’s some kind of reward . . . it’s not fair to him, and I can’t accept it.”
“You would give him up.”
“No.” Her expression went combative. “Hell, no. I’d just deal with it, and him, until he fell in love with me. If I can find some mystical key, I can sure as hell make Michael Flynn Hennessy realize I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Which I am,” she added. “Which I absolutely am.”
“I like you, very much,” Rowena said with a grin. “And I’ll promise you this. When Flynn walks into this room again, whatever he feels or doesn’t feel will be a true reflection of his heart. The rest is up to you. Wait here, I’ll send him in.”
“Rowena? When will we begin the second round?”
“Soon,” Rowena called out as she left the room. “Very soon.”
Which one of them would be next? Malory wondered as she studied the portrait. And what would the second one risk? What would she win or lose in the search?
She’d lost one love, she thought, lifting her painting. One love, so briefly tasted. And now, with Flynn, she had to risk another. The most vital love of her life.
“I brought you some of this very jazzy champagne,” Flynn said, walking in with two brimming flutes. “You’re missing the party. Pitte actually laughed. It was a moment.”
“I just needed a couple of minutes first.” She set the painting down and reached for a glass.
“What’s this? One of Rowena’s?” He hooked an arm companionably around Malory’s shoulder, and she felt his body stiffen when he understood. “It’s yours? This is what you did? The painting you did in the attic, with the key. It’s here.”
He brushed his fingers over the gold key, only painted now, at the feet of the goddess. “It’s amazing.”
“Even more when you’re the one who reached into a painting and pulled out a magic key.”
“No. I mean, yeah, that’s out there. But I meant the whole thing. It’s beautiful, Malory. Hell, it’s stupendous. You gave this up.” He spoke softly, then looked over at her. “You’re the one who’s amazing.”
“I’ll have this. Rowena clicked her heels together, twitched her nose, whatever she does, and brought it here for me. It means a lot to have it. Flynn . . .”
She had to take a drink, had to put some distance between them. Whatever she’d said to Rowena, she understood now that she was a about to do something much more wrenching than giving up a talent with paint and brush.
She lifted the glass box herself, carefully placed it back in the chest. When she was alone with Malory she turned. “Pitte said we owe you a debt we can never pay. That’s true.”
“I agreed to look for the key, and I was paid,” Malory corrected. She looked at the chest, imagined the box within. “It seems wrong now to have taken the money.”
“The money is nothing to us, I promise you. Others have taken it and done nothing. Others have tried and failed. And you’ve done something brave and interesting with the money.”
She crossed over, took Malory’s hands in hers. “That pleases me. But it isn’t dollars and cents I speak of when I speak of debt. If not for me, there would be no Box of Souls, no keys, no locks. You wouldn’t have had to face what you faced today.”
“You love them.” Malory gestured toward the chest.
“As sisters. Young, sweet sisters. Well . . .” She walked over to look at the portrait. “I have hope to see them like this again. I can give you a gift, Malory. It’s my right to do so. You refused what Kane offered you.”
“It wasn’t real.”
“It can be.” She turned back. “I can make it real. What you felt, what you knew, what you had inside you. I can give you the power you had in his illusion.”
Dizzy, Malory groped for the arm of a chair, then slowly lowered herself into it. “You can give me painting.”
“I understand the need—and the joys and pain of having that beauty inside you, feeling it leap out.” She laughed. “Or fighting to get it out, which is every bit as brilliant. You can have it. My gift to you.”
For a moment, the idea of it swarmed through Malory, intoxicating as wine, seductive as love. And she saw Rowena watching her, so calm, so steady, with a soft smile on her lips.
“You’d give me yours,” Malory realized. “That’s what you mean. You would give me your talent, your skill, your vision.”
“It would be yours.”
“No, it would never be mine. And I would always know it. I . . . painted them because I could see them. Just as I could see them in that first dream. As if I were there, in the painting. And I painted the key. I forged the key, was able to because I loved enough to give it up. I chose the light instead of the shadow. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes.”
“Having made that choice, knowing it was the right one, I can’t take what’s yours. But thank you,” she said as she rose. “It’s nice to know I can be happy doing what I do. I’m going to make a beautiful shop, and a successful business. And a damn good life,” she added.
“I have no doubt. Will you take this, then?” Rowena gestured, smiling when Malory let out a shocked gasp.
“The Singing Goddess.” She rushed to the framed canvas that rested on a table. “The painting I did when Kane . . .”
“You painted it.” Rowena joined her, laid a hand on her shoulder. “Whatever his trick, this was your vision, and your heart that found the answer. But if having this, if seeing it is painful, I can put it away.”
“No, it’s not painful. It’s a wonderful gift. Rowena, this was an illusion. You brought it into my reality. It’s solid. It exists.” Bracing herself, she stepped back, kept her eyes level with Rowena’s. “Can you—have you done the same with emotions?”
“You question if your feelings for Flynn are real?”
“No. I know they are.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “This is no illusion. But his for me—if that’s some kind of reward . . . it’s not fair to him, and I can’t accept it.”
“You would give him up.”
“No.” Her expression went combative. “Hell, no. I’d just deal with it, and him, until he fell in love with me. If I can find some mystical key, I can sure as hell make Michael Flynn Hennessy realize I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Which I am,” she added. “Which I absolutely am.”
“I like you, very much,” Rowena said with a grin. “And I’ll promise you this. When Flynn walks into this room again, whatever he feels or doesn’t feel will be a true reflection of his heart. The rest is up to you. Wait here, I’ll send him in.”
“Rowena? When will we begin the second round?”
“Soon,” Rowena called out as she left the room. “Very soon.”
Which one of them would be next? Malory wondered as she studied the portrait. And what would the second one risk? What would she win or lose in the search?
She’d lost one love, she thought, lifting her painting. One love, so briefly tasted. And now, with Flynn, she had to risk another. The most vital love of her life.
“I brought you some of this very jazzy champagne,” Flynn said, walking in with two brimming flutes. “You’re missing the party. Pitte actually laughed. It was a moment.”
“I just needed a couple of minutes first.” She set the painting down and reached for a glass.
“What’s this? One of Rowena’s?” He hooked an arm companionably around Malory’s shoulder, and she felt his body stiffen when he understood. “It’s yours? This is what you did? The painting you did in the attic, with the key. It’s here.”
He brushed his fingers over the gold key, only painted now, at the feet of the goddess. “It’s amazing.”
“Even more when you’re the one who reached into a painting and pulled out a magic key.”
“No. I mean, yeah, that’s out there. But I meant the whole thing. It’s beautiful, Malory. Hell, it’s stupendous. You gave this up.” He spoke softly, then looked over at her. “You’re the one who’s amazing.”
“I’ll have this. Rowena clicked her heels together, twitched her nose, whatever she does, and brought it here for me. It means a lot to have it. Flynn . . .”
She had to take a drink, had to put some distance between them. Whatever she’d said to Rowena, she understood now that she was a about to do something much more wrenching than giving up a talent with paint and brush.
