Her pulse skipped and stumbled, but her hand remained steady and sure. For a timeless moment, she shut everything out of her mind but the colors, the textures, the shapes.

And when she stepped back, her eyes glittered with triumph.

"It's the finest thing I've ever done," she declared. "Perhaps the finest thing I will ever do. I wonder what you'll think of it."

She gestured in invitation.

"Light and shadow," she said as he stepped toward the easel. "In looking within, and without. From within me to without and onto the canvas. What my heart speaks. I call it The Singing Goddess" It was her face she'd painted. Her face and the first Daughter of Glass. She stood in a forest, full of sparkling gold light, softened with green shadows, with the river sliding over rock like tears.

Her sisters sat on the ground behind her, their hands clasped.

Venora, for she knew it was Venora, carried her harp, and with her face lifted toward the sky you could almost hear the song she sang.

"Did you think I would settle for cold illusion when I have a chance for the real thing? Did you think I'd trade my life, and her soul, for a dream? You underestimate mortals, Kane."

As he spun toward her, fury leaping off him like flames, she prayed she hadn't overestimated herself, or Rowena.

"The first key is mine." As she spoke she reached toward the painting, reached into it. A stunning blast of heat shot up her arm as she closed her fingers around the key she'd painted at the feet of the goddess.

The key that gleamed in a beam of light that cut the shadows like a gilded sword.

She felt its shape, its substance, then with a cry of victory, she drew it free. “This is my choice. And you can go to hell."

The mists roiled as he cursed her. As he lifted his hand to strike, both Flynn and Moe burst through the wall. With a barrage of sharp, staccato barks, Moe leaped.

Kane faded like a shadow in the dark, and was gone.

As Flynn plucked Malory off her feet, sunlight shimmered in the tiny windows, and rain dripped musically from the eaves outside. The room was only an attic, filled with dust and clutter.

The painting she'd created out of love, knowledge, and courage was gone. "I've got you." Flynn buried his face in her hair as Moe leaped on them. "You're all right. I've got you."

"I know. I know." She began to weep quietly as she looked down at the key still clutched in her fingers. "I painted it." She held it out to Dana and Zoe. "I have the key."

Because she insisted, Flynn drove her directly to Warrior's Peak, with Dana and Zoe following. He kept the heater on high, and had wrapped her in a blanket from his trunk that unfortunately smelted of Moe. And still she shivered.

"You need a hot bath or something. Tea. Soup." He dragged a hand that was still far from steady through his hair. "I don't know. Brandy."

"I'll take all of the above," she promised, "as soon as we get the key where it belongs. I won't be able to relax until it's out of my hand."

She clutched it in a fist held tight to her breast.

"I don't know how it can be in my hand."

"Neither do I. Maybe if you explain it to me, we'll both get it."

"He tried to confuse me, the way he separated us. To make me feel lost and alone and afraid. But he must have some limits. He couldn't keep all three of us, and you, in those illusions. Not all at once. We're connected, and we're stronger than he realized. At least that's what I think."

"I can go with that. To give him credit, he had Rhoda pretty much down pat."

"I made him mad, just mad enough, I guess. I knew the key was in the house." She pulled the blanket a little tighter, but couldn't find warmth. "I'm not telling this in good journalistic style."

"Don't worry about that. I'll edit it later. How did you know?"

"The attic's where I made the choice, when he showed me all the things I wanted so much. I realized that was the dream place once I went upstairs with Zoe and Dana. And the studio, the artist's studio, had been on the top floor. The attic. It had to be where I had that moment of decision—like in the paintings. At first I thought we would have to hunt through whatever was up there, and we'd find something that jibed with the clue. But it was more than that, and less."

She closed her eyes and sighed.

"You're tired. Just rest until we get there. We can talk later."

"No, I'm okay. It was so strange, Flynn. When I got up there and I realized it all. My place—in reality and in my dream. And how he brought the dream back, tried to slide me into it. I let him think he had. I thought about the clue and saw the painting in my head. I knew how to paint it, every stroke. The third painting of the set.

"The key wasn't in the world he created for me," she said as she turned to him. "But it was in what I created, if I had the courage to do it. If I could see the beauty of it, and make it real. He gave me the power to bring the key into the illusion."

To forge it, she thought, with love.

"I bet that burns his ass."

She laughed. "Yeah, that's a nice side benefit. I heard you."

"What?"

"I heard you calling to me. All of you, but especially you. I couldn't answer you. I'm sorry because I know you were afraid for me. But I couldn't let him know I heard."

He reached over to cover her hand with his. "I couldn't get to you. I didn't know what fear was until then, when I couldn't get to you."

"I was afraid at first that it was just another of his tricks. I was afraid that if I turned around and saw you, I'd break. Your poor hands." She lifted his hand, pressed her lips gently to the torn knuckles. "My hero. Heroes," she corrected, looking back at Moe.

She kept her hand in his as they drove through the gates at Warrior's Peak.

Rowena stepped out, her hands folded at the waist of a flame-red sweater. Malory could see the gleam of tears in her eyes as she walked across the portico to meet them.

"You're safe, and well?" She touched Malory's cheek, and the chill Malory had been unable to shake slid into blessed warmth.

"Yes, I'm fine. I have—"

"Not yet. Your hands." She laid her palms under Flynn's, lifted them. "This will scar," she said. "There, beneath the third knuckle of your left hand. A symbol, Flynn. Herald and warrior."

She opened the back door of the car herself so Moe could leap out and greet her with wags and licks. "Ah, there, the fierce and brave one." She hugged him, then leaned back on her heels, listening attentively as he barked and grumbled. "Yes, you had quite the adventure." She rose, resting a hand on Moe's head as she smiled at Dana and Zoe. "All of you did. Please come in."

Moe didn't need to be asked twice. He bounded across the stones and straight through the doorway where Pitte stood. Pitte raised an elegant eyebrow as the dog skidded over the foyer floor, then turned the look onto Rowena.

She only laughed and hooked an arm through Flynn's. "I have a gift for the loyal and courageous Moe, if you'll allow it."

"Sure. Look, we appreciate the hospitality, but Malory's pretty worn out, so—"

"I'm fine. Really."

"We won't keep you long." Pitte gestured them into what Malory thought of as the portrait room. "We're in your debt, more than can be paid. What you've done, whatever tomorrow brings, will never be forgotten." He tipped Malory's face up with one long finger and laid his lips on hers.

Zoe nudged Dana. "I think we're getting gypped in this one-for-all deal."

Pitte glanced over, and his sudden grin was alive with charm. "My woman is a jealous creature."

"No such thing," Rowena objected, then lifted a brightly woven collar from a table. "These symbols speak of valor, and a true heart. The colors are also symbolic. Red for courage, blue for friendship, black for protection."

She crouched to remove Moe's frayed and faded collar and replace it.

He sat through the business of it, Flynn thought, with the stalwart dignity of a soldier being awarded a medal.

"There. How handsome you are." Rowena kissed Moe's nose, then got to her feet. "Will you still bring him to see me, now and then?" she asked Flynn.

"Sure."

"Kane underestimated you. All of you—heart and spirit and spine."

"He's unlikely to do so again," Pitte pointed out, but Rowena shook her head.

"This is a time for joy. You are the first," she told Malory.

"I know. I wanted to get this to you right away." She started to hold out the key, then stopped. "Wait. Do you mean I'm the first? The first to ever find a key?"

Saying nothing, Rowena turned to Pitte. He walked to a carved chest beneath the window, lifted the lid. The blue light that spilled out made Malory's stomach clutch. But this was different from the mist, she realized. This was deeper, brighter.

Then he lifted from the chest a glass box alive with that light, and her throat filled with tears. "The Box of Souls."

"You are the first," Pitte repeated as he set the box on a marble pedestal. "The first mortal to turn the first key."

He turned, stood beside the box. He was the soldier now, Malory thought, the warrior at guard. Rowena stepped to the other side so they flanked the glass and the swirling blue lights inside it.

"It's for you to do," Rowena said quietly. "It was always for you to do."

Malory clutched the key tighter in her fist. Her chest was so full it hurt and still seemed incapable of containing the galloping racing of her heart. She tried to draw a calming breath, but it came out short and sharp. As she stepped closer, those lights seemed to fill her vision, then the room. Then the world.