Key Of Valor

Chapter Nine

"I brought all my notes," she began, "in case we need to look through them. Or in case I get turned around and need them. I spent most of last week thinking about this on my own and not talking about it with everyone, not very much. I think that was a mistake. Or maybe not a mistake, but it's time to do this now."

She blew out a breath. "I'm not real good at this kind of thing. I'm just going to say the things I think, and y'all can pitch in whenever."

"Zo?" Dana picked up a beer from the table, handed it to her. "Relax."

"Trying to." She took a quick sip. "I think Kane hasn't pushed at me very hard so far because he just sees what's on the surface. We learned from everything that happened before that he doesn't really understand what we are, inside. I think that's why he hates us. He hates us," she murmured, "because he can't see what we are, and he can't get a good hold on what he can't see." "Well put," Jordan said, which helped her relax a little more.

"Here's what I think he sees with me. A woman from a… 'disadvantaged' is what they call it. A disadvantaged childhood. Poor is what it is, but people don't like saying 'poor.' I don't have much formal education. I got pregnant when I was sixteen, and I made a living doing hair. Mostly doing hair, with some waitressing and whatnot thrown in to make ends meet. I don't have Malory's class and culture."

"Oh, really, that's—"

"Wait." Zoe held up a hand to halt Malory's sharp protest. "Just hear me out. I don't have that, and I don't have Dana's education or confidence. What I've got is a strong back and a son to raise. All of that's true. But all of that isn't, well, all. And here's what he doesn't see, or understand."

She sipped again to wet her throat. "Determination. I didn't settle for being poor. I wanted more, and I found ways to get more. Then there's my word. I made a promise that night up at the Peak, and when I make a promise, I keep it. And I'm no coward. I think Kane has barely bothered with me because he doesn't see that, and even more because he's had enough time to watch me, or study me, or whatever the hell he does, and he was smart enough to figure out I might think less of myself, and my chances of doing this if he made it seem like he wasn't all that worried about me."

She took a deep breath. "That's his mistake. He's not going to win by making me feel I'm not worth the fight."

"You're going to kick his ass," Dana stated.

Her eyes brightened, and though she didn't realize it, her smile was a warrior's. "Oh, I'm going to kick his ass, and when I'm done, I'm going to squeeze his balls blue."

Deliberately, to make her grin, Flynn crossed his legs protectively. "Any specific angles on how you're going to go about that?"

"A couple. With Dana and Malory, they had to take steps, make choices, even sacrifices. They reflected the clue, and…" She glanced back at the portrait. "And the goddess they stood for. So, I have to think how what I've done, or have to do, reflects mine. The puppy and the sword. That's what she has in the painting at the Peak. She nurtures and she defends, I guess. I've got a son I've been nurturing and defending for more than nine years."

"Not just him," Jordan put in. "Your nature is to nurture and defend anyone you care about, anyone who needs it. It's instinctive, and that makes it one of your strengths. Another thing Kane wouldn't understand about you is you care about the women in that painting, care enough to go to the wall for them."

"Friendship," Brad added with a gesture toward the painting. "Family, and the preservation of those things. Those are essential elements in your life."

"I guess we're on the same page, then, because I was thinking that one of the basics of the quests, so far, has been living life the way you really want to live it, taking whatever steps and risks you need to, being willing to sacrifice and work to make it happen."

It sounded good when she said it out loud, Zoe decided. It sounded solid. "For me, I decided to have a child. A lot of people told me I was making a mistake, but I knew in my heart I wanted the child, and I wanted to do right by him. I left home because I knew I'd never be able to do right by him if I stayed. I was scared, and it was hard. But it was right for me, and for Simon."

"You chose the path," Brad said quietly.

"I chose it. And there was some of that loss and despair that Rowena talked about in the clue. You can't raise a child without some loss and despair. You sure as hell can't raise one alone without them. But you get all the joy, too, and the pride and the wonder. I chose to come here to the Valley because that was what I wanted for myself and for Simon. Then I had to decide if I was going to keep plugging away for a paycheck or take a chance and make something of my own. I didn't have to do that one alone, and see, those other choices made it so I didn't have to."

She crouched down to take some papers from her backpack. "See this? I made this up. It's like a chart, kind of a map."

She handed it to Malory first. "See, there's where I grew up—not all that far from here, really. Only about sixty miles across the state line. And there's the names of my family, and people who had an impact on me—one way or the other. Then I sort of routed out other places I lived, and worked, and the names and all that. Until I ended up here, with all of you. See, I was thinking, some of it's just living. What you do, and what happens to you while you're doing it."

Malory raised her eyes from the chart, met Zoe's. "You worked at HomeMakers."

"Just part-time. Three nights a week and Sunday afternoons, for about three months before Simon was born." She turned to Brad. "I didn't even think about it before. Just didn't."

"What store?"

"The one outside of Morgantown, off Highway 68. They were really good to me there. I was six months along when I went in looking for the extra work. I went into labor working cash register number four. I think that means something. I went into labor when I was working for you."

He took the chart as it was passed to him, looked at it, noted dates. "I was in that store doing some troubleshooting in March of that year." He tapped the chart. "I remember it because someone came into the meeting apologizing for being a few minutes late. It seemed one of our cashiers had gone into labor and he'd wanted to be sure she got off to the hospital safely."

The chill that danced through Zoe wasn't fear. It was excitement. "You were there." "Not only there, but when I came back to finish up the next day, it turned out I'd won the baby pool. I'd taken a boy, seven pounds, and gone with twelve hours of labor."

She let out a shaky breath. "Pretty close."

"Close enough to earn me a couple hundred dollars."

"That is way spooky," Dana commented "Where do we go with it?"

"Some of it's going to be where Zoe and I go with it." He looked back at the chart. "You didn't go back to work at the Morgantown store."

"No. I picked up a few extra hours a week at the salon where I was working, and they let me bring the baby in. As friendly as they are at HomeMakers, you can't work the cash register with a baby under the counter."

He'd been there, Zoe thought again. Their paths had crossed at the most important moment of her life. "I didn't want to spend the money for a sitter," she continued. "More, I guess, I wasn't ready to let him out of my sight."

Brad studied her face, trying to imagine her—imagine both of them on that day, nearly ten years before. "If I'd done my tour of the floor sooner rather than later, I might have seen you, spoken with you. I decided to do the offices and take the meetings first. One of those little choices that change what comes after for quite some time."

"You weren't meant to meet then." Malory shook her head. "I know it goes back to sounding like destiny and fate, but those shouldn't be discounted. Even with our choices. You weren't meant to meet until you were both here. Paths, crossroads, intersections. Zoe's got them there on her chart."

Malory eased forward, tilting her head so she could read it along with Brad. "You could add your roads on there, Brad. From the Valley to Columbia, back to the Valley, to New York, to Morgantown, wherever else, then back here. You'd find other intersections and crossroads. And for both of you they've led here. It's not just geography."

"No." Brad tapped a finger on the names Zoe had listed near her hometown. "James Marshall. Is that Simon's father?"

"In the technical sense. Why?"

"I know him. Our families did some business. We bought some land from his father, though the son ran the deal. A nice chunk of commercial property near Wheeling. I closed the deal before I left New York. It was one of the levers I used to move back here and take over this area."

"You met James," Zoe whispered. "Met him, and spent enough time with him to know he doesn't deserve you, or Simon. I need another beer."

Zoe stayed where she was a moment. "I'm going to check on the chili. Just, ah, give me a few minutes, and I'll dish it up."

She hurried toward the kitchen. "Bradley."

He kept walking, then yanked open the refrigerator, got his beer. "Is that why you were pissed when I picked you up?" he demanded. "You'd made your chart, started thinking it through and saw just how tight the connection is with me?"

"Yes, that was part of it." She linked her fingers, then pulled them apart. "It's like another brick, Bradley, and I haven't figured out if it's like having that brick put down on a walk to give me a good, solid path or like having it mortared into a wall that's closing me in."

He stared at her, astonished fury pulsing around him. "Who's trying to close you in? That's a hell of a thing to put on me, Zoe."

"It's not you. It's not about you. It's about me. What I think, what I feel, what I do. And damn it, I can't help it if it makes you mad that I have to decide if it's a wall or a walk."

"A wall or a walk," he repeated, then took a slug of beer. "Christ, I actually understand that. I'd rather I didn't."

"It made me feel pushed, and I get mad when I'm pushed. It's not your fault or your doing, but it doesn't feel like it's mine either. I guess I don't like dealing with what's not my fault or my doing."

"He was a stupid son of a bitch for letting you go."

She let out a sigh. "He didn't let me go. He just didn't hold on to me. And that stopped making me mad a long time ago." She moved to the stove, took the lid off her pot. "There was something else that happened. I'm going to finish making this meal, and I'll tell you and the others about it over dinner."

"Zoe." He touched her shoulder, then opened a cupboard to look for plates. "About those bricks? You can always knock a wall down, and build a nice walk out of it."

They ate in the kitchen, crowded around the table, as the dining room was a long way from meeting Malory's standards. Over beer and chili and hot bread, Zoe told them about what she'd seen in the steamy shower mirror and the range hood.

"I thought I imagined it the first time. It just seemed too strange not to be my imagination—and it was only for a couple of seconds. But today… I saw her," Zoe confirmed. "I saw her where I should've been." "If Kane's trying another angle," Dana began, "I'm not following it."

"It wasn't Kane." Zoe frowned down at her plate. "I don't know how to explain how I'm so sure it wasn't, except to say it didn't feel like him. There's a feeling when he touches you."

She lifted her gaze, met Dana's, then Malory's for confirmation. "Maybe not as it's happening, but after, and you know. It wasn't from him. It was warm," she continued. "Both times it was warm."

"Rowena and Pitte may be adding a few flourishes." Flynn spooned up more chili. "They said Kane had broken the rules with Dana and Jordan, so they compensated."

"It may cost them," Jordan added.

"It may. So it could be they've decided to compensate more. In-for-a-penny sort of thing."

"Doesn't play for me," Bradley disagreed. "If they were going to go over the line again, this soon in Zoe's quest, why not do something solid, something tangible? Why so cryptic?"

"I don't think it was from them either." Zoe pushed food around on her plate. "I think it was from her."

"From Kyna?" Fascinated, Malory sat back. "But how? They're powerless."

"Maybe she is. We don't know how all this works, really, but say she is. Her parents aren't. I started thinking what if someone had Simon trapped somewhere? I would just about go crazy. If there was a way to get him out, I'd do anything I could."

"It's been three thousand years," Flynn pointed out. "Why wait?"

"I know." Zoe took a piece of bread, broke off a chunk. "But time's different for them, right? Didn't Rowena say that? And besides, maybe there wasn't anything that could be done before this, before Kane changed things by spilling blood, mortal blood."

"Keep going," Jordan prompted when she stopped. "Spin it out."

"Well. If Kane changed the nature of the spell by breaking the rules of it, and if that opened— well—like a chink in the curtain, wouldn't loving parents try to send some light through that chink? They wanted me to see her. Not just in a painting but more personally."

“To see her in you," Bradley finished. 'To look in the mirror, and see her in you."

"Yes." Zoe let out a relieved breath. "Yes, that's how it feels to me. It's like they wanted her to tell me something. She can't just say, 'Oh, Zoe, the key's under the planter of geraniums on the porch,' but it's like she's trying to show me something I have to do or somewhere I have to go to find it."

"What was she wearing?"

"Jesus, Hawke." Dana jabbed him hard.

"No, seriously, let's look at the details. Was she dressed the way she is in the paintings?"

"Oh, I see." Zoe pursed her lips. "No. She was wearing a short dress, dark green." She closed her eyes to bring it back. "And boots. Brown boots that came right up to the knee. She had on the pendant, the one the legend says her father gave each of them, and this little headband, I guess they call it a circlet? A gold Wonder Woman sort of thing with a diamond-shaped jewel in the center. Dark green, like the dress. And the sword at her hip. Oh!"

Her eyes popped open again. "She had one of those…" Impatient with herself she waved a hand back between her shoulder blades. "Quivers. That's what it is, the thing for arrows. And there was a bow strapped over her shoulder."

"Sounds like the lady was going hunting," Jordan concluded.

"Into the forest," Zoe continued. "She took the path into the forest to hunt. A hunt's like a quest."

"Maybe the forest in the quest is more literal than we assumed," Dana considered as she ate. "I'll do some research on forests—books and paintings—as well as the local woods around the Valley. Something might pop."

"If you can describe the scene to me, I can try to sketch it," Malory suggested. "It might help for all of us to see it as you did."

"All right." Zoe gave a decisive nod. "That feels positive. It's been like time slipping away from me, but this feels positive. She had such strong, sad eyes," she said quietly. "I don't know how I could live with myself if I didn't help her."

She was lost in thought as Brad drove her home, and stared up at the waxing moon. It seemed as if she could almost see it growing fuller and whiter, marking her time.

"I don't know that I ever paid attention to the phases of the moon before. You just looked up, and it was full or a sliver or cut in half. I never thought to notice whether it was getting bigger or smaller. But now I don't think I'll ever not know. I'll know just where the moon is in its cycle, without ever looking at the sky."

"I've got less than three weeks left."

"You've got a chart, you've got a sketch. You've got a vision. You can't put the puzzle together without the pieces. You're gathering the pieces."

"I'm counting on it. It helped, talking it through, but it's all running around in my head now. And nothing will settle long enough for me to pick it apart again. I can't bend words into answers the way Dana does, or draw out images into answers like Malory. I have to, I don't know, get my hands around it, and work it into place. I don't have anything to get my hands around yet. It's frustrating."

"Sometimes you have to walk away from the pieces. Then come back and walk around them, look at them from a different angle."

He pulled into her drive. "I'm staying here tonight."

"What?"

"You're not staying here alone, without even Simon in the house in case something happens." He got out, took her pot from the back of the car. "I'll sleep on the sofa."

"I've got Moe," she began as the dog jumped up to race to the door.

"Last time I checked, Moe couldn't dial a phone or drive a car. You might need someone to do both." He paused by the door, waiting for her to unlock it. "You're not staying here alone. I'll sleep on the sofa."

"There isn't—"

"Don't argue."

Jiggling her keys, she took a good, hard look at him. "Maybe I like to argue."

"There wouldn't be any point in it, but if that's what you want to do, let's do it inside. It's dark, it's getting cold, and Moe's becoming a little too interested in what's left in this pot."

She opened the door and headed straight to the kitchen. "Just set that down. I'll take care of it." She got out one of the storage containers she used for leftovers, then shrugged out of her coat, tossed it over a kitchen chair. "It may not have occurred to you that I let Simon spend the night with a friend because I wanted some time alone."

"It occurred to me. I'll stay out of your way." He took off his own coat, then picked up hers. "I'll go hang these up."

Saying nothing, she began transferring leftover chili to the container.

He meant it for the best, she knew. And it wasn't as if she minded having a strong, capable man in the house. She simply wasn't used to having a strong, capable man in the house. Especially one who told her what was going to be done.

That was part of the problem, she considered, sealing the container. She'd been piloting her own ship for so long that having anyone take the wheel, however well intentioned, put her back up.

If that was a flaw in her character, she was entitled to a few flaws.

Part of the problem, she thought again as she took the pot to the sink to wash it. The other part, and the bigger chunk of the problem, was having a man she was attracted to in the house when there was no nine-year-old buffer between them.

And that, she realized, setting the pot to drain, was just dead stupid.

She went into the living room. He was sitting in a chair, paging through one of her magazines. Moe, having given up hope of chili, was sprawled over his feet.

"If you want reading material," she began, "I can do better than a magazine on hairstyles."

"It's okay. Great-looking models. Can I ask you a couple of questions? The first has to do with the availability of a blanket and pillow."

"I happen to have those items in stock."

"Good. The other, brought to mind by this redhead with the eyebrow ring is… just how do I put this?"

"You're interested in an eyebrow ring?"

"No. No, I'm not. But it happens that some time ago, I noticed… you were wearing these jeans that rode a little low and this shirt that rode a little high, so I couldn't help but notice you had this silver bar—that you had your navel pierced."

She cocked her head. "That's right."

"I wondered if you always wear it."

She kept her expression very sober, very serious. "Sometimes I wear this little silver hoop instead."

"Uh-huh." Unable to help it, he glanced at her belly, imagined. "Interesting."

"Before I came to the Valley, I worked a second job at a body-piercing and tattoo parlor. I was putting away all I could for a down payment on a house. As an employee, it was free, plus it helped in dealing with customers if you'd gone through it yourself. And no," she added, reading his thoughts, "the only body parts I was willing to have pierced were my belly button and my earlobes. Do you want something to drink? A snack?"

"No, I'm fine." Unless he counted the saliva that wanted to pool in the back of his mouth. "Tattoos? Did you get one?"

She smiled now, friendly as a Sunday school teacher. "I did. Just a little one."

She knew he was wondering what, and more, where. She would just let him wonder for now. "You don't have to sleep on the couch, Bradley." She watched his eyes narrow and focus on her face, and even from three feet away, felt his body tense. "There's no need for that when there's just the two of us here." She waited one long beat. "You can use Simon's bed."

"Simon's bed." He repeated it, as if speaking a foreign language. "Yeah. Right. Good."

"Why don't you come on upstairs, and I'll show you where everything is?"

"Sure." He set the magazine aside, gave Moe a nudge to roll him over and off his feet.

"There are plenty of clean towels in the bathroom closet," she began, enjoying herself as she started upstairs. "And I've got an extra toothbrush in there that you can use."

He kept his hands at his sides as he walked up behind her, and tried not to torture himself with images of tattoos and belly rings. He failed miserably. "I've got a staff meeting at eight-thirty in the morning, so I'll be out of your way early."

"I'm an early riser, so you won't bother me."

She nudged open the door of Simon's room. There were bunk beds with navy-blue spreads, and bright red curtains at the window. Shelves painted to match the spreads were full of the things boys collected. The action figures, the books, the rocks and model cars. A red desk, Simon-sized, was under the window and held a Superman lamp, school-books, and more of the flotsam and jetsam of a young boy.

It was neat but far from regimented, with a corkboard loaded with drawings and photographs and pictures cut out of magazines. There were shoes that had been kicked off, ball caps hooked on the posts of the top bunk, a book bag on the floor with some of its contents spilling out. And a scent, faint, of wildness that was all boy.

"It's a great room."

"We have a go-round periodically on cleaning it. I won the last one, so it's still in pretty good shape."

She leaned back against the doorjamb. "No problem sleeping in here?"

"No, this is fine."

"I appreciate you being a gentleman, not trying to take advantage of the situation and putting any moves on me."

"I'm staying because you shouldn't be alone, not to take advantage of anything."

"Mmm-hmm. I just wanted to be sure of that, and since I am, I'm going to tell you something. I'm not a gentleman." She stepped forward and pressed her body hard against his. "I'm going to take advantage of the situation." She clamped her hands on his butt, squeezed. "And I'm putting the moves on you. What're you going to do about it?"

His system spiked; his pulse scrambled. "Weep with gratitude?"

Laughing, she bit down on his bottom lip. "Cry later. Get your hands on me," she demanded and ravished his mouth. "All over me."

He fisted his hand in the back of her sweater, anchoring himself before he jumped out of his own skin. The taste of her, hot, ripe, flooded him, even as that tight, sexy body pressed and pumped against him.

Then his hands rushed under the sweater to take the long, smooth back, the dip of waist, the subtle flare of hip. More, his frantic brain could only think. More.

She arched and purred as his hungry lips fed off her throat.

His belly jumped when she dragged at the buckle of his belt.

"It's been a while for me." Her voice was thick, her fingers busy. "You'll have to excuse me for being in a hurry."

"No problem." In one fast move, he swung her around until her back was against the wall. "That's really no problem."

He yanked the sweater over her head, and tossed it aside. His hands were on her breasts before it hit the floor.

Gasping, she worked her hands between them, fighting to keep her mouth on his as she hurried to unbutton his shirt. God, she wanted the feel of him against her. The feel of him inside her. Her skin was alive again, the blood running hot under it, her heart pounding in a rhythm she'd forgotten could be so fast, so hard, so thrilling.

Desperate, she pushed his hand down, held it firmly between her legs. Her head fell back, exposing the line of her throat to his lips, his teeth, her hips moving as she pressed his hand to denim, and the heat under it.

It was like holding raw nerves. Nerves with edges of jagged glass. They scraped at his own, all but tore him open. And the scent of her, something exotic that whispered of midnights, shadows, secrets, slithered through his system like a drug. Until everything he touched, tasted, everything he knew was Zoe.

The need for her was like a lightning strike to the heart.

He yanked at the button on her jeans, dragged the denim down. Even as she struggled to step clear he was plunging his fingers into the heat. He watched the shocked pleasure rush over her face as she poured into his hand.

"Don't stop." Her mouth was frantic and fevered under his, and her nails scraped wickedly down his back before digging into his hips.

She rode it, that wild whip of sensation that snapped through mind and body, rode it shuddering and craved more. It burned through her, fueled her until she thought she would go mad from the sheer force of her own greed.

She ground herself against him in urgent demand, and cried out when he drove, hard and deep, inside her. And still it wasn't enough. Her hips pistoned in a brutal bid for speed, she groaned her desire for it over the sharp sound of flesh striking flesh, striking the wall, striking flesh.

He rode with her, in that fast, sweaty race toward release until his vision blurred and his blood screamed. Then drove them both, quivering, to the finish.

Her heart was still thundering when she dropped her head to his shoulder. She gulped air, felt it catch, then tear its way into her lungs and out again.

She was, she realized dimly, naked, sweaty, and pinned to the wall outside her son's room. She should be horrified. She wasn't, she thought. In fact, she was delighted.

"You okay?" His voice was muffled, and she felt his lips move against her hair.

"I think I was a lot better than okay. I think I was fantastic."

"You were. You are." He'd just taken her against the wall. Or she'd taken him. "Can't think yet," he admitted, and braced a hand against the wall so he could remain upright. "You went for the hoop today." He ran his other hand down her body until he could skim a finger over the ring in her belly button. "It's so fucking sexy. I had no idea."

He eased back just enough to watch her laugh. "We moved pretty quick. I seem to have missed your tattoo."

Dazzled, delighted, she touched his hair. "You're a funny guy, Bradley Charles Vane IV. All worked up over belly rings and tattoos."

"I never had this reaction to them on anyone else. Where is it?"

"I'll show you. First, I ought to tell you I'm not finished using you tonight." She leaned in, ran her tongue in a slow, wet line along the side of his throat. "But you may want to lie down for the next round." "Am I still standing?"

She laughed again, then eased around him, tapping a finger to her left shoulder blade as she walked toward the room across the hall.

"Wait." He put a hand on her arm, coming close behind her to study the image. "It's a faerie."

"That's right. Sometimes she's a good faerie." Zoe looked over her shoulder, a small smile playing around her lips. "Sometimes she's wicked. Why don't you come in here with me and see just which she is tonight?"