Нора Робертс - Key of Knowledge

Because hed been concerned by Jordans steady cool, the spike of temper relieved him. “Yeah, but youre a slug for a lot of reasons. I could write up a list.”

“The one Id write up on you would be longer,” Jordan muttered.

“Great, a contest.” Not just angry, Flynn noted as he studied Jordans face, but unhappy. Still, it had to be finished out, had to be said.

“Look, when Lily dumped me and took off for fame and fortune in the big bad city, it hurt. And I wasnt in love with her. You and Brad had that one right. But I thought I was, I was ready to be, and her brushing me off messed me up. Dana was in love with you. Youve got to expect that your going, whatever your reasons, messed her up.”

Jordan sat again, thoughtfully broke a cookie in two. “Youre telling me not to mess her up again.”

“Yeah, thats what Im telling you.”

DANA tried working off her sexual and emotional frustration with the books. She focused on the goal, and spent half the night sifting through data, words, notes, and her own speculations about the location of the key.

Her primary reward was a massive headache.

What little sleep she managed to get was restless and unsatisfying. When even Moe failed to perk up her morning mood, she decided to give physical labor a try.

She dropped Moe back at Flynns by simply opening the front door with her key and letting him bullet inside. Since it was still short of nine of a Sunday morning, she imagined the household was sleeping.

In her current mood, the machine-gun barking that sprayed through the quiet as Moe charged up the stairs made her lips curve in a dark, wicked smile.

“You go, Moe,” she cheered, shut the door, and strolled back to her car.

She drove directly to the building. Indulgence, she corrected herself as she parked. It was going to be Indulgence, so she needed to start thinking of it that way instead of as “the house” or “the building.”

When she unlocked the door and stepped inside, the strong smell of fresh paint hit her. It was a good smell, she decided. The smell of progress, of newness, of accomplishment.

Maybe the white primer wasnt pretty, but it was sure as hell bright, and looking at it, she could see just how far theyd come already.

“So lets keep going.”

She pushed up her sleeves and headed to the supplies and tools.

It occurred to her that this was the first time, the only time, shed been alone here. On the heels of that came the thought that maybe she was asking for trouble being alone in a place where Kane had already wielded his sorcery.

She glanced uneasily up the steps. And thought of cold blue mist. As if the chill of it crept over her skin, she shuddered.

“I cant be afraid to be here.” The way her voice echoed made her wish shed brought along a radio. Anything to fill the silence with normal sound.

Wont be afraid to be here, she corrected herself as she opened a can of paint. How could she, or any of them, make this place their own if they were afraid to come into it alone?

There were bound to be times when one of them came in early or stayed late. The three of them couldnt be attached at the hip. She—all of them—would have to get used to the quiet of the place, and the settling noises. Normal quiet, normal noises, she assured herself. Hell, she liked being alone and having a big, empty house all to herself. It was tailor-made Dana time.

The memory of Kanes nasty games wasnt going to scare her off.

And since she was alone, she didnt have to compete for the super paint machine.

Still, as she began to work she wished she could hear Malorys andZoes voices, as she had before, turning all those empty rooms into something bright and cheerful.

She comforted herself that theyd finished priming Malorys section and had a good start on hers. It would be a kick to finish her own space with her own hands.

She could begin to play with different setups in her head. Should she shelve mysteries here, or was this a better spot for nonfiction? Local interest?

Wouldnt it be fun to display coffee-table books on, haha , a coffee table?

Maybe she could find an old breakfront somewhere for the cafй section. She could display tins of tea, mugs, books. Should she go with those cute round tables that reminded her of an ice cream parlor, or the more substantial square ones? Wouldnt this room be the perfect place to set up a cozy reading corner, or would it be smarter to use that space for a small childrens play area?

It was therapeutic to watch the clean white paint cover the dull beige, stroke by stroke marking the room as her own. No one could push her out of here as shed been pushed out of the library. She was working for herself this time, and setting the rules herself.

No one could cut her off from this dream, from this love, as shed been cut off from other dreams. From other loves.

“Do you think it matters? A little shop in a little town? Will you work, struggle, worry, pour your mind and your heart into something so meaningless? And why? Because you have nothing else.

“But you could.”

She felt the cold shiver over her skin. It made her breath come too fast, tightened the muscles of her stomach toward pain. She continued to paint, guiding the roller over the wall, listening to the faint hum of the motor. She couldnt seem to stop.

“It matters to me. I know what I want.”

“Do you?”

He was there, somehow there. She could sense him in the chill. Perhaps he was the chill.

“A place of your own. You thought you had one before, all those years of work, of serving others. Yet does anyone care that youre gone?”

It was a well-aimed arrow. Had anyone even noticed she was no longer at the library? All the people shed worked with, worked for? All the patrons shed helped? Had she been so replaceable that her absence hadnt caused a single ripple?

Hadnt she mattered at all?

“You gave the man your heart, your loyalty, but he cast you off without a thought. How much did you matter to him?”

Not enough, she thought.

“I can change that. I can give him to you. I could give you a great many things. Success?”

The shop was full of people. The shelves were filled with books. The pretty tables were crowded with customers sipping tea, having conversations. She saw a little boy sitting cross-legged on the floor in the corner with a copy of Where the Wild Things Are open in his lap.

Everything about the scene spoke of pleasure—the combination of relaxation and brisk business.

The walls were exactly the right shade, she thought. Malory had been on the money there. The light was good, made everything friendly, and all those wonderful books temptingly arranged, on shelves, on displays.

She wandered like a ghost, passing through the bodies of people who browsed or bought, who sat or stood. She saw familiar faces, the faces of strangers, heard the voices, smelled the scents.

Attractive and intriguing sidelines were set up here and there. Yes, yes, those were the note cards shed decided to carry. And the bookmarks, the bookends. Wasnt that the perfect reading chair? Roomy, broken in, welcoming.

It was very clever to use the kitchen as the hub of the three enterprises, with books, candles, lotions, and art all together to illustrate how nicely each complemented the others.

It was her vision, she realized. Everything she was hoping for. “Youll enjoy it, of course, but it wont be enough.”

She turned. He was there. It didnt surprise her in the least to see Kane standing beside her as people moved around them, through them.

Who were the ghosts? she wondered distantly.

He was dark and handsome, almost romantically so. The black hair framed a strong and compelling face. His eyes smiled into hers, but even now she could see something frightening lurking behind them.

“Why wont it be enough?”

“What will you do at the end of the day? Sit alone with only your books for company? Alone when everyone else gathers with their families? Will any of them give you a single thought after they walk out the door?”

“I have friends. I have family.”

“Your brother has a woman, and the woman has him. Youre not part of that, are you? The other has a son, and youll never be inside what they have. Theyll leave you, as everyone else has done.”

His words were like darts in the heart, and as she bled from them she saw him smile again. Almost kindly.

“I can make him stay.” He spoke gently now, as one did to the wounded. “I can make him pay for what he did to you, for his carelessness, for his refusal to know what you needed from him. Wouldnt you like him to love you as he has loved no other? Then, at your whim, you can keep him or discard him?”

She was in a room she didnt recognize, yet somehow knew . A large bedroom, saturated with color. Deep blue walls, an enormous bed covered in a ruby comforter, mounded with jewel-toned pillows. There was a generous sitting area, with two wing chairs facing a snapping fire. It was here that she sat, with Jordan kneeling at her feet. Her hands were clutched in his.

And his trembled.

“I love you, Dana. I never knew I could feel like this, as if theres no point in taking the next breath unless youre with me.”

It was wrong. Wrong. His face never looked weak and pleading. “Stop it.”

“You have to listen.” His voice urgent, he buried his head in her lap. “You have to give me a chance to show you, to prove to you how much I love you. The biggest mistake of my life was leaving you. Nothing Ive done, nothing Ive touched since has meant anything. Ill do anything you want.” He lifted his head and with some horror, she caught the gleam of tears in his eyes. “Be anything you want. If youll only forgive me, let me spend every minute of every day for the rest of my life worshiping you.”

“Get the hell away from me!” Shocked, panicked, she shoved at Jordan, knocking him back as she scrambled to her feet.

“Kick me. Beat me. I deserve it. Just let me stay with you.”

“Do you think this is what I want?” She shouted it as she spun in a circle. “Do you think you can control me by making pictures out of my thoughts? You dont understand what I want, and thats why Ill beat you. No deal, asshole. And this is not only a lie, its pathetic.”

The fury in her voice echoed even when she found herself standing in the empty room with the paint roller on the floor at her feet.

Scrawled on the white wall in oily black was the message:

Drown thyself!

“Fat chance, you bastard.” Though her hands shook, she picked up the roller and covered the black with fresh white primer.

Then they steadied, and her fingers dug in on the handle of the roller. “Wait a minute, wait a minute!”

Her mind whirling, she dropped the roller with a splatter of paint, grabbed her bag and ran as though the gods were chasing her.

Minutes later, she charged into her apartment. She tossed her purse aside and grabbed the library copy of Othello .

“ „Drown thyself, drown thyself. Its in here.” She flipped pages, frantically pulling the scene and context into her mind as she searched for the quote.

It was one ofIagos lines, when he was doing one of his numbers onRoderigo . She knew that line.

When she found it, she sat down on the floor.“ „It is a lust of the blood and a permission of the will,” she read aloud. “„Come, be a man. Drown thyself! drown cats and blind puppies.”

She fought for calm.

A lust of the blood and a permission of the will. Yes, that described Kanes vicious acts. Jealousy, guile, betrayal, and ambition. WhatIago knew, what Othello was ignorant of. Kane asIago ? The god-king as Othello. The king hadnt killed, but still the daughters—those he loved—were lost to him through lies and ambition.

And the play—surely this play had beauty, truth, courage. Was it the key?

Ordering herself to be methodical, she paged through the book, searched its binding. Setting it aside, she found her own copy and did the same. She forced herself to sit again, to read through the entire scene.

There were other copies of the play. She would go to the mall bookstore, search through those. She could hit the library again on Monday. Rising, she began to pace.

There were probably dozens of copies of Othello in various forms around the Valley. She would go to the schools, the college. Shed knock on damn doors if she had to.