Malory glanced over as Zoe came back with three thick white mugs of coffee on a tray. “I had a dream.”
“I was having a damn good one myself. I think it involved Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and a really big vat of dark chocolate, and then you called and interrupted it.”
“Dana.” Zoe shook her head, then sat on the arm of Malory’s chair. “A nightmare?”
“No. At least . . . no. As soon as I woke up, I typed it out.” She rose now and picked up papers from the table. “I’ve never had a dream with so much detail before. At least I’ve never remembered details so clearly after I woke up. I wrote it down because I wanted to make sure I didn’t forget anything. But I’m not going to. Anyway, it’ll be easier if you both just read it.”
She handed them the typed pages, then took her own coffee and paced to the patio doors.
It was going to be another beautiful day, she mused. Another beautiful late-summer day with clear skies and warm breezes. People would walk around town, enjoying the weather, going about their business. Their normal, everyday chores in the normal, everyday world.
And she would never forget the sound of that dream-wind, the feel of that sudden, bitter cold.
“Wow. I can see why this shook you up.” Dana set the pages aside. “But it’s pretty clear where it came from. Flynn told me you guys went up to see the painting again yesterday. All of this is on your mind, and your subconscious just flipped you into it.”
“It’s scary.” Zoe rushed to finish the last few sentences before she got up. Walking over, she rubbed her hands on Malory’s shoulders. “No wonder you were so upset. I’m glad you called us.”
“It wasn’t just a dream. I was there.” She warmed her chilled hands on the coffee mug as she turned. “I walked into that painting.”
“Okay, honey, take it down a notch or two.” Dana held up a hand. “You’re overidentifying, that’s all. A strong, vivid dream can really suck you in.”
“I don’t expect you to believe me, but I’m going to say out loud what’s been in my head since I woke up.”
Woke up, she remembered, shaking with cold, with the sound of that terrible wind still ringing in her ears.
“I was there. I could smell the flowers and feel the heat. Then the cold and the wind. I heard them screaming.” She closed her eyes and fought a fresh surge of panic.
She could still hear them screaming.
“And I felt this, this charge in the air, this pressure. When I woke, my ears were still ringing from it. They were speaking Gaelic, but I understood them. How could I?”
“You just thought—”
“No!” She shook her head fiercely at Zoe. “I knew. When the storm came, when everything went crazy, I heard them calling out for their father. Chi athair sinn. Father, help us. I looked it up this morning, but I knew. How could I know?”
She took a steadying breath. “Their names were Venora, Niniane, and Kyna. How would I know?”
She walked back to sit. The relief of saying it all calmed her. Her pulse leveled, as did her voice. “They were so afraid. One minute they were just young girls playing with their puppy in a world that seemed so perfect and peaceful. And the next, what made them human was being torn out of them. It hurt them, and there was nothing I could do.”
“I don’t know what to think about this,” Dana said after a moment. “I’m trying to be logical here. The painting’s drawn you from the first, and we know the legend is Celtic in origin. We look like the girls in the painting, so we identify with them.”
“How did I know the Gaelic? How do I know their names?”
Dana frowned into her coffee. “I can’t explain that.”
“I’ll tell you something else I know. Whatever locke
d those souls away is dark, and it’s powerful, and it’s greedy. It won’t want us to win.”
“The box and the keys,” Zoe interrupted. “You saw them. You know what they look like.”
“The box is very simple, very beautiful. Leaded glass, a high, domed lid, three locks across the front. The keys are like the logo in the invitations, like the emblem on the flag flying on the house. They’re small. Only about three inches long, I’d say.”
“It still doesn’t make sense,” Dana insisted. “If they had the keys, why hide them? Why not just hand them to the right people, and game over?”
“I don’t know.” Malory rubbed her temples. “There must be a reason.”
“You said you knew the names they called the couple making out under the tree,” Dana reminded her.