“It’s not. You think I’m being stubborn. I can be,” Malory admitted, “but this isn’t one of those times. I’m not a fanciful person either—or I haven’t been.”

She shifted her attention to Flynn, and her voice grew urgent. “Flynn, everything they told me, everything they told me and Dana and Zoe that first night was absolutely true. Even more amazing is what they didn’t tell us. Rowena and Pitte—teacher and warrior—they’re the figures in the background of each painting. They were there, in reality. And one of them painted both those portraits.”

“I believe you.”

Her breath shuddered out in relief at Flynn’s simple faith. “I don’t know what it means, or how it helps, but learning this—and believing it—is why I was picked. If I don’t find the key, and Dana and Zoe don’t find theirs after me, those souls will keep screaming inside that box. Forever.”

He reached out, ran a hand over her hair. “We won’t let that happen.”

“Excuse me.” Zoe hesitated at the entrance to the room. She was hard-pressed not to rub her hands over the satiny trim, or kick off her shoes to slide barefoot across the glossy floors.

She wanted to rush to the windows and study every view.

“The men outside said I should come right in. Um, Flynn? Moe’s out there rolling around in something that looks a lot like dead fish.”

“Shit. Be right back. Zoe, Brad.” And he ran outside.

Brad got to his feet. He wasn’t sure how he managed it when his knees had dissolved. He heard his own voice, a bit cooler than normal, a bit stilted, over the roar of blood in his head.

“Come in, please. Sit down. Can I get you something?”

“No, thanks. Sorry. Malory, I got your message and came right out. Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know. Brad here thinks I’ve slipped a few gears, and I don’t blame him.”

“That’s ridiculous.” In her instant leap to defend, she forgot the charm of the house, the aloof charm of the man. Her cautious and apologetic smile turned into a chilly scowl as she strode across the room to Malory’s side. “And if you said any such thing, you’re not only wrong, you’re rude.”

“Actually, I didn’t get around to saying it yet. And as you don’t know the circumstances—”

“I don’t have to. I know Malory. And if you’re a friend of Flynn’s, you should know better than to upset her.”

“I beg your pardon.” Where had that stiff, superior tone come from? How had his father’s voice popped out of his mouth?

“It’s not his fault, Zoe. Really. As to being upset, I don’t know what I am.” Malory shoved back her hair and, rising, gestured toward the painting. “You should take a look at this.”

Zoe moved closer. Then clutched her throat. “Oh. Oh.” And her eyes filled with hot tears. “It’s so beautiful. It’s so sad. But it belongs with the other. How did it get here?”