Key Of Valor - Key Trilogy 3 Part 39

"He couldn't even come after me like a man. f.u.c.king coward. Guess I showed him."

"Guess you did." Overcome, Malory dropped her forehead to the crown of Zoe's head. "Oh, G.o.d, Zoe, you could've been killed."

"I thought I was going to be, and I have to tell you, it seriously p.i.s.sed me off. I'm not trying to make light of it." She gripped Malory's hand. "It was awful. It was just awful-and, andprimal . I wanted to kill. When I picked up that branch, I was ready to kill. I was hungry for it. I've never felt like that before."

"Here, let me get these cuts on your back. This one just missed your faerie."

"Good faerie today." She winced at the burn. "The buck, Mal. He saved me. If he hadn't charged that way, I don't know what might've happened. And he was bleeding, he was hurt. Hurt a lot more than I am. I wish I knew if he's okay."

She snorted out a laugh. "I was going to mop him up with a bunch of Kleenex. How dopey is that?"

"I bet he didn't think it was." Wanting to take inventory of her friend's hurts, Malory stepped back. "There. That's as good as it's going to get."

"My face isn't too bad, is it?" She got up cautiously, turned to the mirror over the sink. "No, it's okay. I guess I'm snapping back if I'm worried about my face."

"You look beautiful."

"Well, some lipstick and blush would help." She shifted her gaze, met Malory's in the mirror. "He didn't beat me."

"No, he sure as h.e.l.l didn't."

"I got somewhere. I don't know exactly where, but I did something right today, took some step, and it's got him worried."

She turned around. "I'm not going to lose. Whatever it takes, I'm not going to lose."

In the high tower of Warrior's Peak, Rowena mixed a potion in a silver cup. However troubled her mind, her hands were quick and sure. "You'll need to drink all of this."

"I'd rather a whiskey."

"You'll have one after." She glanced over to where Pitte stood, scowling out the window. He was stripped to the waist, and the gouges on his side were red and raw in the light.

"Once you've taken the potion, I should be able to treat the wound, and draw the poison out. Even with this, you'll be tender for a few days."

"And so will he. More than tender, I'd say. More of his blood spilled than mine. She wouldn't run," he recounted. "She stayed and fought."

"And I thank all the fates for it." She stepped over, held out the cup. "Don't frown at it. Drink it, Pitte, all down, and you'll not only have whiskey, but I'll see that there's apple pie for dessert."

He had a weakness for apple pie, and for the look in his lover's eyes. So he took the cup, tossed back the contents. "d.a.m.nation, Rowena, can you make it any more foul?"

"Sit now." She opened her hand, held out a thick gla.s.s. "And drink your whiskey."

He drank, but he didn't sit. "The battle lines have changed again. Kane knows now we won't stand back and do nothing, bound by the laws he's already broken."

"He risks all now, too. He banks on the power he's gathered, what he's twisted and surrounds himself with. If the spell can be broken, Pitte, if he can be defeated, he won't go unpunished. I have to believe there is still justice in our world."

"We'll fight."

She nodded. "We've made our choice, too. What will you do if this choice keeps us here? If this choice means we can never go home again?"

"Live." He stared out the window. "What else?"

"What else?" she replied, and laying her hand on his wound, she cooled the burn.

Chapter Eleven

He had to work at being calm, to strap himself down 1 so he didn't march into Zoe's house and start spewing orders. That, Brad knew, was his father's way.

And it was d.a.m.ned effective.

Still, as much as he loved and admired his father, he didn't want tobe his father.

All he really wanted at that moment was to a.s.sure himself that Zoe was all right. Then to make sure she stayed that way.

And there was Simon to think of, Brad reminded himself as he pulled up in front of Zoe's house. He couldn't go shoving his way in, spouting off about how reckless she'd been in running off on her own, putting herself in the crosshairs, with the boy around. He wasn't going to frighten a child while venting his own fears and frustrations.

He would just wait until Simon was in bed,then vent.

An instant before he knocked, barking exploded inside the house. One thing you could say for Moe, n.o.body snuck up on you when he was around. He could hear the boy's shouts, his laughter, then the door swung open.

"You should ask who it is first," Brad told him.

Simon rolled his eyes even as Moe leaped up to greet Brad. "I looked out the window and saw your car. I know all that stuff. I'm playing baseball, bottom of the seventh." He grabbed Brad's hand and pulled him toward the living room. "You can take over the other team. You're only two runs down."

"Sure, bring me in when I'm two down. Listen, I need to talk to your mom."

"She's up in her room, sewing something. Come on, I've only got a few minutes before she calls the game and sends me to the showers."

The kid was a gem, Brad reflected, with eyes that made you want to give him the world. "I really have to talk to your mother, so why don't we schedule a game for later in the week? Head to head, pal, and I will rock your world."

"As if." He might have thought about arguing, but gauged his ground. If Brad kept his mother talking, shemight forget when his hour was up. "A whole nine innings? You promise?"

"Absolutely."

His smile went sly. "Can we play at your house, on the big TV?"

"I'll see what I can do."

With the crowd in the video bleachers cheering again, Brad started toward Zoe's room. He heard the music before he reached the doorway. She had it on low, and he could just catch her voice as she murmured more than sang along with Sarah McLachlan. Then the voices were drowned out by the hammering hum he recognized as a sewing machine.

She was working with a portable set up on a table in front of the side window. The framed photographs and painted chest he remembered she kept on it were moved to her dresser now to make room for the machine and what looked like miles of fabric.

It was an essentially female room-very Zoe-esque. Not fussy, not fancy, but very feminine in its little touches. Bowls filled with potpourri, pillows edged with lace, the old iron bed given a l.u.s.ter with pewter paint and a colorful quilt.

She'd framed old magazine ads for face powder, perfume, hair products, and fashion and had them grouped on the wall in a kind of quirky, nostalgic gallery.