Another thing you could say about Brad, she decided, was that he didn’t skimp on the refreshments when he had a gathering.

It wasn’t anything fancy, at least it wasn’t presented that way. Just some sort of incredible pasta salad that made her contemplate going back for more, a lot of interesting finger food, ham slices, and some dense, dark bread for sandwich making.

There was a round of Brie skirted by fat red raspberries, and crackers nearly thin enough to see through that crunched with satisfying delicacy at every bite.

There was beer, there was wine, there were soft drinks and bottled water.

She already knew she wasn’t going to resist the mini cream puffs mounded in a tempting island on a platter the size of New Jersey.

All this was spread out casually in the great room, where a fire snapped and sizzled and the furniture was the kind you could happily sink into for weeks at a time.

Not fancy, not so you felt like you couldn’t rest your feet on the coffee table. Just classy.

That was Bradley Vane, right down to the ground.

Conversation buzzed and hummed around her, and she was drifting into a happy coma brought on by good food, warmth, and contentment.

Or would, she thought, if Zoe would stop squirming beside her.

“You’re going to have to do something about those ants in your pants,” Dana told her.

“Sorry.” Zoe shot another look toward the archway. “I’m just worried about Simon.”

“Why? He had a plate with enough food piled on it to feed a starving battalion, and he’s hunkered down in the game room. A nine-year-old’s wet dream.”

“There’s so much stuff in this house,” Zoe whispered. “Expensive stuff. Art and glassware and china and things. He’s not used to being around all of this.”

Neither am I, she thought, and struggled not to squirm again.

“What if he breaks something?”

“Well.” Lazily, Dana popped another raspberry into her mouth. “Then I guess Brad’ll beat him to a bloody pulp.”

“He hits children?” Zoe exclaimed.

“No. Jesus, Zoe, get a grip. The place has survived nine-year-old boys before—at least three of them are alive and in this room. Relax. Have a glass of wine. And while you’re at it, get me some more raspberries.”

Half a glass, Zoe thought and got to her feet. But even as she reached for the bottle, Brad lifted it.

“You look a little distracted.” He poured the wine into a glass, handed it to her. “Is there a problem?”

“No.” Damn it, she’d only wanted half a glass. Why didn’t he stay out of her way? “I was just thinking I should check on Simon.”

“He’s fine. He knows where everything is in the game room. But I’ll walk you back if you want to take a look,” Brad added when she frowned.

“No. I’m sure he’s fine. It’s very nice of you to let him play.” She knew her voice was stiff and tight, but she couldn’t help it.

“That, rumor has it, is what a game room’s for.”

Since Brad’s voice echoed her tone, Zoe simply nodded. “Um. Dana, she wanted some more. Of these.” Mortified for no reason she could name, she scooped some of the berries into a bowl, then carried them and her wine back to the couch.

“Pompous ass,” she said under her breath and had Dana blinking at her.

“Brad?” Dana snatched the bowl of raspberries. “Sorry, honey, you got the wrong number.”

Jordan wandered over, sat on the arm of the couch beside Dana and stole a couple of berries before she could stop him.

“Get your own.”

“Yours are better.” He reached out to play with her hair. “So, how’d you get this blond stuff in here?”

“I didn’t. Zoe did.”

Nipping one more berry, he eased forward to look past Dana, wink at Zoe. “Nice job.”

“Any time you need a haircut, it’s on the house.”

“I’ll remember that.” He sat back again. “So, I’m sure you’re all wondering why we’ve brought you here tonight,” he began and made Dana laugh.

“Now there’s a pompous ass.” But she laid a hand on his thigh. “I guess since we’re here to talk about the key, and I’m the one who’s supposed to find it, I’ll start.”

Handing Jordan what was left of the berries, she pushed herself off the couch and snagged her wineglass from the coffee table. Even as she took the first step, Jordan slid down into her seat. He gave her a quick grin and draped his arm behind Zoe over the back of the couch.

“Come here often?” he asked Zoe.

“I would have, if I’d known you’d be here, handsome.”

“You guys are just a riot,” Dana muttered, then eased past a frowning Brad to the wine bottle. What the hell, she wasn’t driving.

“Now, if everybody’s all comfy and cozy?” She paused, sipped her wine. “My key deals with knowledge, or truth. I’m not sure the words are interchangeable, but both, either, or a combination of them applies to my quest. There’s also a connection to the past, the now, the future. I’m taking this, after some fiddling around and dead-ending, to be personal, as applies to me.”

“I think you’re right about that,” Malory put in. “Rowena stresses that we’re the keys. The three of us. And mine was personal. If we’re going to consider a pattern, that’s part of it.”

“Agreed. The male-type people in this room are part of my past, and of my now. Odds are, I’m probably going to be stuck with them one way or the other, so they’re part of my future as well. We know, too, there are connections among all six of us. My connection to each of you, and yours to me, to each other. There are the paintings from Mal’s part of it that added a link.”

She, as did the others, glanced at the portrait Brad had hung over the mantel. Another of Rowena’s works, it showed the Daughters of Glass, after the spell that had taken their souls. Each lay pale and still in their crystal coffin.

“Brad bought that at auction, without knowing what was going to happen here, just as Jordan bought one of Rowena’s paintings, the young Arthur on the point of drawing the sword from the stone, at the gallery where Malory used to work. Also years before we knew what we know now. So . . . this, in turn, connects all of us with Rowena and Pitte and the goddesses.”