“Fine. I’m not going to apologize for what I just did. I’ve got the same rights.”

“I guess you do. I wasn’t really mad at you. I am now, but I wasn’t. I was just mad in general.”

“You can either tell me why, or not.” He pulled up at Flynn’s. Waited.

“Some things that have happened. I’d rather get into it all with everyone, all at once. I’m not going to apologize,” she said again. “If you keep getting in my way, you’re going to make the handiest target.”

“Same goes,” he said, and got out of the car. “I’m carrying your goddamn pot.” He yanked open the door, hauled it up. “Deal.”

She stared at him, standing there in the brisk fall evening, in his gorgeous overcoat, holding her big stewpot. And looking, she thought, as if he’d just as soon dump the contents over her head as not.

She let the laugh bubble in her throat, then let it out as she retrieved the backpack. “It’s kind of nice, when I’m being a jackass, to have somebody kick and bray right along with me. That pot’s pretty full. Mind you don’t tip it and spill chili on that lovely coat.”

She started toward the door. “Fuck Prince Charming,” she said and laughed again. “That was a good one.”

“I have my moments,” he muttered and followed her inside.

WHEN the chili was simmering on Flynn’s new stove, Zoe looked around the living room. Malory’s touch was everywhere now, she noted. The tables, the lamps, the vases and bowls. The art on the walls or set around the room. There were fabric swatches on the arm of the couch and what looked like antique fireplace tools standing by the hearth.

There was a scent of fall flowers and of female.

Zoe remembered the first time she’d come into this room. Two short months—a lifetime—before. There’d been nothing but the big, ugly couch, a couple of crates standing in for tables, and some boxes yet unpacked.

The couch was still ugly, but the fabric swatches told her Malory was going to deal with that. As she would, in her organized and creative way, deal with the rest of the house.

She and Flynn had become a couple, Zoe thought, and were making the house into a home.

A reminder of how they’d come to this point hung over the mantel. Zoe moved closer, looking up at the portrait Malory had painted while under Kane’s spell. The Singing Goddess, standing near a forest while her sisters looked on. It was brilliant and beautiful, and full of innocent joy.

And the key that had been on the ground at Venora’s feet had been pulled out of the painting, brought into three dimensions by Malory’s will, and used to open the first lock.

“It looks good there,” Zoe said. “It looks right there.”

She turned back. They were waiting for her, she knew, and she had to struggle against nerves. Both Malory and Dana had taken their turn at the head of a meeting. Now it was hers.

“I guess we’d better get started.”

Chapter Nine

I brought all my notes,” she began, “in case we need to look through them. Or in case I get turned around and need them. I spent most of last week thinking about this on my own and not talking about it with everyone, not very much. I think that was a mistake. Or maybe not a mistake, but it’s time to do this now.”

She blew out a breath. “I’m not real good at this kind of thing. I’m just going to say the things I think, and y’all can pitch in whenever.”

“Zo?” Dana picked up a beer from the table, handed it to her. “Relax.”

“Trying to.” She took a quick sip. “I think Kane hasn’t pushed at me very hard so far because he just sees what’s on the surface. We learned from everything that happened before that he doesn’t really understand what we are, inside. I think that’s why he hates us. He hates us,” she murmured, “because he can’t see what we are, and he can’t get a good hold on what he can’t see.”

“Well put,” Jordan said, which helped her relax a little more.

“Here’s what I think he sees with me. A woman from a . . . ‘disadvantaged’ is what they call it. A disadvantaged childhood. Poor is what it is, but people don’t like saying ‘poor.’ I don’t have much formal education. I got pregnant when I was sixteen, and I made a living doing hair. Mostly doing hair, with some waitressing and whatnot thrown in to make ends meet. I don’t have Malory’s class and culture.”

“Oh, really, that’s—”

“Wait.” Zoe held up a hand to halt Malory’s sharp protest. “Just hear me out. I don’t have that, and I don’t have Dana’s education or confidence. What I’ve got is a strong back and a son to raise. All of that’s true. But all of that isn’t, well, all. And here’s what he doesn’t see, or understand.”

She sipped again to wet her throat. “Determination. I didn’t settle for being poor. I wanted more, and I found ways to get more. Then there’s my word. I made a promise that night up at the Peak, and when I make a promise, I keep it. And I’m no coward. I think Kane has barely bothered with me because he doesn’t see that, and even more because he’s had enough time to watch me, or study me, or whatever the hell he does, and he was smart enough to figure out I might think less of myself, and my chances of doing this if he made it seem like he wasn’t all that worried about me.”

She took a deep breath. “That’s his mistake. He’s not going to win by making me feel I’m not worth the fight.”

“You’re going to kick his ass,” Dana stated.

Her eyes brightened, and though she didn’t realize it, her smile was a warrior’s. “Oh, I’m going to kick his ass, and when I’m done, I’m going to squeeze his balls blue.”

Deliberately, to make her grin, Flynn crossed his legs protectively. “Any specific angles on how you’re going to go about that?”

“A couple. With Dana and Malory, they had to take steps, make choices, even sacrifices. They reflected the clue, and . . .” She glanced back at the portrait. “And the goddess they stood for. So, I have to think how what I’ve done, or have to do, reflects mine. The puppy and the sword. That’s what she has in the painting at the Peak. She nurtures and she defends, I guess. I’ve got a son I’ve been nurturing and defending for more than nine years.”