ORDAN slept with his arm flung over Dana’s waist, his leg hooked over hers, as if he would hold her in place. Though she hadn’t been the one to leave, this time around he was far from sure she would let him stay.

In her bed, or in her life.

But he held on to her as he wandered in dreams. Through the moonstruck night in the high summer heat where everything smelled ripe and green and secret.

The woods were locked in shadows, with the flicker of lightning bugs quick brinks of gold against the black. In dreams he knew, somehow knew, he was a man instead of the boy he’d been when he’d walked through the wild grass at the verge of those woods. His heart pounding with… fear? Anticipation? Knowledge? As he’d stared up at the great black house that rose regally toward the swimming moon.

His friends weren’t close by, as they had been on that hot summer night of his memory. Flynn and Brad weren’t there, with their contraband beer and cigarettes, the camping gear, or the youthful courage and carelessness three teenage boys made together.

He was alone, the warriors of the Peak guarding the gate behind him and the house empty of life and silent as a tomb.

No, not empty, he thought. It was a mistake to think of houses, old houses, as being empty. They were filled with memories, with the faded echoes of voices. Drops of tears, drops of blood, the ring of laughter, the edge of tempers that had ebbed and flowed between the walls, into the walls, over the years.

Wasn’t it, after all, a kind of life?

And there were houses, he knew it, that breathed. They carried in their wood and stone, their brick and mortar a kind of ego that was nearly, very nearly, human.

But there was something, something he needed to remember about this house, about this place. This night. Something he knew but couldn’t quite bring clear in his mind. It drifted in and out, like a half-remembered song, teasing and nagging at him.

It was important, even vital, that he turned whatever was in his mind, like a camera lens, until the image came into sharp focus.

In the dream he closed his eyes, breathed slow and deep as he tried to empty his mind so what needed to come would come.

When he opened them, he saw her. She walked along the parapet under the white ball of moon. Alone as he was alone. Dreaming, perhaps, as he was dreaming.

Her cloak billowed up, though there was no wind to lift it. It seemed to him the air held its breath, and all the sounds of the night—the rustles and peeps and hoots—fell like a crash into terrible silence.

In his chest his heart began to pound. On the parapet, the woman began to turn. In a moment, he thought, in just a moment; they would see each other.

Finally…

The sun was a violent flash that shocked his brain, blinded him. He staggered a bit from the displacement of being shot from inky night to brilliant day.

Birds sang with a kind of desperate joy in music that sounded of flutes and harps and pipes. And he heard the rushing sound that water makes when it falls from a great height, then thunders into itself.

He struggled to orient himself. There were woods here, but not any he recognized. Leaves were verdant, shimmering green or soft and glowing blue, and limbs were heavy with fruit the color of rubies and topaz. The air had a ripe, plummy scent, as if it too could be plucked and tasted.

He walked through the trees, on ground springy and richly brown, past a waterfall of wild blue where golden fish danced in the rippling pool at its base.

Curious, he dipped his hand into it. He felt the wet, the fresh coolness. And as he let it pour from his cupped hand, he saw that the water falling from his palm wasn’t clear, but that same deep blue.

It was, he thought, almost more than the senses could bear. The sheer beauty was too intense, too vivid for the mind to translate. And once seen, once experienced, how did anyone survive without it, in the pale, dim reality?

Fascination had him reaching toward the water again when he caught sight of the deer drinking on the opposite side of the pool.

The buck was enormous, its coat sleek and golden, its rack a shining silver. When it lifted its great head, it stared at Jordan with eyes as green and deep as the forest around them.

Around its neck it wore a jeweled collar with the stones catching the streams of sunlight and tossing them back in colored prisms.

He thought it spoke, though there was no movement, and no sound other than the words that formed in his head.

“Who?”

The deer turned, and walked, silver hooves silent on the ground, into the woods.

This is no dream, Jordan thought. He straightened, started to circle the pond and follow the deer.

But no, it hadn’t said come and see, but go. Trusting instinct, Jordan took the opposite path.

He stepped out of the trees to a sea of flowers so saturated with color they shocked the senses. Scarlet, sapphire, amethyst, amber glinted in that streaming sun as if every petal were an individual facet cut perfectly from each gem. And in the center of that sea, like the most precious of blooms, were the Daughters of Glass, trapped in their crystal coffins.

“No, I’m not dreaming.” He spoke aloud, to prove that he could, to hear the sound of his voice. To center himself before he walked across the sea of flowers to stare down at the faces he already knew.

They seemed to be sleeping. Their beauty was undiminished, but it was cold. He saw that, the cold beauty, that could never change but was forever trapped in one instant of time.

He felt pity and outrage, and as he stared into the face so like Dana’s, a tearing grief he hadn’t experienced since his mother’s death.

“This is hell,” he said aloud. “To be trapped between life and death, to be unable to take either.”

“Yes. You have it precisely.” Kane stood on the other side of the glass coffin. Elegant in black robes with a jeweled crown atop his dark mane of hair, he smiled at Jordan. “You have a keenness of mind sadly lacking in much of your kind. Hell, as you call it, is merely the absence of all without an end.”

“Hell should be earned.”

“Ah. Philosophy.” His voice held a touch of amusement, and a canny calculation. “Occasionally, you will agree, hell is merely inherited. Their sire and his mortal bitch damned them.” He swept a hand toward the coffins. “I was merely an instrument, so to speak, who…” He lifted the hand, twisted his wrist. “Turned the key.”

“For glory?”

“For that. For power. For all of this.” He spread his arms wide, as if to encompass his world: “All of this, which can never, will never, be theirs. Soft hearts and mortal frailties have no place in the realm of gods.”

“Yet gods love, hate, covet, scheme, war, laugh, weep. Mortal frailties?”

Kane cocked his head. “You interest me. You would debate, knowing who and what I am? Knowing I brought you here, behind the Curtain of Power, where you are no more than an ant to be flicked off a crumb? I could kill you with a thought.”

“Could you?” Deliberately, Jordan walked around the crystal coffin. He wouldn’t have even the reflection of Dana between them. “Why haven’t you? Maybe it’s because you prefer bullying and abusing women. It’s a different matter, isn’t it, when you face a man?”

The blow knocked him back ten feet. He tasted blood in his mouth, and spat it out onto the crushed flowers before he got to his feet. There was more than power on Kane’s face, he noted. There was fury. And where there was anger, there was weakness.

“Smoke and mirrors. But you haven’t got the guts to fight like a man. With fists. One round, you son of a bitch. One round, my way.”

“Your way? You have no terms here. And you will know pain.”

It gripped his chest, icy claws with razor tips. The unspeakable agony dropped him to his knees and ripped a cry from his throat that he couldn’t suppress.

“Beg.” Pleasure purred into Kane’s voice. “Beg for mercy. Crawl for it.”

With what strength he had left, Jordan lifted his head, stared straight into Kane’s eyes. “Kiss my—”

His vision dimmed. He heard shouting over the roaring in his ears, felt a flood of warmth over the hideous cold.

And the fury of Kane’s voice seemed to scream through his mind: “I am not finished!”

Jordan fell into unconsciousness.

“JORDAN! Oh, God, oh, God, Jordan, come back.”

He thought perhaps he was on a boat, one that rocked fitfully in the sea. He might have drowned, he supposed. His chest was on fire, his head dull and throbbing. But someone was bringing him back, pressing warm lips to his. Dragging him back to life whether he liked it or not.

But why the hell was a dog barking like a maniac out in the open sea?

He blinked his eyes open and stared up at Dana.

Though pale as glass, she was a welcome sight. She was running a trembling hand over his face, pushing it through his hair as she clamped her arms around him and rocked.

Outside the closed bedroom door, Moe barked and threw himself against the wood.

“What the hell?” he managed and stared dully when she began to laugh.

“You’re back. Okay, you’re back.” Hysteria was trying to bubble and brew in her chest. “Your mouth’s bleeding. Your mouth’s bleeding, and your chest, and you’re—you’re so cold.”

“Give me a minute.” He didn’t try to move, not yet, as he’d already discovered that just turning his head brought on a hideous wave of pain and nausea.

But what he could see was a blessed relief. He was in

Dana’s bedroom, sprawled on the bed, mostly over her lap, while she clutched him to her breast as she might a nursing baby.

If he didn’t feel as though he’d been run over by a truck, it wouldn’t have been half bad.

“I was dreaming.”

“No.” She pressed her cheek to his. “No, you weren’t.”

“At first… or maybe not. Stretch, you got any whiskey around here? I need a shot.”

“I’ve got a bottle of Paddy’s.”

“I’ll give you a thousand dollars for three fingers of Paddy’s.”

“Sold.” Her laugh was too close to a sob for comfort. “Here, just lie down. I’ll get it. You need to cover up, you’re shaking.”

She hauled the covers over him, tucked him up like a bug in a cocoon. “Oh, Jesus God.” She shook herself as she dropped her forehead to his.

“Two thousand if you get it here within the next forty-five seconds.”

She fled the room, and Jordan figured he couldn’t be in such bad shape if he could still appreciate the beauty of a naked Dana on the run.

An instant later Moe leaped on the bed and tripled every ache in his body. He started to curse, then settled for a sigh as the dog growled low, sniffed all around the bedcovers, then slurped Jordan’s face.

“Yeah, that’ll teach us to boot you out of the bedroom just because we want to have sex in private.”

Moe whined, bumped Jordan’s shoulder with his nose, then turned three ungainly circles and settled down at his side.

Dana sprinted back, a bottle in one hand, a glass in the other. After pouring considerably more than three fingers of whiskey, she hooked an arm behind his head and lifted the glass to his lips.

“Thanks. I can handle it from here.”

“Okay.” Still, she eased him gently back against the pillows before lifting the bottle again and taking a long pull straight from it herself.

She imagined the heat of it hit Jordan’s belly just as shockingly as it did hers. Steadier, she went to the closet and pulled out a robe.

“Do you have to put that on? I like looking at you.”

She didn’t want to tell him her skin felt as if it had been rubbed with ice. “We shouldn’t have locked the dog out of the room.”

“Yeah, Moe and I were just discussing that.” He laid his hand on Moe’s wide back. “Is he what woke you?”

“Him, and your screaming.” She shuddered once, then sat on the side of the bed. “Jordan, your chest.”

“What?” He looked down at himself as she eased the covers aside. There were five distinct grooves, like a talon pattern, over his heart. They were shallow, he noted, and thanked God for it. But they bled sluggishly and were viciously painful.

“I’m messing up your sheets.”

“They’ll wash.” She had to swallow, hard. “I’d better take care of those cuts. While I’m at it, you can tell me what the hell he did to you.“

She went into the bathroom for antiseptic and bandages, then just braced her hands on the sink and ordered herself to breathe until she could manage it without feeling like she was sucking razor blades into her throat.

She knew what fear was now. She’d felt it when the storm had ripped over the island and the black sea had rushed to take her. But even that, she realized, even that bone-deep terror, had been a shadow of what she’d gone through when the shocked agony of Jordan’s scream had torn her out of sleep.

She fought back her tears. They were a useless indulgence when action was needed. Instead, she gathered what she needed and went back in to tend his wounds.

“I brought you some aspirin. I don’t have anything stronger.”

“That’ll work. Thanks.” He downed three with the water she offered. “Look, I can handle this. I remember you don’t do well with blood.”

“I won’t be a baby if you won’t.” Ignoring the queasiness, she sat down to mop him up. “Talk to me, and I’m less likely to pitch over in a faint. What happened, Jordan? Where did he take you?”

“I started out somewhere else. I can’t quite pull it back, so maybe I was dreaming. I was walking. It was dark, but with a full moon. I think it might’ve been up at the Peak. I can’t remember for sure. It’s hazy.”

“Keep going.” She concentrated on his voice, on the words. On anything but the way the cloth she was using reddened as she pressed it against the cuts.

“Next thing I knew, it was broad daylight. It was… sort of the way I always imagined the transporter in Star Trek works. Instant and disorienting.”

“It wouldn’t be my favorite mode of transportation.”

“Are you kidding? It’s got to beat the hell out of… Christ on a crutch!”

“I know. I’m sorry.” But she gritted her teeth and continued to swab the disinfectant over the cuts. “Keep talking. We’ll get through this.”

Alarmed, Moe deserted the field by slinking off the bed and crawling under it.

Jordan did his best to breathe through the pain. “The Curtain of Power. I was behind it,” he said and told her.

“You provoked him? Deliberately?” She sat back, all the interest and concern on her face shifting into irritated impatience. “Do you have to be such a man?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. Added to that, he was going to do whatever he was going to do. Why shouldn’t I get a couple of swings in first, even if they were only verbal?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Let me think.” Sarcasm dripping from each word, she tapped a finger to the side of her head. “Maybe because… he’s a god.”

“And you’d’ve stood there, of course, hands folded, having a polite conversation?”

“I don’t know.” She blew out a breath and finished the bandaging. “Probably not.” Deciding that she’d done her best, she bent over and dropped her head between her knees. “I don’t ever want to have to do that again.”

“That makes two of us.” Stiff, still achy, he turned so he could run his hand up and down her back. “I appreciate it.”

She managed what passed for a nod. “Tell me the rest.“

“You just cleaned and bandaged the rest. Whatever he did felt just the way this looks. Actually, it felt considerably worse.”

“You screamed.”

“Do you have to keep saying that? It’s embarrassing.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I screamed, too. I woke up and you were—it looked like you were having a convulsion. You were dead white, bleeding, shaking. I didn’t know what the hell to do. I guess I panicked. I grabbed you, started shouting. You went limp. Almost as soon as I touched you, you went limp. I thought—for a minute I thought you were dead.”

“I heard you.”

She stayed where she was another moment, fighting back tears again. “When?”

“After I hit the dirt the second time. I heard you calling for me, and it was like getting sucked back into the old transporter. I heard him, too, right as I was fading out. I heard him, but more inside my head: ‘I’m not finished,’ he said. ‘I am not finished.’ And he was royally pissed. He couldn’t keep me there. He wasn’t done with me, but he couldn’t keep me there.”

“Why?”

“You woke up.” Reaching out, Jordan ran his fingers over her cheek. “You called me. You touched me, and that brought me out.”

“Human contact?”

“Maybe as simple as that,” he agreed. “Maybe just that simple—when the humans are connected.”

“But why you?” She picked up the cloth and dabbed at the cut on his lip. “Why did he take you behind the Curtain?”

“That’s something we have to figure out. When we do—ouch, Dana.”

“Sorry.”

“When we do,” he repeated as he nudged her hand away, “we’ll have more of the pieces for this particular puzzle.”

SIMPLE or complex, Dana needed answers. With Moe hanging his head blissfully out the passenger window, she drove to Warrior’s Peak to get them. Research and speculation were one thing, but her lover’s blood had been shed. Now she wanted cold, hard facts.

The trees were still bright, and their color splashed across a dull gray sky layered with sulky clouds. But more leaves littered the road and the floor of the forest.

Already past their peak, she thought. Time was moving forward, and her four weeks were down to two.

What did she think? What did she know? She ran through everything that came to mind as she drove the last miles and then through the gates.

Rowena was in the front garden, gathering some of the last of the fall blooms. She wore a thick sweater of deep blue speckled with dull gold, and to Dana’s surprise, well-worn jeans and scuffed boots.

Her hair was tied back and rained in a sleek tail between her shoulder blades.

The country goddess in her garden, Dana thought, and imagined Malory would see it as a painting.

Rowena lifted a hand in a wave, then a smile lit up her face as she spotted Moe.

“Welcome.” She ran to the car as Dana parked, opened the door for the exuberant Moe. “There’s my handsome boy!” Her laugh rang out as Moe leaped up to kiss her face. “I was hoping you’d pay me a visit.”

“Me or Moe?”

“Both are a delightful surprise. Why, what’s this?” She put her hand behind her back, then brought it out again. She held out a huge Milk Bone that caused Moe to moan with pleasure. “Yes, it certainly is for you. Now if you’ll sit and shake hands like a gentleman…”

The words were barely out of her mouth when Moe plopped his butt on the ground, lifted his paw. They exchanged a shake, a long look of mutual admiration. He nipped the treat delicately out of her fingers, then sprawled at her feet to chomp it to bits.

“Is it a Dr. Doolittle thing?” Dana wondered, and got a puzzled glance from Rowena.

“I’m sorry?”

“You know. Talking to the animals.”

“Ah. Let’s say… in a manner of speaking. And what can I offer you?” she asked Dana.

“Answers.”

“So sober, so serious. And so attractive this morning. What a wonderful outfit. You have such a smart collection of jackets,” Rowena commented as she ran a finger down the sleeve of the dull-gold tapestry fabric. “I covet them.”

“I imagine you can whip one up just as easy as you did that dog biscuit.”

“Ah, but that would take the fun, and the adventure, out of shopping, wouldn’t it? Would you like to come in? We’ll have some tea by the fire.”

“No, thanks. I don’t have a lot of time. We’re settling on our property early this afternoon, so I’m going to have to start back pretty directly. Rowena, there are some things I need to know.”

“I’ll tell you what I can. Why don’t we walk? Rain’s coming,” she added, casting a look at the sky. “But not for a bit. I like the heavy, anticipatory feel to the air before a rain.”

Since Moe had made short work of the Milk Bone, Rowena opened her hand and revealed a bright red rubber ball. She threw it over the lawn toward the woods.

“I should warn you, Moe will expect you to keep throwing that for him for the next three or four years.”

“There’s nothing quite so perfect as a dog.” Rowena tucked her arm companionably in Dana’s and began to walk. “A comfort, a friend, a warrior, an amusement. They only ask that we love them.”

“Why don’t you have one?”

“Ah, well.” With a sad smile, Rowena patted Dana’s hand, then bent down to pick up the ball Moe dropped at her feet. She ruffled his fur, then flung the ball for him to chase.

“You can’t.” The realization struck, had Dana tapping her fingers to her temple. “Duh. I don’t mean you couldn’t, but realistically… A dog’s life span is woefully shorter than that of your average mortal.”

“She remembered what Jordan had said about them being alone, about their immortality on this plane being curse rather than gift.

“When you factor in the spectacular longevity of someone like you, and the finite life span of your average mutt, that’s a problem.”

“Yes. I had dogs. At home, they were one of my great pleasures.”

She picked up the ball, already covered with teeth marks and dog spit, in her elegant hand and threw it for the tireless Moe.

“When we were turned out, I needed to believe that we would do what needed to be done and return. Soon. I pined for many things of home, and comforted myself with a dog. A wolfhound was my first. Oh, he was so handsome and brave and loyal. Ten years.”

She sighed, and skirted along the edge of the woods. “He was mine for ten years. The snap of a finger. There are things we can’t change, that are denied to us while we live here. I can’t extend a creature’s life beyond its thread. Not even that of a beloved dog.”

She scooped the ball up for Moe, threw it in another direction.

“I had a dog when I was a kid.” Like Rowena, Dana watched Moe streak after the ball as if it were the first time. “Well, it was my dad’s dog, really. He got her the year before I was born, so I grew up with her. She died when I was eleven. I cried for three days.”

“So you know what it is.” Rowena smiled a little as Moe pranced back, doing a full-body wag with the rubber ball wedged in his mourn like an apple. “I grieved, and I swore I wouldn’t indulge myself again. But I did. Many times. Until I had to accept that my heart would simply break if I had to go through the death of another I loved so much, after so short a time. So, I’m so pleased…”

She bent down to catch Moe’s face in her hands. “And so grateful that you brought the handsome Moe to visit me.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, is it? Power, immortality?”

“Nothing is without pain or loss or price. Is this what you wanted to know?”

“Part of it. There are limitations, at least when you’re here. And Kane has limitations when he’s here. Limitations when he deals with something from our world. Is that right?”

“That’s a fine deduction. You are creatures of free will. That’s as it must be. He can lure, he can lie, he can deceive. But he cannot force.”

“Can he kill?”

Rowena threw the ball again, farther this time to give Moe a longer chase. “You’re not speaking of war or of defense, of protection of innocents or loved ones. The penalty for taking the life of a mortal is so fierce I can’t believe that even he would risk it.”

“The end of existence,” Dana supplied. “I’ve done my research. Not death, not the passing through to the next life, but an end.”

“Even gods have fears. That is one. More is the stripping of power, the prison between worlds that allows entry to none. This he would risk.”

“He tried to kill Jordan.”

Rowena whirled, gripped Dana’s arm. “Tell me. Exactly.”

She related everything that had happened in the middle of the night.

“He took him behind the Curtain?” Rowena asked. “And there shed his blood?”

“I’ll say.”

She began to pace, her movements so fretful that Moe sat quietly holding the tooth-pocked ball in his mouth.

“Even now we’re not permitted to see, to know. They were alone, you say? There was no one else about?”

“Jordan said something about a deer.”

“A deer.” Rowena went very still. “What sort of deer? What did it look like?”

“It looked like a deer.” Dana lifted her hands. “Except I guess it was the sort you’d expect to find in places where the flowers look like rubies and so on. He said it was gold and had a silver rack.”

“It was a buck, then.”

“Yes. And, oh, yeah, it had a collar, a jeweled collar.”

“It’s possible,” she whispered. “But what does it mean?”

“You tell me.”

“If it was him, why did he allow it?” Agitated, she began to stride up and down the verge, between wood and lawn. “Why did he permit it?”

“Who and what?” Dana demanded and dragged Rowena’s attention back to her by shaking her arm.

“If it was the king,” she said. “If it was our king taking the shape of the buck. If this is true, why did he allow Kane to bring a mortal behind the Curtain without consent? And to harm, to spill his blood there? What war is being waged in my world?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. But the only one wounded, as far as I can tell, was Jordan.”

“I will talk to Pitte,” she declared. “I will think. He saw no one else—only these two?”

“Just the buck and Kane.”

“I don’t have the answers you want. Kane has interfered before, but it’s never gone this far. The spell was of his making, and the boundaries of it, his own. But he breaks them and is not stopped. I can do more, will do more. But I’m no longer certain of the scope of his power or protection. I can no longer be certain that the king rules.”

“If he doesn’t?”

“Then there is war,” Rowena said flatly. “And still we are not brought home. This tells me, whatever is or has happened in my world, it remains my fate to finish what I was sent here to do. I have to believe it’s your fate to help me.”

She took a deep breath, calming herself. “I’ll give you a balm for your man’s wounds.”

“We’re sleeping together. I don’t know if that makes him my man.”

With, an absentminded gesture, Rowena brushed this aside. “I must speak with Pitte. Strategy is more his area than mine. Come, I’ll get you the potion.”

“Just a minute. One thing. Jordan. He’s essential to my key?”

“Why do you ask what you already know?”

“I want confirmation.”

In answer Rowena laid her fingertips on Dana’s heart. “You already have that as well.”

“Is he part of this because I love him?”

“He’s part of you because you love him. And you are the key.” She took Dana’s hand. “Come. I’ll give you the balm for your warrior, then send you on your way.” She cast another look at the darkening sky. “The rain’s coming.”