“I’m going to tell you. It’s going to sound like a story, but it’s not. But I have to start driving again while I tell you, or we’ll be late.”

“Okay.”

She took a long, quiet breath as she pulled back onto the road. “A long time ago—a really, really long time ago, in a place behind what they call the Curtain of Dreams, or the Curtain of Power, there was this young god—”

“Like Apollo?”

“Sort of. But not Greek. He was Celtic. He was the son of the king, and when he was of age, he visited our world and he met a girl and fell in love.”

Simon’s mouth twisted. “How come that always happens?”

“Can we get into that area of things later? We’re a little pressed for time. So, they fell in love, and even though it wasn’t really allowed then, his parents let him bring the girl home with him so they could be married. This was okay with some of the gods, but it wasn’t okay with some of the others. There were battles and—”

“Cool.”

“The world split into two kingdoms, I guess you could say. One with the young god becoming ruler with his human wife, and the other ruled by, well, a wicked sorcerer.”

“Way cool.”

“The young king had three daughters. They call them demigoddesses because they’re part human. Each of the daughters had a special gift. One was music, or art, another was writing, or knowledge, and the third was courage, I guess. Valor.”

It made her mouth a little dry to think of it, but she swallowed and went on. “She was a kind of warrior. They were very close to each other, the way sisters should be, and their parents loved them. To keep them safe while there was this trouble going on, they had them guarded and taught by a warrior and a teacher. Then—try not to groan—the warrior and the teacher fell in love.”

He let his head fall back and stared upward. “I just knew it.”

“Not being sarcastic nine-year-old boys, the daughters were happy for them, and covered for them when they slipped off a little way to be alone. So these girls weren’t guarded as well as maybe they should have been. The wicked sorcerer took advantage of that, and he snuck close and cast a spell. The spell stole the souls of the daughters and locked them in a glass box with three locks and three keys.”

“Man, that sucks for them.”

“It sure does. The souls are trapped there, in the box, and can’t get out until the keys are turned in the lock—one by one—and only by the hand of a mortal. A human.”

Because her fingers tingled, she rubbed them on the skirt of her dress. “See, because they were half human, this sorcerer made it so only someone from our world could save them. Because he didn’t think it could be done. The teacher was given the keys—but she can’t work them—and she and the warrior were cast out, and into this world. In every generation they have to ask three humans, the three humans who are the only ones who can unlock the box, to find the keys. They have to be hidden and found as part of the quest, part of the spell. And each one of the chosen has to go in turn, and has just four weeks to find the key and put it in the lock.”

“Wow, are you one of the ones who has to find a key? How come you were chosen?”

She let out a little breath. Her son was a bright and logical boy. “I don’t know exactly. We look—Mal, Dana, and I—we look like the daughters. The Daughters of Glass, they’re called. Rowena’s an artist, and she has a painting of them at the Peak. It’s connections, Simon. There’s something that connects us to each other, to the keys, and to the daughters. I guess you could say it’s fate.”

“If you don’t find the keys, they’re just stuck in the box?”

“Their souls are. Their bodies are in glass coffins—um, like Snow White. Waiting.”

“Rowena and Pitte, they’re the teacher and the guard.” He nodded. “And you and Malory and Dana have to find the keys and fix everything.”

“Pretty much. Malory and Dana have already had their turns, and they each found the key. It’s my turn now.”

“You’ll find it.” He gave her a solemn nod. “You always find stuff when I lose it.”

If only, she thought, it was as simple as finding her son’s favorite action figure. “I’m going to try as hard as I can. I have to tell you, Simon, the sorcerer—his name is Kane—he’s tried to stop us. He’ll try to stop me. It’s really scary, but I have to try.”

“You’ll kick his butt.”

The laugh eased some of the knots in her stomach. “That’s my plan. I wasn’t going to tell you all this, but then it didn’t seem right not to.”

“Because we’re a team.”

“Yeah, we’re a great team.”

She paused at the open gates of Warrior’s Peak.

The gates were flanked by two stone warriors, hands ready on the hilts of their swords. They looked so fierce to her, so formidable. Connections? she thought. What connection could someone like her have to warriors at the gate?

Still, taking a deep breath, Zoe drove through.

“Holy cow,” Simon said beside her.

“And then some.”

She understood his reaction to the house. Hers had been the same wide-eyed, slack-jawed stare the first time she’d seen it up close.

Though “house,” she supposed, was too ordinary a word for the Peak. Part castle, part fortress, it stood high over the Valley, rose up like the majestic hills and ruled them. Its peaks and towers were made of black stone with gargoyles perched on eaves as if they might leap, not so playfully, at their whim. It was a massive place, surrounded by lush lawns that slid into thick woods gone shadowy with evening.

High on the topmost tower flew a white flag with the emblem of a golden key.

The sun was setting behind it, so the canvas of the sky was streaked with red and gold, adding yet another layer of drama.

Soon the sky would be black, Zoe thought, with only the thinnest sliver of moon. Tomorrow was the first night of the new moon, the beginning of her quest.

“It’s really something inside, too. Like something you’d see in a movie. Don’t touch anything.”

“Mom.”

“I’m nervous. Give me a break.” She drove slowly toward the entrance. “But, really, don’t touch anything in there.”