“A kind of mirror image?” Brad suggested, and nudged the wine he’d poured her a little closer. She’d held on, putting Simon to bed, but whatever she’d been feeling had showed in her eyes.

He’d sensed it, and he suspected Simon had, too, as the boy had gone to bed without even a token protest.

But now she was pale, and she struggled to keep her hands from trembling.

“Yes.” It seemed to relieve her to have a name for it. “Like that, like a reflection. I walked into the mirror, like Alice,” she said with wonder. “And I knew them, Bradley. I loved them, just as she did. They were sitting in the garden, enjoying the puppy and the sunlight, a little amused, a little envious of the way Rowena and Pitte were so absorbed in each other, and talking, just young girls chatting about the kind of men they would fall in love with. Then it was dark and cold and terrifying. She tried to fight.”

Overcome again, Zoe brushed fresh tears from her cheeks. “She tried to protect them. It was her first and last thought. He—he reveled in their pain. He celebrated her failure. I could see it on his face. She couldn’t stop it. Neither could I.”

She picked up her wine, took a small sip.

“You shouldn’t have been up there alone.”

“I think I did have to be alone. I understand what you’re saying, but I think, I feel, this was something I had to experience on my own. Bradley.” She pushed the wine aside, reached across the table for his hand. “He didn’t know I was there. Kane didn’t know. I’m sure of it. It has to mean something that I was brought there without him knowing it. I think it means she’s still fighting, or trying to.”

He sat back, considered. “Maybe it’s possible, that with the first two locks opened the daughters are able to get something through. Their thoughts, their feelings, their hope. It could be enough to connect to you, especially if they had help.”

“Rowena and Pitte.”

“It’s worth finding out. If you can get someone over to stay with Simon, we’ll go up and ask them.”

“It’s nearly ten now. We wouldn’t be able to get up there and back before close to midnight. I don’t want to ask anyone to come over at this time of night.”

“Okay. I will.” He rose, picked up the kitchen phone.

“Bradley—”

“Do you trust Flynn with Simon?”

“Of course I do,” she said as he dialed. “But he shouldn’t have to leave his own house and come baby-sit.”

Brad merely lifted a brow. “Flynn, can you come over to Zoe’s and stay with Simon? We’ve got to run up and see Rowena and Pitte. I’ll fill you in on that later. Great. See you and Malory.” He hung up the phone. “Ten minutes. That’s what friends do, Zoe.”

“I know that.” Agitated, she pushed at her hair. “I just don’t like putting people out because I’ve got the jitters.”

“A woman who walks into a mirror shouldn’t get the jitters driving up to the Peak.”

“I guess not.”

MAYBE it wasn’t the jitters so much as anticipation, she decided as they drove through the gates at the Peak. There was a new sense of urgency now that she, in some very real way, had been inside the skin of the woman in the portrait.

The girl, she corrected herself. She’d felt all that innocence and hope and courage—the sheer youth of it. For that time in the mirror, she’d known the goddess, heart and soul.

And her own heart ached from it.

She glanced up at the moon as she got out of the car. It was their hourglass, she thought. And time trickled steadily away while they waited.

It was Pitte who came to the door, opening it before they’d crossed the portico. He looked relaxed, Zoe noted, and less formal than usual, in a stone-gray sweater.

“I’m sorry to come by so late,” she began.

“Is it?” He took her hand and had her flushing by bringing it to his lips. “There’s no hour you’re not welcome here.”

“Oh.” Flustered, she looked at Brad to see him watching Pitte steadily. “That’s very nice of you. But still, we’ll try not to keep you long.”

“As long as you like.” He kept her hand in his and drew her inside. “The nights grow cold. We’ve a fire in the parlor. Your son is well?”

“Yes.” Had she ever had a real conversation with Pitte before? Zoe wondered. “He’s sleeping. Flynn and Malory are with him. Bradley drove me up because . . . I have some questions about things that have happened.”

“She was attacked,” Brad said flatly as they stepped into the parlor.

Rowena rose quickly. “Are you injured?”

“No. No, I’m fine. Bradley, you shouldn’t scare people that way.”

“She was attacked,” Brad repeated. “And though she got off with scrapes and bruises, it could’ve been considerably worse.”

“You’re angry,” Pitte acknowledged. “So would I be, if she were mine. Even a warrior,” he said to Zoe before she could speak, “should appreciate having a champion.”

“Sit, please.” Rowena gestured to the sofa. “Tea, I think. Something soothing. I’ll arrange it.” But she went to Zoe first, cupped Zoe’s face in her hand and kissed her cheeks. “I’m in your debt,” she said softly. “And there is no payment full enough.”

Staggered, Zoe simply stood as Rowena glided from the room. Then she looked at Pitte. “It was you. In the woods. The buck in the woods. It was you.”

He touched her again, just a skim of fingertips over her cheek. “Why didn’t you run, little mother?”

“I couldn’t. You were hurt.” Her legs trembled, so she lowered to the couch. “I was too scared, and too mad to run. And you were hurt.”

“She rushed him, with a tree branch for a club,” he told Brad. “And she was magnificent. You are a fortunate man.”

“She’s not as convinced of that as I am. Yet.”

Confused, Zoe pressed her fingers to her temples. “You were in the woods, watching out for me. The buck . . . it had your eyes.”

He smiled when Rowena came back into the room. “I might not have been there, if Rowena hadn’t nagged at me.”

“Would he have killed me?”