Heart Dance

by Robin D. Owens

  Why not?

  He could only believe that it was rooted in her childhood, as most wounds were. Her life with her parents. Her mother was certainly a self-absorbed woman. He wondered about her father,the father she was determined to prove was sane and honorable.How close had she been to him?

  She had the Thyme Flair for time. Of that he was sure. She was breaking the laws of Druida, set in place after her father’s death at the urging of Saille’s MotherDam. What a mess.

  Myx hissed. You pulled my hair out.

  “It was a matt. It wasn’t attached too much.”

  You didn’t feel it.

  “I apologize.”

  Myx grinned. FamMan apologizes well. Not like stup Cat Fairyfoot.

  Saille cleared his throat. “How’s Fairyfoot doing?”

  She has lost face. She must be a very loving Fam to recover.

  “That will help Dufleur.”

  “Yessss.” I have always been a loving Fam.

  “For the few days we’ve known each other.”

  Always, Myx agreed.

  Saille raised his brows. “Which means?”

  Myx gave a little cough. I should have a collar.

  “I see.”

  Stretching his body under Saille’s hand, Myx said, You could make beads.

  “I could.”

  In History of Cats on Ship, I saw bright blue beads. Myx projected an image.

  “Faience.” Tin-glazed clay.

  I would like beads like those.

  “Our color is scarlet.”

  Blue.

  “Very well.” He thought of the dusty brown cat wearing bright blue faience beads and shuddered. Another cat without taste. He supposed he should be grateful for a Fam at all. And this one was loyal to him.

  Good. Myx butted his head against Saille’s hand for more petting. I am good at walking in shadows.

  “What?”

  I will walk in the shadows with you.

  He’d wanted to forget Vinni’s prophecy. Now he knew he wouldn’t. “That’s good of you.”

  “Yessss.”

  She was awakened by the low, repetitively irritating tune of her scrybowl. How had she ever thought that music lovely? Certainlywasn’t a Passiflora D’Holly melody. Groggy, she squinted at the bowl, saw multicolored swirls of blue light. D’Sea, the mind Healer, was calling. Dufleur’s stomach knotted.She wanted to curl up in a fetal ball.

  “Dufleur,” said the melodious voice of the FirstFamilies GrandLady. “Please answer the scry. I know you’re there, though I’m sorry I woke you.” Of course she would know, they still had a telepathic link between them, likely always would. “I’ll wait, Dufleur.”

  The message cache was large. Seven minutes. D’Sea would wait that entire time. Then call back. They’d been through this pattern before. Dufleur heaved herself from bed, noting that Fairyfoot still snored gently on her corner of the bed.

  As she wobbled to the scrybowl, Dufleur picked a hairbrush off a table and pulled it ruthlessly through her hair, feeling the new shorter style fall into place. That was something.

  She tapped the side of the scrybowl, and the tune stopped. Taking a deep breath, but forbearing to paste a smile on her face that D’Sea would see through, Dufleur answered, “Greetyou, D’Sea.”

  “Merry meet, Dufleur.” D’Sea appeared as calm and serene as ever, middle-aged heart-shaped face interestingly lined, compassionate blue green eyes. “I heard that the Councils’ Heraldvisited you and wondered how you were doing.”

  “Did she reimburse you?”

  Hauteur chilled the pretty face, and thin, brown eyebrows lifted. “I donated my services and will continue to do so. It’s the least I could do.” Her eyes sharpened. “I also heard that you had accepted reparations, and believed that was an excellent step, but then thought that circumstances might have forced you into doingso.” In the holo image formed by water droplets above the bowl, D’Sea tilted her head to study Dufleur and gave a slight sigh. “You look weary and strained.”

  Dufleur tried a weak but genuine smile. “I’m not used to the social season.” She coughed, felt her face settle back into a serious expression. “Rumors about my father were rampant at the ball last night. All the old gossip.” She grimaced. “I didn’t handle it well. I was accused of running away.”

  “By whom?”

  “Uh, a new friend.”

  “Resistant to counseling as usual, Dufleur.”

  “I’m sor—” she remembered not to apologize for something she wasn’t really sorry for just in time. Another pattern. “I haven’t been an easy patient.”

  That rewarded her with a faint smile. “No you haven’t, but I think I made some errors in your treatment, and that only added to your problems. I apologize for that.”

  “You’ve been very good.”

  “Nevertheless you were glad to stop seeing me. I do understand,but at least I know I helped you some.”

  “You helped a great deal.”

  “No flashbacks?”

  “None.” There’d been a few nightmares, but that wasn’t the same.

  D’Sea sighed again. “It’s a pity the emotional distance therapydidn’t work as well as usual. I still don’t understand why.”

  Dufleur thought she did. She was aware of the wind of time in every cell of her body. Convincing her mind that the events that had taken place a couple of months ago were decades old didn’t really work. She smiled again, this time more gently. D’Sea was a very nice and competent woman. “It seems as if more than a year has passed, at least.”

  D’Sea frowned. “That places your attempted murder in the same time frame as your father’s death. Not good.”

  “I’m doing well enough.”

  “I’d like to schedule you for another session.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  After a searching gaze and a touch of Flair on Dufleur’s mind that she endured, D’Sea nodded. “I’ll consider it.” They both knew that if D’Sea decided Dufleur needed more treatment,no one would gainsay her, and Dufleur would be back in D’Sea’s client comfortchair. “I’ll decide tonight when I see you at the opening of your show at Enlli Gallery.” Her face softened. “I’m very proud that you are exhibiting your work, Dufleur. It’s a wonderful opportunity for you.”

  “Thank you,” Dufleur said, trying not to look nervous at the reminder of the show. The evening would be nothing but socializingand being personally talked about, and right after last night when stories of her father would still be circulating. Definitelysomething she’d prefer to run away from. She stiffened her spine. “It will be good to see you there.” D’Sea liked her, Dufleur knew, would be on her side if sides were taken. SomehowDufleur couldn’t imagine Quert Apple tolerating any scene in his gallery. That notion cheered her. “It truly will be good to see you,” she repeated, unable to think of anything else to say to express her feelings.

  “Thank you. And how is Fairyfoot doing?”

  A bright light of realization burst in Dufleur’s head. Fairyfoot.Fairyfoot was being difficult, and it might relate to her experiencewith the black magic cult, too. Of course. “We’re relating better.” In the last few hours.

  “Good. I hope to see her, too.”

  “She’ll be there.” Dufleur had no doubt about that.

  “Merry part,” D’Sea said.

  “And merry meet again, tonight,” Dufleur ended the standardsaying.

  The water in the scrybowl rippled, and D’Sea vanished. Dufleur walked with shaky legs to her bed and sat. It was mid-afternoon,too late to go to her laboratory and work on the next phase of her experiments. Too early to prepare for the showing.

  She reached out and pet Fairyfoot, savoring the softness of the cat’s fur, healthier now that she wasn’t living on the streets. Dufleur stood, then picked up Fairyfoot. The cat shifted in her arms, looked up with sleepy green eyes, and purred.

  “We’re going to scry Danith D’Ash,” she informed her Fam, who scowled.

  Hate scrybowl!
D’Ash is mean.

  “That’s what we’re going to talk to D’Ash about.”

  Fairyfoot’s whiskers twitched, and a gleam came to her eyes. You will tell her how wonderful I am.

  “We’ll talk to her.”

  Walking over to the scrybowl on its table, Dufleur made sure to angle her body and Fairyfoot away from the bowl. “D’Ash,” she projected her voice, so her breath disturbed the water.

  “Here.” D’Ash answered the scry after a few seconds, lookinga little harassed. She blinked at the sight of Dufleur and Fairyfoot. “Is anything wrong with Fairyfoot?” she asked, concerned.

  “Not physically. But I think some of her behavior lately has been because of the horrible . . .” An image came of a black room, being tied to an altar, Fairyfoot beside her, linked hands holding a knife over her chest. Dufleur stopped and breathed through the memory. Not a flashback. Not quite, and why had D’Sea put that idea in her head anyway? Just a memory. She continued her sentence and hoped D’Ash hadn’t noticed the couple of seconds of hesitation. “Because of what we went through just before Samhain.”

  “Ohhh.” Danith D’Ash smile was as gentle and compassionateas D’Sea’s. “Of course. She has such a large, courageous personality that we tend to forget that she was a victim, too.”

  Fairyfoot emitted a pitiful mew, accompanied with big, round eyes.

  “And she tends to manipulation,” said D’Ash.

  “More than tends,” Dufleur muttered.

  D’Ash tapped a finger on her lips. “Let me think what we can do.”

  “You’re The Animal Healer.”

  “Yes,” D’Ash said, “and I worked with Fairyfoot at the time both physically and using distancing Healing, but we should have expected additional time to heal, the poor soul.”

  Fairyfoot mewed.

  “But I don’t often try to mend animal minds. They aren’t, afterall, like ours.” Her expression turned grim. “There were more victims of that cult than humans. Even though the Fam-Peopledied, the Fams survived. Six Fams survived. I’ve kept in touch with all the new human companions.” A small line knit between her brows. “Oddly enough, the Fams that are the most stable now are those that your cuz, Ilex Winterberry, questioned during the investigation. You might ask him to work with Fairyfoot,if he hasn’t?”

  Did cuz Ilex ever talk to you, Fairyfoot? asked Dufleur.

  Only when he brought me to you.

  “No,” Dufleur said to D’Ash. “That’s a good idea. He’ll be at the Enlli Gallery tonight. Perhaps he can take a few minutes...”

  “I’m sorry, Dufleur, we can’t make it—”

  Dufleur flushed. “I didn’t think you . . . that is, I expected that you have other plans.”

  D’Ash smiled. “We do, and we’re not much for the social season. In fact, we don’t go, but Holm HollyHeir persuaded us to make an exception for their ball next week. Who can miss a ball at Holly Residence? I think it’s the first in decades.”

  “Ah, yes. I’ll see you then.”

  “Earlier than that. Ruis and Ailim Elder are opening part of the starship Nuada’s Sword for a ball. No one can miss that, either?”

  “I imagine not.” Dufleur didn’t like the Ship, the Time Wind was a little odd in it.

  An angry child shrieked in the background of the scrybowl. D’Ash winced. “Nuin is not happy. I’m sorry, I must go.”

  “Of course.”

  “And if Fairyfoot has any continuing problems, bring her to me. Oh, and I’ll remind the cat community that she and her FamWoman nearly died at the hands of the black cult. Fairyfoot,no more punishment, but you must continue to help your FamWoman, she needs love as much as you. Blessed be.” D’Ash signed off hurriedly.

  Fairyfoot gave a little wiggle in Dufleur’s arms then purred even louder. Life is good.

  “For the moment,” Dufleur said and thought she could get a little work done in the lab after all.

  Dufleur hurried from the Residence the moment she sensed the Holly glider drive up. She was nervous enough to run down the steps and barely wait for the footman to open the glider door, even so an excited Fairyfoot jumped in first.

  “Where’s Dringal?” asked Passiflora.

  “She’s ill.”

  There were a few instants of silence as if Passiflora was consideringthe lie. “Ah. Well.” She glanced out the window at the lights that flowed by. “I should not say it, but I prefer your embroideryto her lace. It’s very good, but not quite good enough to be featured in the Enlli Gallery by itself. Still, a mother-daughtershow with similar Flairs, that hasn’t been done too often.” She let out a long breath. “And after all, you are here.”

  “Yes.” Dufleur endeavored to insert a little sincerity into her grim smile.

  Passiflora laughed. “Better.”

  I am here, too, Fairyfoot said. People will want to see Me. Especially now I have My Collar. She swiveled her head so Passiflora could admire it.

  “The collar arrived a few minutes ago, since we decided on more stones. You’re the first to be shown it.” Dufleur smiled.

  “I’m honored,” Passiflora said, then put a gloved hand on Dufleur’s locked fingers, and Dufleur met her eyes. “You should truly try to smile genuinely more often, Dufleur, your real smile is . . . radiant.”

  My FamWoman is beautiful when she smiles, Fairyfoot agreed.

  Dufleur stared.

  Rolling her eyes, Passiflora said, “Surely you know that.”

  “I always thought people complimented me on my smile becauseI’m plain and it’s something else they can say.” She lifted her hands and let them drop, another awkward conversation. The whole day had been talking, talking, talking, and she was getting worse at expressing herself. Lady and Lord knew how she’d handle the gallery opening. Smile. Small talk.

  “You are not plain. You are attractive. And your smile is incredible.You believe that, Dufleur.”

  “Yes.” She’d agree to anything. She was glad she hadn’t eaten a heavy meal.

  “You’re nervous.” Passiflora patted her hands. “As I was duringthe first reception after the soiree where my first composition was debuted. Dufleur, your embroidery is gorgeous. Can you believethat?”

  “Yes.” She knew it. She just wasn’t used to people looking at it as art, or complimenting her on her work.

  “Remember that I am here to support you. This is your night, Dufleur, your moment.” Which meant that Passiflora wouldn’t be doing any obvious politicking, Dufleur supposed, then felt ashamed at the thought. Her emotions were too vivid, not under control.

  I am here, too. Saille T’Willow will come. Ilex will come, though I do not think his fox will come.

  “I don’t think foxes like gallery openings,” Dufleur said.

  They are not as civilized as Cats. Trif will come. Mitchella and Straif T’Blackthorn will come. D’Sea will come.

  Dufleur didn’t know whether the list helped or not. She breathed deeply, settled into her center. For a moment she wished that her real work was more social, she’d know how to handle people better.

  “All the Apples will be there, and all the Hollys. Even Genista, Tinne’s wife.” Passiflora hesitated. “I promised she could have her pick of your work, or that we would commission something special for her, whatever she liked. I think the idea of being with beautiful art and away from T’Holly Residence soothed her spirits.”

  “I’d love to embroider something for Genista. She’s a lovely woman and complements anything she wears.”

  Passiflora eased beside her. “Yes, she is. If you would say that to her, I’d be grateful. She’s had a hard time lately.”

  “Of course.”

  The glider stopped, and they were there.

  Twenty-one

  Dufleur’s breath came rapidly.

  "Calm.” Passiflora put a hand on Dufleur’s arm and drained away the nerves. Dufleur closed her eyes in gratitude. “Thank you.”

  “I’ve perfected the calming spell. I use it often enough on m
y journeywoman, Trif.”

  Dufleur smiled again and let it widen at the Holly footman as the door opened and she stepped from the glider. He blinked and appeared a little dazed.

  “I told you that your smile is potent,” Passiflora said.

  “Surely I’ve smiled at him before.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Fairyfoot purred at him in appreciation, then hurried up the cold stone walk to the door. An Apple doorman enveloped in a weather shield held back one side of the arched wooden doors, and warm air laden with the sounds and scents of the gallery rolled over Dufleur.

  “We’re fashionably late, as an artist should be,” Passiflora said as they left their outerwear with another Apple. Without letting Dufleur drag her feet, Passiflora linked arms with her and brought her into the showroom of her and her mother’s work.

  Breath caught in Dufleur’s throat. The presentation of her pieces was dazzling. Her embroidery was lit in subtle ways that accented the time Flair in her stitches so the most Flaired pieces appeared three-dimensional.

  As soon as he noticed them, Quert Apple, Passiflora’s brother, surged to them, kissing Dufleur’s hands, tucking one into his arm. He led her to a tall, older gentleman with shaggy gray hair, a handsome face, and intense turquoise eyes the same color as Passiflora’s.

  “Dufleur,” Quert said, “may I introduce you to my father, T’Apple.”

  Dufleur froze. The greatest artist of Celta.

  Fairyfoot pranced up, pawed at T’Apple’s shiny leather dress shoe, opened her green eyes wide, smiled, and sent loudly, You may paint Me in My beautiful collar.

  Quert looked stunned, T’Apple surprised, and a ripple of laughter came from Passiflora that made Dufleur smile.

  T’Apple’s eyes narrowed on Dufleur’s face. “That smile.” He rubbed his fingers together. “That smile has Flair.” Then he, too, smiled. Glancing down at Fairyfoot, he said, “We’ll see. My portrait appointments are filled for several months.” He made a half-bow to Dufleur. “I admire your work.”

  Dufleur stared at him. Passiflora nudged her with an elbow. “Thank you,” Dufleur squeaked.

  T’Apple took her hand from Quert’s arm and shifted it to his. “I have a question about technique . . .”