Hearts and Stones (Celta HeartMate)

by Robin D. Owens

  He'd have to hire at least part-time trainers, and definitely the female merchant guard he'd spoken with earlier in the week.

  Talk spilled around the room about having sisters and daughters as part of the social club. Like Druida City society various social clubs existed at different levels, but status in this training studio would be based on skill.

  Groups split and mixed. Holm announced the studio would close in a septhour and checked on the all groups and trainers that would continue to drill. Then he and Lark went out to the small, cracked concrete square that held a rickety wooden table and benches.

  She opened the containers and the scent of the food hit him like it hadn't for weeks, and he blessed the Lord and Lady for a full day of good work and ate his full portion of noodles with green sauce.

  So did she.

  Guiltily, Holm grabbed another minute or two to enjoy the day before he stood. Lark followed and with a sweep of her arm, she translocated the dishes, probably back to their house. She kissed him and he felt their HeartBond, love washing from her to him, spreading through his body, relaxing the last of the tension in his muscles lingering from self-doubt. Tomorrow should be better.

  They went back into the training room and Holm announced a last melee, figuring it would take less than a quarter septhour, and that his clientele would like knowing he'd stay open past his usual hours.

  Lark watched the melee and offered to do quick Healing spells afterward, since she'd spent more time as an administrative head that day. Another boon the clients liked, though Holm made sure everyone knew that particular service would not be standard or often.

  He counted those who'd headed into the Men's Dressing Room, and knew who remained.

  Then one of the noble heirs who’d left popped back into the room, appearing excited. "FirstLevel Fighter Apple, and FirstLevel Healer Apple, I believe you're wanted out front." He vanished back outside.

  "Excellent!" Lark said. “Everything regarding my gift is on time."

  Holm allowed Lark to tug him out to the front, leaving training room and entry doors open.

  Their FamCats, who'd been gurgling and growling and playing hide-and-seek in the bushes, ran to them.

  Is that it? Is he bringing the present? Meserve shouted.

  Yes, yes, yes! Phyll answered. See, it floats beside him.

  Holm turned and stared along the sidewalk. A sturdy man in overalls and a cap marched toward them, carrying a toolbox. The framework of a scaffold on an anti-grav spell accompanied him, and a large wrapped package, also bespelled, floating along.

  With narrowed eyes, Holm examined the piece's length, breadth, width, glanced up at the empty spot above the door where he'd planned on having "Holm's Training Studio" painted.

  Lark turned to look at the man too, and they stood side by side, their bodies touching. She beamed at the sight of the workman.

  He stopped in front of them and inclined his head, "FirstLevel Healer Lark Apple?" he asked.

  "Yes," she said.

  The man grunted. "Got a sign here." He translocated a piece of papyrus sticking out of one of his chest pockets to Lark's hands. Holm leaned close to see the writing, but she blocked him.

  "Yes, this is right." She handed the order back to him and shimmied in excitement.

  With careful efficiency the man set up the scaffolding, mounted it, placed his tool box down and opened it. When all appeared right, he glanced down at the package, flicked his fingers and the wrapping completely vanished.

  Holm and Lark gasped and the FamCats squealed as the green slab shone with the polished hues of rich malachite.

  Other people stopped on the sidewalk, gathering to watch the workman attach the stone sign above the door. All Holm's remaining clients and his trainers flowed from the building to observe.

  At that moment, the workman yelled, and Meserve screeched, hopping back as a little piece of stone from the lower left corner fell away, broken off the main slab of malachite. It hit with a puff of crumbling green dust.

  "Lady and Lord!" Lark exclaimed.

  "Sorry, missus," the workman said. Lark stared at him, probably due to being addressed in a way she'd never contemplated.

  The man teleportation-hopped from the ladder to scoop up the bit, and touch of green dust around it. Staring at them, he said, "We will be glad to re-do the whole piece, and get the sign up tomorrow morning before WorkBell ... or ... "

  "Or?" Holm asked.

  "We'll just charge you for the engraving, for the work, you get the material free."

  Holm had never haggled for anything in his life. He jerked a nod. "You do that. I want this up now."

  "Yessir." With a little suction spell he sucked up all the malachite dust on the ground into the hollow of his palm, spit on them and the edge of the stone. He teleported back up to the short scaffold and fit the piece back onto the corner. Then he glued the fractured fragment back onto the larger sign with a tube of stuff he pulled from his overall pockets. Saying a short spell, he buffed the corner. Frowning, he rubbed the cloth over it again, then glanced down at Holm and Lark. "Looks fine to me. Good enough for you?"

  The fault in the malachite vanished in a dark grain of green. No one could see it unless closely scrutinizing.

  The small FamCats materialized on the workman's shoulders and he jerked, then hunkered into his balance. Holm thought the guy suppressed a swear.

  Meserve leaned over to press his nose against the corner of the piece, and sneezed. The workman flinched. There is a teeny, tiny crack no thicker than my whisker, he announced. From the way the guy hunched, he heard the FamCat and felt disappointed.

  It is fine! Phyll sniffed loudly on the man's far shoulder. I can't see the crack with My amazing vision at all!

  "All right, then," Holm said. He met the man's gaze and opened his arms, "Come on down, Fams."

  They teleported to his shoulders, and the worker heaved a sigh.

  "Thank you for your work," Holm said.

  "Thank you," Lark said, somewhat stiffly. Holm felt her aura of disappointment that her gift hadn't been perfect.

  With another spit on the softleaf and rub on the corner, the man got to the ground, packed up his gear, gave a courteous tug at his hat to them and left.

  Holm's friend T'Ash could have mended the stone to the molecular level with a spellword, but he held a FirstFamily title and great Flair. This man made do, as Holm did.

  Lark slipped her arm around his waist, and Holm let his breath sift out with pleasure. He had Lark, his HeartMate, his own small family, and this very business.

  "Don't focus on the crack," Lark urged. "Did you read the sign?"

  He hadn't. Craning his neck, he saw the golden flow of lettering, "'The Green Man.' Thank you," he ended gruffly.

  Placing her hands on his shoulders, she met his gaze. "You are the Green Man, a fighter of renown who people will come to train with." She gestured to the boys and his trainers and a couple of others who'd lingered. "You have a fine reputation."

  "Thank you." He glanced around the street. People still watched, students yet remained, the FamCats radiated pride, and words tumbled from him. "My new life."

  "Yes!" Lark grinned.

  And the sun hit the sign, made it glow, revealing deeper tones and shiny streaks that had been hidden.

  He wasn't useless.

  He wasn't Holm HollyHeir of Druida City, but Holm Apple of Gael City, but he could still practice his craft, his Flair. Be a good man of good character, support himself and be supportive of his family, his Lark and Phyll and Meserve . . . and even Clam.

  And he—they—wouldn't just survive, but thrive.

  At that moment, his Calendarsphere buzzed in a brand-new pattern. It had totaled up the gilt he'd made that day, and he'd reached his goal.

  Just at the beginning of this week he'd stood in this place and wondered how long it would take him to make a career for himself in Gael City. With his own rep, his skills, and a little help from his friends it had taken ... Two.
Days.

  His future, here with his Family and these students and trainers who gathered around him, stretched before him like a wondrous road of adventure.

  He turned his back on the past, gestured to the sign above and raised his voice. "Welcome, all, to The Green Man Salon!"

  He held his HeartMate as his Fam licked his ear, a couple of his new students thumped him on the back and people cheered.

  Hidden Stone

  This story is a prequel to Heart Search, that book featuring Laev T’Hawthorn as the hero and Camellia Darjeeling as the heroine. So if you want to see more of Laev and his hunt for his Family heirlooms and his struggle with his relations, not to mention the black tom and the little calico, please read Heart Search.

  And if you prefer to know of Garrett’s difficult backstory as the sole survivor of the Iasc sickness and how that makes him vital to the whole planet of Celta, and perhaps see him take the big fall into love, then you should read Heart Secret. Naturally, his band of animal informants are featured, as well as a precocious kitten.I hope to continue with a few more stories of Garrett Primross, Private Eye, as they come to me.

  Please know that my primary genre is romance and both Heart Search and Heart Secret are sexy books and may not be appropriate for minors.

  HIDDEN STONE

  Druida City, Celta, 421 Years After Colonization, Spring

  Garrett Primross stepped out of the welcome warm spring sunlight and into the shabby building that housed his private investigation firm. He rolled his shoulders to release the tension between them. He’d totaled up his current revenues and knew he could only afford to rent this hanging-on-by-fingernails-to-middle-class location for two more months without a better income.

  But he’d find some solid clients, work hard at that.

  The smell came first, farm-animal-pungent overlaid with simple cleanser.

  Then he saw the big black cat, long hair tangled and scruffy, lying in front of his office door. One of Garrett’s animal informants that he called Black Cat Two. A trail of blood droplets led from the back end of the hallway to the cat, along with a couple of bloody pawprints. Black Cat Two’s upper haunch showed hair matted with blood, and a crust over a semi-circular cut.

  With a sigh, Garrett muttered the unlock spell on his door, pushed it open with his foot. He murmured a coating spell on his tunic, then bent down and scooped up the cat. He was a big man and though the cat was large, too, the body beneath the fur felt skinny.

  Thwapping his tail back and forth against Garrett’s arm, the cat sniffed and said mentally, I have a case for you.

  Well-spoken cat, obviously smart enough to become a Familiar Animal Companion bonded with a human.

  “I’ve made it a policy not to work for animals,” Garrett replied, setting the cat down on one of his worn client chairs. Seeing scratched hands in his future -- even if he had fast enough fingers to do sleight-of-hand tricks -- Garrett simply grabbed a jar of Healing ointment from his bookcase, opened it and set it by the cat.

  Who sneezed. Then lifted his upper muzzle to show his fangs, dipped a paw daintily into the gel-like mixture, hissed at the feel and flexed his claws. As he covered his paw and worked on his injury, his narrowed gaze met Garrett’s again. I have worked for you many and many days! You should do this for Me!

  Garrett had learned early to be hard-hearted with cats. They’d turn everything into an advantage if they could. “You’ve worked not quite an eight-day for me,” he corrected, then pointed out, “You got fed. And shelter from the weather with the rest of my band of Irregulars who nose around for me.”

  Associating with low life cats! Some don’t even think in words-for-humans! And, he shuddered, even must be in the presence of dogs and foxes!

  “Terrible for you,” Garrett murmured. He wiped the inside of the jar with a softleaf and put it back.

  “Yesss,” the cat hissed audibly.

  Angling his head, Garrett said, “And I think that I’ve even given you a pinch of catnip for a good investigative tip on my last case.”

  Only what I deserved. A pause. I could use a pinch now, too.

  “For nothing.”

  For bringing you a new very wealthy client.

  “I’ve had private detective cases for intelligent animals and actual Fams before, and gotten ‘paid’ with some not-so-valuable stuff.”

  Another hiss. Valuable to Us.

  “That’s right. Valuable to you, not to me.” He gestured to an old and pitted piece of metal on another shelf. Then he squatted down just outside claw range and passed a hand over the cat, muttering a spell to augment the Healing balm. The cat’s fur lifted, dried blood and tufts of fur fell away and odor rose.

  Garrett waved a hand to initiate an embedded office housekeeping spell. It sifted sluggishly through the room, touching him and the cat. Still, Garrett noted the feline’s wound scabbing over, so at least his own Healing spell worked fine.

  The cat gave a surprised grunt, his eyes widened and he grinned, but he didn’t, of course, thank Garrett.

  He retreated behind his desk and sat, staring at the intelligent cat.

  After a couple of final licks of his wounded haunch, Black Cat Two sat up in the chair.

  Garrett decided to wait for the tom to speak again, a technique that often worked for him. To amuse himself and keep in practice, he rolled a small gilt coin across the knuckles of his hands, watching the cat.

  You are not interested in My case! Black Cat Two sounded surprised.

  “Nope, and are you telling me that you thought six days of work was sufficient to hire me?”

  “Yesss.”

  “Wrong.”

  Lifting his muzzle in an elegant motion he must have copied from someone else because Garrett sensed that the cat himself had never been a companion or lived in a house, the feline said slyly, What if I told you it is a FirstFamily FamCat who would hire Us?

  Yeah, that had Garrett slipping the coin into his palm and focusing on Black Cat Two. “A FirstFamily FamCat,” he repeated slowly. The twenty-five FirstFamilies had funded the starships’s voyage to Celta and remained the most powerful in wealth, status, and psi power--Flair.

  “I don’t particularly like nobles. Not much interested in working for them.” The words rang with more truth than Garrett felt comfortable revealing. And, yeah, having rich clients from the highest level of Celtan society might be lucrative, but came with disadvantages.

  They’d expect everything done their way, wouldn’t they? And for him to follow detailed orders? Not to mention the fact that he’d had to move his private investigation business from Gael City to Druida City because he’d done work for a GrandLord and when Garrett had solved the case and fulfilled the terms of the contract, the noble had stiffed him and smeared his rep, too.

  Absolutely had to be more cautious working for any noble than a regular commoner middle-class person who paid their bills on time.

  An HONORABLE FirstFamily! the cat assured, as if he’d heard an echo of Garrett’s thoughts.

  “Like I said, don’t trust animal clients, and don’t trust nobles.”

  You need the gilt, the feline pointed out. Your nip is inferior to what I can get on T’... on the estate.

  “But you don’t get it as often from them as me, huh? A feral cat? Particularly since a FamCat lives with this FirstFamily?”

  Fams remained rare, and despite himself, Garrett ran down the twenty-five FirstFamilies and what intelligent animal companions they might have. Birch--none he’d heard, Rowan, Alder, Willow ... the Willows had FamCats for sure ...

  We – You -- would make much, much gilt, Black Cat Two tried more persuasion.

  A consideration, since he’d moved this business to Druida City less than a year ago and ... scraped by ... If the cat told the truth and Garrett played this right . . . He matched his brown-eyed gaze with the green-gold of the cat’s. He’d learned to stare them down.

  Ostentatiously lifting a paw and separating his pads to clean them more, Blac
k Cat Two looked away as if to concentrate on his task.

  “And you want a cut of this case.”

  I could negotiate for you.

  “No.”

  The cat huffed.

  “But you could introduce me to this FirstFamily FamCat.” Garrett curled his lip in disbelief.

  Black Cat Two hopped to his feet and glared. You doubt Me! It is Black Pierre of T’Hawthorn Residence!

  One of the most powerful Families of them all. Very wealthy, the defunct GreatLord had once held the most important position on Celta, Captain of AllCouncils.

  Garrett checked any incoming scries. Nothing, no new clients. He’d closed all his cases and been paid. He glanced at Black Cat Two. “Black Pierre, eh?”

  Yesss.

  Flipping and playing with the coin again, Garrett leaned back in his creaky chair and considered ... and recalled rumors that FirstFamily lords and ladies bought collars ... jeweled collars for their animal companions. Maybe other gems, too. Hadn’t he noticed a FamCat with ear studs?

  “Does this Black Pierre have gems ... jewels that he might pay for my services?”

  Maybe. But the feline in Garrett’s client chair looked aside.

  With a grunt, Garrett said, “Just how does some FamCat who lives in a FirstFamily intelligent house, a Residence, have any troubles at all?”

  Now Black Cat Two met Garrett’s eyes. The housekeeper accused Black Pierre of stealing!

  Yeah, that might diminish a Fam’s influence in the Family. Maybe lose him some prerogatives. Cats were all about status and prerogatives and a comfortable life.

  “Your injuries have anything to do with helping Black Pierre?” Garrett asked.

  Yesss! Black Cat Two showed gleaming fangs. It was the pigs.

  After that announcement, Black Cat Two shut up except to repeat that the T’Hawthorn FamCat would pay well and was expecting them. So Garrett slung the cat around his neck and headed out to the public carrier for the trip into the portion of Druida City called NobleCountry. The trip took less than a seventy-minute Celtan septhour.