Heart Secret

by Robin D. Owens

  With a little quiver, Opul’s fingers clamping on his hand, the boy said, “Hard, to be sick and in a race and try to win, not stumble or fall, make mistakes.”

  Hard to be driving a strange vehicle and know he had to get to the clinic. But he’d had a goal; everyone else had been giving in to their misery, even Old Grisc.

  Garrett’s teeth clenched on the tube of water, pierced through it, and liquid spurted everywhere. Cold and shocking.

  With a ladylike snort, Lark Holly rhymed a spell couplet and the water evaporated, even from his clothes. An odd feeling he’d brought on himself. She took the split tube away to the disintegrator and gave him another.

  “You think that would really work? Thinking I’m running a race?” Opul asked.

  “Having a tough goal worked for me.”

  Eyes wide and with trust, the boy nodded. “I’ll think of that.”

  “A good idea,” Lark Holly said softly. “Now let’s get some of GentleSir Primross’s strong blood and Flair into you.”

  Another nod from the child.

  “I’ll come to your next race,” Garrett said.

  “I live in Toono Town,” Opul said. “Sometimes adult work makes it difficult to attend races.”

  Garrett didn’t like the excuse. “You’re a priority for me.” He didn’t have any hot cases, could use more work. If something heated up, he’d still make the time. It was rare he had emergencies, life-and-death situations.

  “You’re a priority for all of us,” Lark Holly said.

  “Even pretty Artemisia?” Opul asked. “She’s not here.”

  “Not her choice,” Garrett said. “She was assigned away.”

  “She’ll come say good-bye,” Lark Holly said.

  The boy pouted, then his fingers were twisting, growing hotter. “I don’t feel good. How long will I be sick?”

  He didn’t seem to be thinking he’d die, at least. Not that that had helped many. No one Garrett had known with the sickness had thought they would die.

  “Perhaps a week,” Lark Holly said.

  “Let’s get this done,” Garrett said.

  Lark Holly said, “I doubt he’ll have more lucid moments. I helped clear his mind for the transfusion and now will put him into a trance. Can you self-trance and stay grounded?”

  “Of course.”

  Holly counted down and Garrett sank into a meditative state. He was aware of hands on him. A Flaired suction tube was placed against an artery in his arm. Hurt flashed; his blood flowed. This wasn’t the first time he’d had his blood and Flair sent into someone with the sickness.

  He hoped it would be the last.

  Opul’s pain and heat and shudders reached him and he could only endure. And know they were a precursor of worse, but he didn’t want to think of that.

  * * *

  When he came to, he wasn’t in the same room but lying on a hard table in a sterile place, naked. “What the hell?”

  “Preparation for your ordeal to come,” a ThirdLevel Healer said, cheerful enough to irritate. “Decontamination and all physical, emotional, and Flair measured.”

  “I don’t recall agreeing to this.”

  “Part of the procedure.”

  “Hell. How’s Opul?”

  The Healer’s round face folded into serious lines. “The sickness has him. He’s thrashing around a lot more than he was. That’s your fault, I heard.”

  He sat up. “You’re done.”

  Her lips pursed. “Just.”

  Ura Heather and Lark Holly walked in.

  “Where’re my clothes?” he asked. They were his favorite set of leathers.

  “They’ll be fine,” Lark assured him.

  “Being decontaminated, too?” Couldn’t be good for them, especially the padded tunic or boots. Dammit.

  “That’s right,” Heather said. “You’re in excellent shape.”

  “Good to know. Gimme my clothes.”

  “Incoming scry from the Turquoise House on the wall screen.”

  The Healers turned to it. “My clothes?” Garrett prompted. With a dark look, the ThirdLevel Healer went to a wall handle and pulled. Garrett’s breechcloth, leathers, liners, and boots were there along with his pocketed belt. They didn’t look any worse, but how would they feel?

  “I need today and tomorrow to set up,” the Turquoise House announced arrogantly. “I received the specifications for the beds and bedsponges and linens and cabinets and medical equipment. I am upgrading them to luxury and ordering them from Clover Fine Furniture. I will send the bill to Primary HealingHall.”

  “You won’t!” Heather exploded.

  “This is your project. Pay for it or cancel,” the House said.

  The House was doing well, especially for an entity that had no backup Family.

  “The All Councils will fund the project,” Lark soothed.

  Heather’s expression set in furrows. It would take some of the shine off the project if it was funded by all the councils. Take some of her glory if she found how to beat the sickness through his blood.

  “Primary HealingHall can handle the expenses,” she said stiffly.

  Lark Holly lifted a brow in his direction. “Including compensating GentleSir Primross for his time.”

  Garrett heard the grind of Heather’s teeth. Without sparing him a glance, she said, “All right.”

  He’d dressed fast. “My thanks. Much to do, arrange. Gotta go.”

  “GentleSir Primross,” the Turquoise House’s tones were warmer. “Please come over tomorrow morning.”

  Garrett nodded. “Will do. Later.”

  He left and strode down the carpeted hall—spell cleansed every half septhour with fragrant herbs. Primary HealingHall could handle a load of expenses.

  He turned the corner and saw his HeartMate leaning against the wall outside Opul Cranberry’s room.

  His body surged toward her, yearning. He feared for the boy and his gut twisted. “Is the kid okay?”

  Five

  Artemisia looked at him with anger and his chest hurt. “Little Opul has Iasc sickness. Of course he isn’t all right.” A second’s pause. “The transfusion went well. Though he’s more active than most patients, it appears your blood is mitigating his ordeal. We are hopeful.”

  “Hope is a terrible thing,” Garrett said.

  Her emerald eyes gleamed with understanding. “Yes.”

  He had to leave before more stuff fell out of his mouth. “TQ asked that I come by tomorrow morning.”

  “Me, too,” she said with a smile—at the thought of the House and not Garrett. Damn, he was obsessing.

  “See you later, then.”

  In the next day, he’d be using a lot of Flair teleporting and keeping his twitchy nerves in order, so he took the public carrier to his office. On the way he decided to have client scrys forwarded to the man he trusted most—FirstFamily GreatLord Laev T’Hawthorn.

  The minute he stepped off the vehicle, the band of feral cats flowed toward him. Black-and-White tom said, We have heard you will stay at Turquoise House. You will feed Us there?

  Garrett grunted. “I’ll make sure you have food.”

  Good.

  He and the cat scanned the street and alleys, much busier than that morning, which felt like years ago to Garrett.

  A change of place is fun sometimes and the yard of Turquoise House is nice. We will spread the word.

  “How did you hear?” Garrett asked.

  The House told Us.

  Garrett reached the few steps up to the building and glanced back. The cats sat at the bottom, all in a row, all looking up at him, tails curled around their paws.

  He knew what they wanted. “I’ll check your food trough.”

  It is too low
; dogs and others ate.

  “Since this isn’t a regular feeding time, I’m checking my office, first.”

  More than one cat sniffed in disapproval. He ignored that.

  Inside his office, the wall scry panel showed ripples of Hawthorn purple. No doubt Laev T’Hawthorn had already heard of the experiment. Garrett grimaced. He’d have to talk, and explain or something. At least the Noble lord hadn’t called his personal scry pebble.

  No other messages flashed so no clients had called.

  Garrett took a bucket of dry kibble from storage and proceeded to the back door. More than seven animals were in the courtyard. Garrett sensed a raccoon in the bushes, which meant he must set a spell to clean the water after it left. Raccoons weren’t as communicative as cats and were scarcer. Garrett was cultivating the raccoons. He didn’t know of any FamRaccoons. He might get goodwill from Nobles and others if he introduced another Fam animal.

  He looked at the beady eyes a few meters distant and sent, Greetyou.

  The raccoon ran away in a hunched lope.

  The cats yowled for food.

  Garrett dumped the kibble along a trough and hearty slurps began. The cats wouldn’t finish it all and the raccoon would return.

  Back in his office, after he’d squared away for his absence, he called Laev T’Hawthorn.

  The man answered immediately, with a gleam of curiosity in his eyes. “Merrily met,” Laev said.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Garrett said.

  Laev laughed, then sobered. No matter that he loved and cherished his HeartMate, his first wife had died of the Iasc sickness. The illness had also affected Laev’s FatherSire’s health and weakened him to die later. “I heard about a new case of Iasc and that you went to Primary HealingHall.”

  “Yes,” Garrett said.

  “And FirstLevel Healer Ura Heather has a project to clear her name of the smudge the epidemic left on it?”

  “Also true. I gave Opul Cranberry, age six, a transfusion.”

  “You got good blood.”

  Garrett lifted and dropped a shoulder, sucked a breath to the bottom of his gut. “I agreed to an experiment to reintroduce the disease into me. FirstLevel Healers Ura Heather and Lark Holly will supervise the case and I’ll be under constant observation by a SecondLevel Healer.”

  “What!”

  “You heard me.” The ramifications would run through that smart head fast.

  “Then NewBalm isn’t working as well as we all had hoped.”

  Hawthorn had a financial interest in the herb so his mind naturally went to that aspect first. Garrett flicked his hand. “Still early days for that medicine, young harvests. The Healers anticipate that I’ll be unavailable for an eightday. I thought I’d forward any calls to you to hold.”

  “I don’t like this idea.”

  “I don’t much, either.”

  Laev tapped fingertips together. “If the Healers believe it will work . . .” A line dug across his brows. “Much to consider.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I value you.”

  The warmth of friendship welled through Garrett, easing his mind. He could trust Laev. “Thanks.”

  The man’s face set into brooding Garrett didn’t like to see. Laev asked, “Someone will care for you?”

  “The SecondLevel Healer,” Garrett said.

  Laev frowned. “Who?”

  Garrett realized he couldn’t avoid it any longer. He’d have to say her name.

  Eyes narrowed and keen, Laev asked, “Who is the Healer who will be on-site?”

  Yeah, Laev had deduced Garrett wasn’t telling him something about the woman. Usually the Noble wouldn’t press, but there was payback. Garrett had pried a few secrets from Laev, so the guy wouldn’t quit.

  And, hell, he was a friend. Breath trapped inside Garrett’s chest so that it ached, then he said, “SecondLevel Healer Artemisia Panax.”

  “I don’t know her or of her,” Laev said. Then his eyes widened, mouth opened, shut, and he cleared his throat. “I amend that. I know the lady.”

  Garrett stared, understanding that they both kept secrets that neither would reveal.

  “You can trust her,” Laev said.

  “I know,” Garrett said. The Lady and Lord wouldn’t give him a HeartMate he couldn’t trust. He didn’t know all the ins and outs of HeartMates and didn’t want to discover them, but he already knew enough of the SecondLevel Healer to respect her.

  Her superiors trusted her and now he had an independent opinion from his good friend.

  Laev’s gaze angled past Garrett, a habit of the Nobleman’s when he was thinking. “We have to beat this sickness. Ura Heather and my aunt are the main Healers on the case?”

  Lord and Lady, Garrett had completely forgotten Laev was related to the Healers. That was the problem with the FirstFamilies. Each and every one of them had ties to others—by blood, alliances, or enmities.

  “Lark Holly is your late father’s sister,” Garrett said.

  “That’s right.” Laev’s look was direct. “I love and trust her very much. You want me to call my G’Uncle T’Heather about this matter?”

  “That would make everything worse.”

  “Very well.” Laev inclined his head. “Know I will attend closely to this situation.”

  “It’s a Healer deal.”

  Laev shrugged. “I have a business interest in the herb that mitigates the disease.”

  “I know.”

  “So the Healers will keep me informed. As for your business, I’ll take care of anything that is forwarded to me,” Laev said with relish.

  “No investigating. Only rescheduling.”

  “Of course,” Laev said blandly.

  “Thanks, Laev.” Garrett touched two fingers to his forehead in a short salute. “I’m leaving for home.” His smile was more grimace. “The experiment takes place at the Turquoise House, day after tomorrow.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  Yeah, Garrett would like his friend near, a man in the whole mix that he could trust. But Garrett wasn’t going to say so. “Thanks for the offer. No. Just keep track of the whole deal.”

  “I’ll do that. Go with the Lady and Lord. Blessed be.”

  “Blessed be.”

  * * *

  After the lovely Family ritual in a sacred grove of the sanctuary, Artemisia excused herself for bed. She didn’t sleep.

  Throughout the deeply touching ceremony, as she experienced the cycling energy of her parents and her sister, Artemisia realized a few things. One of the reasons she hadn’t left this House for a home of her own was because of this loving acceptance. They’d all faced the hideous scandal of being accused of conspiring with the Black Magic Cult murderers. They were innocent but tried in public opinion and found guilty. They’d gone through that time together; not many others would understand.

  And her mother and father were HeartMates. She liked being around them, included in the circle of love with her sister. Both her sister and she had HeartMates and neither of them had looked for their loves.

  Men tended to do that if they were older than their HeartMates and experienced the connection with a HeartMate first in the dreamquests that freed Flair—Passages. Artemisia and Tiana knew their fated mates were men, and were older than they.

  The few times that she and Tiana had spoken of the matter, they’d come to the conclusion their HeartMates weren’t interested in them, perhaps because of the scandal. Who needed men like that?

  Tiana had focused on her goal to be the premier priestess of the Lady and Lord in all of Celta and used the Mugwort name. But her teachers and colleagues were supposed to be compassionate and forgiving.

  Artemisia’s peers were only supposed to be compassionate. Forgiving was a different matter.<
br />
  So Artemisia went by the surname of Panax, a branch of her mother’s Family of Healers who had distanced themselves from the Mugworts when the whole nasty mess had happened. She worked with an aunt, uncle, and cousin who completely ignored her.

  She wondered if that would change if she became notable due to the experiment. If it helped her Family, that was good. Like most Families, they lived together in a large House. Unlike most Families who were not of the highest nobility, the Mugworts lived in a Residence, an intelligent House. The Residence loved her, too.

  And her home was utterly unique. It was the first Healing Grove founded by the colonists and became the estate of the caretakers, the BalmHeals, who had all died out. Celta was still tough on its Earth transplants, as the Iasc sickness proved. Illness and sterility took a toll on the population—human and animal and plant. But Celtans had the length of their life and the increase of magic, psi powers, Flair, augmented. Not a fair trade as far as Artemisia was concerned. Like everyone else, she wanted it all—long life free of sickness and phenomenal Flair.

  FirstGrove, BalmHeal estate, was a triangle in the northeast corner of Druida City, so two of the estate’s walls were also the city walls. The concave triangular wall facing the city looked out onto only empty warehouses. The place was hidden from everyone except the desperate, the whispered secret sanctuary of Druida.

  Like the rest of her Family, Artemisia was bound to the estate by blood and love. If she cut those bonds, she could never remember the location or return—unless she, herself, was desperate. She was bespelled to not tell anyone of the place.

  Her Family had been stripped of their nobility and fortune and were running from Druida City when they’d been approached to be caretakers for the Residence. The best blessing of their lives.

  No one knew what would happen when Artemisia and Tiana wed, if their men would be welcome at BalmHeal. If it was up to the Residence, he might be contrary and throw them all out, or grudgingly accept the new men.

  Artemisia wanted a husband, but she wanted to stay in the sanctuary, too. She loved the old, crotchety Residence, her parents, the grounds that were a mixture of Earth and Celtan plants and hybrids. The sacred groves and the Healing pools were the best on Celta. No, she didn’t want to leave. But she wanted a busier career outside the sanctuary.