She wanted a career, a mate—not necessarily a HeartMate—and to live in her home.
She couldn’t see Garrett Primross accepting those modest goals. Like Tiana, ambition burned in him.
His image slid into her mind with the thought. Tall, muscular, powerful, with excellent Flair. Sexy. And he loved solving riddles, but he wouldn’t be contemplating her secrets when he was infected with Iasc and wrapped in fever and nightmares.
She hoped it wouldn’t be nightmares, but with his history, she suspected they’d torment him. Not that she should look at him with lust, enjoy the slow sensuality that ebbed through her in his presence. He was her patient, forbidden.
And she wasn’t even sure she liked him.
* * *
Artemisia Mugwort Panax. Her name jerked Garrett from a doze near dawn. He’d curled up on his bedsponge as if he were a kid, so he stretched long and hard, thinking.
He’d heard the name of Artemisia Mugwort during his investigation for Laev T’Hawthorn . . . and Artemisia’s younger sister was the best friend of Camellia D’Hawthorn, Laev’s HeartMate. A small mystery solved. There was something else, but his mind had alerted him to the new day. The last day before he was infected with the horrible sickness. His stomach tensed.
Better make the most of it. He’d hired someone to spellshield his office and was due to meet him in a septhour. He’d send that bill to Primary HealingHall. He wasn’t sure who provided the HealingHall’s budget; it wasn’t funded totally by the councils of Celta. He thought Nobles who wanted to use the facilities paid an annual tithe and the Heather Family plowed gilt into it. Didn’t matter much as long as he got reimbursed, but his curiosity encompassed everything.
He was glad that the Turquoise House had decided on luxurious linens and furnishings. Not that Garrett would appreciate them when he was thrashing around with the sickness.
He had other tasks: clearing space in his no-time food storage so he could add his fresh food, dragging out his oldest clothes to wear, finding a damn nightshirt. He didn’t want to examine why he wasn’t comfortable being nude with the SecondLevel Healer. Dozens of small errands he had to take care of, including updating his will.
Splat! Something soft and squishy hit his window. He glanced at the long smear of blood and winced. Dead mouse head. The feral cats were hungry.
Now he had to clean the window.
* * *
Artemisia arrived at the Turquoise House an hour before WorkBell, was greeted enthusiastically and informed she was the first to arrive. Which had her relaxing; that was irritating because she’d told herself she was perfectly calm.
“Come in!” TQ said. “I have camp chairs and a table in the mainspace by the window. My people like that window best. I also have an old drink no-time ready to be deconstructed.”
He sounded insistent, so she let her steps take her to the small seating area and the window out onto the gardens. She halted when she saw several cats chasing each other in the back grassyard. An orange mother cat followed by a small kitten avoided the others and paraded, tails up, to a cobbled space. Moving so she could see the pair, Artemisia noticed an area complete with several bowls of food and a small fountain.
TQ said, “My friend and your Residence, BalmHeal, says you prefer warm half caff and half milk?” As it spoke, the no-time drink unit extruded a shelf with a steaming china mug. Artemisia took it, though she’d already had three cups that morning. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“I have received all furniture and equipment on our list. A holo wall mural artist came yesterday afternoon. We practiced and I can sterilize the entire room and not affect the art!”
“Wonderful. I like murals for my patients.”
“I have heard Opul Cranberry progresses well through the sickness. It appears the duration will be significantly shorter than anticipated.”
She’d already checked and was relieved. “Yes.”
“Because of GentleSir Primross’s potent Flair-imbued blood,” TQ pointed out.
“Yes.”
“He is a tough man and an interesting individual,” TQ continued with admiration.
Easier to agree. “Yes.”
“Here as requested, TQ,” Garrett called.
Six
Artemisia tensed again at Garrett’s voice, then forced her muscles to ease.
TQ broadcasted, “We are in the mainspace. Some of our cat friends have arrived to stay with us.”
Artemisia said, “I don’t have cat friends.” Then she realized TQ spoke of himself and Garrett. The guy had cat friends. Yes, he was interesting. And when he walked into the room, his impact made her catch her breath. He had a very intense aura and too much of an effect on her. She’d hoped she’d been imagining that.
He wore standard trous and tunic of cotton in a deep brown that accented the light amber color of his eyes. The clothes didn’t show his musculature, but Artemisia knew he had a good body.
TQ said, “Hot, strong black caff, GentleSir Primross, your preference. Please take the mug to the GentleSir, Artemisia.”
“Call me Garrett, TQ.” A corner of his mouth lifted.
Artemisia picked up the new mug with liquid hotter and darker than her own. His mug was thick, manly pottery of dark green. He looked at her pretty floral mug with light-colored caff, then his own. His lips quirked deeper but flattened into a line when their fingers brushed. “Thanks.”
Did he feel the same sizzle of affinity that she did? She thought so, and he didn’t welcome it. She didn’t, either, though if he’d been at least nice the previous day, she might have. She’d noticed his slights but ignored them.
He was her patient, forbidden to act on any attraction, though a less vulnerable man she’d never seen. But that was now. Tomorrow he’d be at the mercy of the sickness . . . and her. She swallowed. She didn’t want to watch him suffer.
“Artemisia, about that matter we discussed yesterday?” The House addressed the Healer in rich tones while Garrett sipped the best caff he’d had in days. He watched her over the rim of his cup; obviously she and the House had bonded more after he’d left. He shouldn’t have been irritated that the House might prefer her, but was. Competitive and stupid.
“Yes?” she asked. She was aware of him; even though she turned and walked to the window, her body angled toward him.
“I have decided to offer Garrett an invitation. No doubt he has kept many secrets.”
“Oh,” she said, her glance sliding to him. He remained impassive, but curiosity began to itch along his skin.
“Yeah, no doubt I have secrets and keep them.” Garrett was antsy enough to pull out a coin and run it between his fingers. Showy to others and fun for him, the action did double duty.
The Healer stared at Garrett with wide emerald eyes, studying him, measuring him for the first time. His body reacted to her scrutiny, his chest expanded, his abs tightened. His feet shifted to widen his balance a little—women could deliver the most awful blows. And his cock grew heavy. He didn’t want that and was damn well going to keep her focus on his face. So he smiled.
Her eyes widened and her mouth curved, but she compressed her lips. As if she didn’t believe that smile of his. Smart woman.
“Do you keep secrets?” she asked.
“Love secrets. I keep them if I think that’s the right thing to do. And for the right person.” He let his voice chill.
Her chin lifted. “Fine. TQ, you deal with this guy. I want to check on the furnishings.”
“I will explain to Garrett.” TQ’s voice was smooth on top, with a warning underneath. The House had learned to use its actor’s voice well. “Artemisia, the furnishings are fine, exactly as ordered, and Clover Fine Furniture delivered on schedule.”
“Maybe I want my own pillow,” the Healer said.
“It would have
to go through decontamination often, I’d think,” Garrett said. He continued to roll the coin. Occasionally it would flash and her gaze would go to it.
“My pillow won’t be harmed, I don’t think. It’s a feather pillow.” Artemisia walked from the room.
There was a slight hiss from TQ. “You have irritated your HeartMate.”
Yes, that he knew Artemisia was his HeartMate was one of Garrett’s secrets. He flinched. “How do you know?”
“Everything my inhabitants have whispered of, I know,” TQ said.
Which made Garrett want a list of those who’d lived in TQ. Must be a record somewhere and he’d find it, later. But now he was stuck for a week with the Healer.
“I keep secrets, too,” the House said. “And I know you’re a discreet man.”
“Don’t suppose you’d give me a list of the people who’ve stayed with you?”
“No. And I have my own secrets, naturally.” The House made a sound like clearing a throat—which he didn’t have, and which the actor who’d given him the voice wouldn’t have done at this moment. It showed weakness. TQ was definitely his own entity, and not a human male. “My HouseHeart chamber needs maintenance. I asked Artemisia to help. I want this done before the Healers’ project.”
“Which is why you aren’t ready today.” Garrett slipped the coin into his pocket. His lust had subsided. Good. He could still smell the woman in the room, though.
TQ said, “Correct. I had considered requesting your help, too.”
Fascination blazed through Garrett. He nearly trembled with it. He’d never been in a HouseHeart, the most important place of a sentient House. The HouseHeart reflected the Family. But the Turquoise House had no Family, so Garrett himself might be able to infuse a bit of himself into the long-lived being. That would be a satisfying goal in itself, a tiny legacy of himself in stretching infinity.
After his loss of Dinni, he’d discovered that he’d needed to make a mark on the world. Something more than just surviving the disease. This could be a true contribution.
“You are reconsidering your offer?” His throat was hot with desire to learn, to see, to discover.
“You do not treat Artemisia well, though she is your HeartMate. Humans are very odd.”
“HeartMate and HeartBonding is odd.”
“I have seen HeartBonded people.”
Garrett wondered if the House had actually had a HeartMate couple exchange the bond sexually within its walls. How much could the House sense? Garrett’s mind veered to an image of a naked Artemisia screaming her passion. Shut that down!
“Why do you treat Artemisia as you do?”
“My business.”
“How am I to help my people, help you during this time, if I don’t understand you? How am I to learn?”
The plea socked Garrett’s gut.
Dammit, now he couldn’t speak because his throat had tightened. He coughed. “We’re private here?”
“Artemisia is making arrangements to get her pillow.” There was a slight pause as if TQ’s attention focused elsewhere. The House wasn’t omnipresent, then. “I do not think that her pillow will survive the decontamination processes. When the pillow arrives I will measure it in all ways. If the object does not last, I will replace it with an exact copy.”
“Things aren’t always interchangeable. The pillow you provide, no matter how it seems like a match, won’t be her pillow.”
The air around him pressed against him, TQ’s attention sharp. “Did you lose someone dear and irreplaceable? A woman?”
Garrett didn’t answer.
Silence throbbed. Garrett shook off the rough mood and went over to the window that looked out on the rear grassyard. Beautifully landscaped, of course. One or more of TQ’s residents had been a gardener. Smooth green turf, colorful flowers shifting in the slight breeze before bushes staggered in front of small trees, then tall trees, keeping the yard private. All of the feral cats he knew, and others he didn’t, snoozed in the sun.
The yard looked too manicured, as were the formal gardens and fountain of the inner courtyard of MidClass Lodge where he lived. He preferred a natural tangle of plant life like he’d found on his travels outside cities.
“The records of the Gael City HealingHall state a young woman with a baby asked you to accompany the driver of the quarantine vehicle to the isolation clinic in the mountains.”
He jerked, remembering. Dinni had begged. Her husband had been one of the men to find the infected fish and had died. Her baby had been sick. She’d looked fine except for sorrow and worry.
Garrett’s throat closed. He couldn’t answer, pretend this didn’t matter.
“Her records at that HealingHall state that she had told the Healers she would scry a friend—an old lover—who she was sure would help with the driving, and that you grew up together.”
There wasn’t even a sturdy chair he could sit on, only two little rickety ones. He hitched a hip on the wide windowsill. His chest hurt.
“I have lost people, too,” TQ said softly. “One or two died here despite all I did to save them. You lost the woman, Dinni Spurge Flixweed.”
“Yes,” Garrett forced out. “I lost my first love, my first girl.”
Footsteps echoed in the quiet and the Healer paused at the door, expression irritated. Then her head tilted as she picked up the atmosphere. The woman seemed more sensitive empathically than most.
Why would it take so long to get a pillow? A messenger service could ’port anywhere in moments if she gave them visual clues. Another thing for Garrett to figure out later.
She crossed her arms. “Have we considered the situation?”
Garrett’s past swept away with the lure of seeing a forbidden place, a HouseHeart.
“I will allow GentleSir Garrett Primross into my HouseHeart with the usual proviso that a spell will be applied to his memory so it will fade, and if he gives us his Vow of Honor that he will record no details.”
Not so easy an access as Garrett had expected. Disappointment shadowed his thoughts, but he would know that he’d been in a HouseHeart, had made a contribution that would live after him. He’d know it in his very bones, and that would be good. “I agree.”
“This experiment will be stressful for all of us, but especially you two humans. I believe time in my HouseHeart will be good for you before we begin this process.”
Artemisia’s arms uncrossed and her shoulders lowered, a genuine smile lightened her eyes. “It’s wonderful you will allow me in your HouseHeart. Thank you.”
“You are welcome here, Artemisia. You will always be welcome,” TQ responded. The House didn’t add permission for Garrett. He shrugged the caring away.
A chuff of air came, followed by TQ’s words. “There is a secret passageway from my southwest corner. At the end of that hallway, there is a trapdoor in the floor, under the carpet. I will tell you the secret poem. I am very good at telepathic communication, but my people must be better attuned to me than you currently are.”
After all the information, the woman let out a long breath.
Garrett said, “Right.” When they reached the first hallway, she turned the wrong direction.
Gritting his teeth, knowing it was a mistake, he took her elbow in his fingers. Pure desire flashed through him. Maybe the more he resisted temptation, the more his lust would mount, would rage within him. Too bad; he wasn’t going to change. She wasn’t the woman he wanted.
But three years had passed since Dinni’s death and his grief and loss were waning, like bright moons coming from shadows that had been cast upon them.
Artemisia stopped and looked up at him.
“Wrong way.”
“Oh.” Her smile was quick and meaningless. She turned and Garrett had to force his hand to drop. Her elbow wasn’t even that sexy.
She hesitated at the cross corridor.
“Left,” he said.
“Thank you.”
There was a good-sized window at the end of the hall. No one would expect a hidden entrance to the HouseHeart to be there.
“The moles of Celta and Captain Ruis Elder of the starship Nuada’s Sword helped me excavate a proper concealed passage and secret HouseHeart,” TQ said. “Then Mitchella D’Blackthorn and I decorated it ourselves.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Artemisia said.
“It is!” TQ said.
The Healer caught sight of the change in the plush and patterned carpet before Garrett. He searched with his Flair and he found that the hole was narrow. “You have a problem with claustrophobia?” he asked.
“No, nor darkness or dankness.”
“I am not dark or dank!” TQ objected.
“No. You aren’t,” she agreed absently, passing her hands over the area covered by the rug.
Garrett was struck with the idea that she knew about HouseHearts, this woman who was not one of the twenty-five FirstFamilies who had most of the intelligent Residences. From sheer curiosity, he’d made a list of sentient buildings and there weren’t more than a dozen that didn’t belong to the FirstFamilies, descendants of the colonists who had funded the trip to Celta. What did she know? And how?
Taking a moment to clear the desire from his senses, shutting down even the thin thread that pulsed with molecules between them, he used his Flair and caught tendrils of mystery wisping around her like fog.
“What’s the spell and the password?” she whispered.
Following logic, he understood that TQ knew more about the woman than he did, and so must the Healers. He was being left out. Nearly intolerable.
On an inner breeze, TQ recited:
Home is where the Heart is
My HouseHeart is Home,
Heart Secret Page 6