Heart Secret

by Robin D. Owens

  “That is cause for celebration!” Artemisia grinned and squeezed her pillow. She was dressed in a tunic and top that was several years out of date, and held her scuffed bag. “Well done, TQ!”

  “Thank you.” If the House had been the actor whose voice he had, he would have bowed. “There is bubbly and juice and special breakfasts in my mainspace for you. Please leave and I will seal the rooms.”

  “Not sad to see the last of them.” Garrett picked up his duffle and opened the door to the hallway. He sucked in a deep breath, but it didn’t smell any different than the bedroom.

  Artemisia followed him and he heard her soft sigh. “It’s good you can redecorate, TQ.”

  As they got closer to the mainspace, Garrett’s nose twitched as he scented food. He hurried in.

  There were the camp chairs and a rickety table with a small bottle of bubbly and a carafe of orange juice. Eggs and porcine strips steamed gently beneath spellshields.

  “I’m ravenous,” he said, set down his bag instead of dropping it, and headed to the larger portion.

  The Healer’s bag thumped beside his and she joined him at the table, eyes gleaming. “Looks fabulous, TQ, thank you!”

  “A toast, if you please!” TQ said.

  Garrett poured juice into the goblets, leaving a small space for bubbly. Artemisia didn’t contradict his portions. He didn’t know about her, but he wasn’t about to spend a lovely summer morning, the first morning of the rest of his life, buzzed.

  “To life!” TQ’s voice throbbed with passion.

  Artemisia laughed and clinked her glass to Garrett’s raised one. “To life!” Her lips curved, her lashes lowered as she sipped. “Such a vintage, TQ!”

  “The best,” the House agreed. “May you live long and fulfilled lives.”

  “Thank you,” Artemisia said.

  The bubbly was smoother than any Garrett had ever tasted; effervescence seemed to slip straight into his blood. He didn’t care that TQ had added advice to him.

  They ate in companionable silence, Artemisia looking out the window as often as he. When they were done, TQ said, “I have instructions from the Healers. One set if you return to Primary HealingHall—”

  “No,” Garrett and Artemisia said in unison.

  “Very well,” TQ said. “Viz starting.”

  Light flashed on the long wall, then Lark Holly smiled at them. “Greetyou. Our preliminary data is favorable that this difficult experiment was successful. The top medical researcher has been analyzing GentleSir Primross’s blood and Flair and is hopeful we might duplicate several components.”

  “Wonderful!” Artemisia said.

  Lark continued, “We have studied the most recent data on your health from this morning and release you to return home. However”—Lark’s image raised a finger—“if you do so, we request that neither of you use any great Flair. Including no teleportation today or tomorrow until we meet at Primary HealingHall tomorrow at MidMorningBell. We want you to rest completely. Merry meet and merry part and merry meet again. Good job!” The viz faded.

  Artemisia huffed. “I suppose I’m not allowed to Heal.”

  “Correct,” TQ said. “I have forwarded such instructions to your home.”

  A shade in TQ’s tone caught Garrett’s attention. The House hadn’t said, “Family.” Where did Artemisia live? With whom? For one second of dread, his gut clenched as he thought she might be married.

  Stup! She wore no marriage arm bands.

  She could have a lover.

  She didn’t. No matter how tiny their thread, he’d known she’d had few lovers. He would have known if she presently had one. He was a trained observer and she didn’t act like a woman who had a lover. She seemed available physically and emotionally and had given unconscious signals to him as a man that she was interested in him—physically and emotionally.

  Though he might be physically available, he wasn’t emotionally. He ignored that he was lying to himself.

  He stood and put his softleaf on his clean plate. “We can make the next public carrier on the street outside if we hurry.”

  Artemisia smiled with a polite and empty curve of lips. He told himself he wasn’t disappointed. “Of course.” She went and picked up her bag.

  Garrett looked at his duffle. Something definitely moved inside. Careful to leave the tab strips open on one end, he lifted the bag. Rusby didn’t weigh enough for Garrett to feel.

  Artemisia strode past him to the front room and threw open the main door to the sunshine and the warmth of the day.

  They left the House and stood in the courtyard. Being outside for the first time in days, feeling good, was simply great.

  “Farewell to you!” TQ projected through the open door. “Visit anytime.”

  And Garrett saw the mural in TQ’s HouseHeart. His image was there, dressed in leathers, his face somber, and he stood near tall trees. Artemisia sat on a rock near the waterfall, dipping bare legs into the pool, wearing her silvery robe.

  The surprise of the visualization—from TQ to his mind?—had Garrett stumbling a step.

  Artemisia steadied him, hand wrapped around his upper arm. “Are you all right?”

  He pulled away, shaking his head, straining to remember more of the HouseHeart. “Yeah.” His vision was still muddy, focused inward on a dim room lit by a large fire.

  “I don’t know . . .” She sounded worried, so he let memory wisp away and blinked. Managed a half smile.

  Her brow was lined, her gaze concerned.

  “TQ attempted to speak to me mentally. It didn’t exactly work.”

  “Oh.” Her lips folded down. “Perhaps we should go to Primary HealingHall.”

  “No.”

  They stood in silence, studying each other. Her round chin set stubbornly. He didn’t change his pleasant, revealing-nothing expression and knew he’d win.

  The public carrier swished by on the street outside the courtyard. “Dammit, we missed the transport.”

  “TQ, when does the next public carrier come?” she asked.

  “In half a septhour,” TQ lilted. His tone tipped Garrett off. TQ had distracted them so they were stuck together for another few minutes. Though half a septhour with Artemisia wasn’t a lot if he planned on ignoring her for the rest of his life.

  She walked toward the gate.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the public carrier hub less than a kilometer north.”

  “I can call a glider.” Laev T’Hawthorn would do him that favor.

  “It’s a beautiful day and I’ve been cooped up.” She shrugged her bag over her shoulder. It didn’t appear heavy, as if it contained only the robe and her pillow and his two silver coins.

  “I’ll walk with you,” he found himself saying. Ever since he’d awakened, he’d been torn. His body wanted his HeartMate, but his emotions still hurt from the loss of Dinni; yet it had been over three years. Experiencing the horror again made him yearn to put it behind him. Keep it in the past and not let it affect the present.

  He wearied of hurting.

  Losing a HeartMate would be the worst.

  He wasn’t ready for anything like that.

  Artemisia pushed against the tall gates enclosing the courtyard. He caught up and put muscle into opening them; that felt good. They exited and he closed the gates. They turned north and stayed in step. His fingers brushed hers, and he liked the tingle and kept it up. She didn’t draw away.

  They hadn’t gone four blocks before his bag wiggled. Are we there yet?

  Fifteen

  Garrett snorted a laugh. “That you, Rusby?”

  A hesitation. Maybe.

  Garrett let the laugh roar from his gut into the early-summer afternoon. Let it loosen his muscles, his tense shoulders. For the fi
rst time in days, he felt like himself.

  Artemisia’s lighter laugh rang. It rounded and flushed her cheeks, added sparkle to her eyes . . . they went from deep emerald to a green like grass shadowed by trees in a sacred grove. Strands of hair escaped her braid. What appeared black or dark brown indoors was a blend of brown and a deep auburn. She was simply beautiful.

  Warmth suffused him, pleasure in being alive and healthy. And in the company of a lovely woman who laughed at the same things he did.

  He opened his duffle enough for the kitten to poke his spotted head out.

  I am leaving the Turquoise House! Rusby sounded thrilled. I am going home with MY FAMMAN! The little cat glanced up at Garrett with love in his eyes and Garrett missed a step. He’d never seen that expression for him from a cat. Had rarely seen it at all.

  Rusby was very young. Soon he’d don the arrogant cat manner. In the meantime Garrett would enjoy the kitten. He curled his fingers around Rusby’s middle, lifted him to stare into yellow eyes.

  “We’re heading to MidClass Lodge.” Garrett put the kitten on his shoulder and said a simple spell so the young one couldn’t fall.

  The foxes speak of that place, Rusby said.

  “There were a few foxes once, but now their families are larger, they like more space.”

  MidClass is close to the beach of the ocean. I have never seen a beach or an ocean.

  With his sandy brown coat and dark spots, Rusby could easily be lost on the beach. Garrett put on a mild expression. “The beach can be dangerous. You must promise not to go there by yourself.”

  I promise, Rusby said easily.

  Garrett figured that like all young things faced with irresistible temptation, Rusby would break his promise.

  “There are new collars with a recall teleportation spell,” Artemisia said.

  “Good idea.” His fingers stroked fur softer than most things he’d touched in his life. So soft. So young. So vulnerable and needing protection. “We should consult with Danith D’Ash, the animal Healer, and make sure you are top-of-the-pyramid fine,” he said.

  Cats do not get Iasc sickness, Rusby said.

  “No, you don’t,” Artemisia agreed.

  A gasp from the kitten. I will get to see the great D’Ash?

  “The sooner the better,” Garrett said. He provided Healing for his feral informants if they got wounded or sick and asked for it. Not all of them did. He was accustomed to sending creatures by translocation to Danith D’Ash and her son for Healing, along with a spell informing them of any data he might have.

  Rusby should spend time with more civilized, domesticated Fams. Garrett frowned. What might he lose if the kitten became domesticated? He wasn’t much domesticated, either. But he’d feel better if D’Ash checked Rusby out. Closing his hand around his Fam, Garrett released the attachment spell. “I’m sending you to D’Ash’s right now.” He tried a guileless expression.

  Artemisia arched her brows. “Using Flair?”

  “Minor Flair. Rusby, I don’t know your dam’s or sire’s name or lineage. D’Ash likes to note that.”

  I am the first Cat in My Family to be a Fam, Rusby said proudly.

  “D’Ash will be interested.”

  Rusby grinned, showing pointy baby teeth. I will tell her all about My life.

  Artemisia chuckled. “All five weeks of it.”

  “Yesss,” Rusby articulated. I will tell her of My dam.

  “She’ll be fascinated.” Artemisia laughed again. Garrett liked listening to that.

  “Of course.” Garrett stroked Rusby’s tiny head, scratched under his chin, and felt his purr. Nice.

  Cupping Rusby in both hands, Garrett muttered the data spell and attached it to Rusby’s ear, which flicked. “Translocating Rusby to D’Ash’s number four intake room in three seconds.” His voice would be heard in D’Ash’s office, and that teleportation pad was free. “One, Rusby cat. Two, Garrett’s Fam. Three!”

  Rusby’s squeal cut off midsound as he vanished.

  A few seconds later, a blue tag plinked onto the ground and Garrett picked it up.

  “What’s that?” asked Artemisia.

  He flicked it into the air, caught it, made it disappear. “Receipt tag from Gwydion Ash.”

  “Oh.” She stared at him with admiration. The warmth of being with her heated to lust. His cock hardened. Though he was glad to know it worked well, he wouldn’t follow up on the attraction to his HeartMate. No. Absolutely not.

  He tucked the tag in his pocket.

  “You’re a caring man,” she said.

  “Not so much.”

  Disappointment crossed her features before she masked them. She shrugged. He walked on; a breeze fluttered the leaves and cooled him.

  They strolled together, Artemisia wasn’t sure why. Outside was significantly warmer than TQ. She wanted to hold hands with Garrett, had enjoyed the touching of their fingers before as they’d walked. And she was having more feelings than she should for a patient . . . but he hadn’t been patientlike from the first time she’d met him.

  They’d struggled through a nightmare together, was all. When he’d thanked her, she’d thought he might be mellowing toward her. Now she was disappointed he’d reverted back to ignoring her. Her lips tightened against words—she didn’t feel pleasant and didn’t want to sound whiny. But she got conflicting signals from him. She didn’t need an escort in this part of town, was perfectly safe. Why didn’t he just leave?

  Yet she was Healer enough to observe body language and she hadn’t missed his physical attraction to her.

  A puzzle. Unlike him, she didn’t need to figure out puzzles. They were rocks in a path she wanted smooth.

  So she was torn. She liked him beside her, the scent of his skin warmed in the sun. But if he wasn’t going to act on the attraction, if he was more tied to his dead lady than living in the present, Artemisia was asking for trouble if she stayed with him.

  Then his fingers feathered hers again as they walked and all her thoughts faded as she let the pleasure of his touch rule. And she sensed that he, too, both fought and wanted their connection.

  “What’s that?” Garrett said sharply.

  She followed his gaze—across the green grass of Apollopa Park to the flat reflecting pool and a splashing center fountain of highly polished glisten metal cubes. She pulled her gaze back to a bundle of clothes.

  Nasty odors whiffed to her. The bundle became a fallen person, lying on his side. She raced to him, refusing to admit she smelled death. Garrett pulled at her sleeve, her arm, but she flung his grasp away.

  Kneeling, she reached out to touch the crumpled man, then stopped. More than her nose told her he was dead. His eyes stared, a pale brown in a soft-sag middle-aged face. Flies crawled on the long, deep slice in his wrist over a vein where he’d lost blood.

  “Don’t touch him!” Garrett ordered.

  “I haven’t.” She had to swallow. Tears hovered behind her eyes.

  Garrett sucked in a deep breath. “There’s an odd smell.”

  She recognized the odor of the drug pylor, simply froze.

  Memory rose and smacked her. Angry yelling voices in the night. The windows of her home breaking with exploding smoke bombs releasing pylor clouds. She’d breathed them in and coughed, coughed, coughed. Her Family rushing together, teleporting away from the mob attacking their home, wrecking it.

  Her own nightmares threatened. She couldn’t speak. Her hands fisted and she shoved them in her opposite sleeves. She focused on the dead man. He had a laceration on his head.

  “Looks like someone hit him from behind,” Garrett said. “Then fliggering carved him up.” He gestured to the dark-stained earth and clothing.

  Artemisia flinched. The man’s veins had been opened and he’d bled out.

 
“Not a natural death.” Garrett was grim. “You’re a Healer, what are your conclusions?”

  The breeze picked up and pylor hit her nose. She couldn’t speak, held still and forced down bile.

  “You know that smell?”

  All of her shook inside, so it was easy to shake her head.

  Garrett was scanning the park and she looked around, too, so she wouldn’t concentrate on the pylor or the body. The fountain cubes reflected in the pool and soft falling water sounded. There was a small, columned round Temple on the far side of the park with no door, showing sunlight inside from a broken roof.

  As broken as the body at her feet.

  “The killer wanted this body found. He didn’t hide him in the Temple,” Garrett said. “I’d better call the guards.” His gaze came back to her. “Murder.”

  She managed one word only. “Yes.” Reverberations of the past, that cataclysmic change in her life, pounded in her skull. Those deadly threats to her mother. Artemisia’s breath came fast. Could this threaten her mother, too? Breathe! Get control and act normally.

  He’d taken out his perscry, a small glass pebble with a scryspell, and activated it, was talking to a guardsman. “I’ll wait here by the body.”

  Discreetly, she drew in a breath, readied herself so her movements would be smooth. She shifted her balance and rose to her feet. Keeping her face set in the shocked and pitying expression she’d had when she’d first looked at the man wasn’t too hard.

  Garrett’s gaze cut to her. “Do you know him?”

  “No.”

  He nodded and went back to speaking with the guard, listing all the man’s particulars—his height and weight, the plump body shape, his callused hands . . . detailing his shabby clothes. “We’ll wait here.”

  She shrank inside. She didn’t want to stay here but had no choice. Arms crossed in front of her, she cupped her hands around her opposite elbows. She wanted to wrap her arms around herself and rock, and cry out for her mother. But she was an adult now, and the Family would rally around to protect her mother.

  No. She’d let her imagination run away. Her Family had lost everything because her mother was cross-folk and incense with the drug pylor had been found in their home. Pylor that had been used in the Black Magic Cult deaths. The misconceptions about cross-folk religion and pylor had been enough to destroy them.