Heart Secret

by Robin D. Owens

Garrett hadn’t followed her. Her smile was small and tight as she considered that she’d given as good as she got. She shouldn’t be glad of that, of inflicting pain, but she wasn’t a priestess or a saint or a doormat.

  He was gone from the grove and the building when she returned. Organizing her caseload soothed her even more, and visiting her new patients took her mind off anything else.

  Soon it was time to meet her sister for the midday meal at Darjeeling’s HouseHeart. Artemisia took the public carrier. She arrived first and was glad, since she wanted to use a private room. Camellia Darjeeling D’Hawthorn, the owner, was one of Tiana’s best friends so Artemisia’s request was granted.

  She’d just opened the door to a small room that held three booths and a couple of tables when her sister hurried in. Tiana gave an absent wave to her friend Camellia behind the cashier counter.

  As Artemisia was sinking into a chair at a table for two, Tiana grabbed her hand and moved them to a booth for four.

  Artemisia raised her brows. “Who else is coming?”

  Tiana beamed. “One of my colleagues. You’ve met him before, Leger Cinchona. I think you’d be a good couple.”

  “All right.” But Artemisia felt twitchy. She had to bring up the murder. She said a Word to close the door and added a chiming alert when it opened. “I forgot to ask where you were the night before last and early the next morning. At home?” That could be tricky to explain.

  Tiana stared at her, and sat, smoothing her priestess robe around her. “Why does it matter? Surely no one could suspect me of the murder.” She narrowed her eyes. “Or you.”

  “The victim’s name is Modoc Eryngo. He was the last Black Magic Cultist who sacrificed those people years ago.”

  “What!”

  “Yes.”

  “But . . . but that has nothing to do with us!”

  “Apparently he was the one who made the trail connecting us—our Family as cross-folk—to the crimes. That trail was more threatening than we thought; I believe Father spared us that knowledge.”

  “He would.” Tiana frowned, then nodded as she worked out the ramifications of the information Artemisia had given her. Her eyes, as green as Artemisia’s, searched her expression. “You have a solid alibi. You were watching Garrett Primross. And in the sentient Turquoise House.”

  “Yes, I should be all right.”

  Her sister didn’t seem to hear Artemisia’s doubts. Again Tiana nodded. “I attended a long spiritual vigil with the priest and priestess of GreatCircle Temple. The highest spiritual people in the land.” Tiana’s lip curled. “Let anyone try and contradict that.”

  Artemisia’s breath whooshed out of her. She sat. “Good.”

  The door dinged as someone tried to open it. Tiana gestured the spell gone. “Come in, Leger!” she called with enthusiasm.

  A man about their age with long blond brown hair and a welcoming smile walked in. When his gaze lingered on Artemisia, she knew her sister had begun her matchmaking plans. Good.

  Artemisia studied him, too. He was slender, with a narrow and interesting face engraved with a few lines—a thoughtful man, all to the good. She would not compare him physically to Garrett. Not make the same stupid mistake her HeartMate was in holding on to the past.

  Leger came over to them. Before he could slide in next to Tiana, she rose. “I’ll be leaving early.” She winked at both of them. “So you can talk and get to know each other.” She gestured and a laughing Leger took the inside booth seat.

  Artemisia found herself smiling. It was refreshing to be with a man who wasn’t brooding, someone open. Someone who frankly liked the way she looked and was disposed to like her.

  Their conversation was casual and they ordered—Tiana no more than a sandwich—and Artemisia understood why her sister thought Leger might be a good match. All three of them had a common point of view on life.

  From what he said, she understood that he knew her Family lived in the secret sanctuary of Druida, so she was comfortable being with him. One secret she didn’t have to hide.

  But . . . he was too comfortable. He reminded her of her father. Not even an incipient tickle of attraction.

  And after Tiana left, there was a short silence as they studied each other. Leger seemed to acknowledge the fact that she wasn’t flirting—and maybe that he found her too comfortable also—with a lopsided smile. They began to speak of Tiana and a career in the Temple.

  Leger grimaced in dissatisfaction that he had not received his own Temple assignment yet.

  Under her lashes, Artemisia considered him. Though his robes were the simple ones of a minor priest of the Lady and Lord, they were of expensive fabric and tailored for the man. He had gilt to use for his career.

  “It has been my experience,” she said in a low voice as she lifted her wineglass, “that refurbishing an ancient place is extremely rewarding.”

  His gaze pinned on her. “Yes?”

  She sipped her wine, and it was good and tart on her tongue. “Yes, indeed. And, you know, some Temples are in a sorry state. Such as the one at Apollopa Park.”

  His gaze sharpened. “That was the park where the body of a murdered man was discovered, right?”

  “Yes.”

  She saw calculation come to his gaze and continued, “It is a place that won’t be forgotten soon. And the Temple is small and beautiful . . . and in disrepair. A wonderful challenge for someone. It could be exciting to bring back as a sacred space.”

  His lips curved, and misty blue eyes lit with the first excitement she’d seen from him. “Yes. It would be.” He rose, and she did, too.

  He offered his arm courteously and she thought that touch might confirm that there could be nothing between them. She was right, but the muscle in his arm was stronger than she’d thought.

  He opened the door and let her lead, his fingers touching the small of her back. Leaning his head down toward her, he said, “I understand that the victim has been identified.” In silhouette his face hardened and nostrils flared. “As the last Black Magic Cultist.”

  “That’s right.”

  Leger’s forehead wrinkled. “The park will have to be cleansed and rededicated. As you said, a challenge.”

  A sizzle zipped up her spine. Slowly she tilted her head until she could glance around the room from the corner of her eye. Garrett stared at her. Even across the chamber, she could feel his intensity, the tug on the bond between them.

  Drawing in a breath with her diaphragm, she imagined the tiny tendril that linked her with the private investigator icing over. She would not allow it to interfere with her future.

  He didn’t want her. Fine.

  Her spine stiffened. She was proving she was getting on with her life and that included a man other than him.

  She smiled up at Leger. “Yes, a challenge—on three levels, physical, mental, spiritual.”

  And he shared a slow smile she hadn’t seen. “Sold. Do you know when the guards will release the area—”

  HEALER ARTEMISIA! YOU ARE HERE! I AM HERE, TOO. The shrill mental comment from the kitten nearly pierced her head.

  Rusby bounded—using Flair—across several tables to land on her shoulder. THIS IS FUN! AND THE FOOD IS GOOD, TOO!

  Thanks to spells, not one hair or bit of pollen or dust flew from the kitten. Most people smiled; some looked confused, as if they weren’t quite sure what had happened.

  Leger grinned, scratched the kitten on his head with a forefinger. “Greetyou. Who may you be?”

  I am RUSBY PRIMROSS, the kitten shouted mentally.

  Nodding, Leger said, “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Priest Leger Cinchona.”

  Garrett was there, plucking Rusby off Artemisia’s shoulder. Leger inclined his torso to him. “And you must be GentleSir Primross himself. I’ve heard that
all of Celta owes you thanks for a great service.”

  “It’s done,” Garrett answered.

  “And I’m sure you’re glad of it,” Leger said in a smooth priest’s tone. Then he straightened and looked down at Artemisia. “And you were one who discovered the . . . unfortunate’s . . . body yesterday.” Leger took her fingers and kissed them, eyeing Garrett. “I did not commiserate.”

  “I’m fine,” Artemisia said; the odor of male hormones swirled around her.

  A quick smile from Leger as he met her eyes, then switched his glance to Garrett. “I was going to ask you if you had any notion if the guards were done processing Apollopa Park for clues, and whether they would release it to Temple authorities.”

  “I don’t know. I’m not involved—” she began.

  “I think they’ve gathered all the evidence they can,” Garrett said.

  “Wonderful!” Leger enthused. “Artemisia told me of the Temple.” He squeezed her fingers, then apparently enthusiasm got the best of him and he dropped her hand to rub his own together. “Sounds like rehabilitating the Temple is an ace project for me.”

  She noted that Garrett flinched at the same time she did when Leger said the word project.

  With more roughness in his voice than Artemisia expected, Garrett said, “There’s an herb garden that needs to be tended that was planted around the Temple.”

  Leger nodded, took Artemisia’s hand again. “Artemisia can help me with that, too. You must excuse us, we have plans to make.” With a last half bow, Leger tugged Artemisia from the restaurant.

  She heard Rusby’s mental comment, Back to our food, FamMan, before the heavy door closed behind her and Leger.

  “Good meeting you.” Leger whisked her fingers to his lips. “I’ll contact you and Tiana about rehab ideas.” He bowed to her with a distracted air and teleported away, eager to talk to his superiors about claiming Apollopa Park and the Temple.

  Artemisia shook off her own distraction—the sharp pain of seeing, being with Garrett a little, smelling him—and started moving her feet before he and Rusby finished their lunch.

  * * *

  Garrett watched Artemisia walk out with the priest. Good to see Healer outside TQ, Rusby said from his perch on Garrett’s shoulder. Garrett could hear the small slurping sounds of the kitten grooming. She remembered ME!

  “Yes,” Garrett said.

  And I liked her man.

  Garrett’s mind had screeched a loud warning. She’d meant it; she was cutting her losses with him and moving on.

  So soon. He didn’t change easily. That Artemisia could slide so soon into change, accept his words and not fight against the circumstances, not fight to change his mind . . . was inconceivable.

  Zoom. Right to another guy.

  Options in her life, she’d said.

  He’d been discarded as a viable option. His own damn fault. He wasn’t going to have the time he needed to process this. He sat back down at his table, and when Rusby saw that Garrett wasn’t eating, the kitten marched over to the grilled clucker strips.

  Garrett had no appetite.

  * * *

  Artemisia decided to walk home through a series of parks—and burn some energy to offset the heavy meal.

  For some reason her memory flashed on an image of a slender and active Dinni that she’d gotten from Garrett’s mind. The peek at the woman he’d loved and lost haunted Artemisia, making her less self-confident about her body than she usually was.

  If he liked slender pixie women, Artemisia would never be a fit. She got her curves from her mother, and they weren’t sleek.

  Finding that she was grinding her teeth, she stopped. No help for it, the man was her HeartMate and they would have bonded well. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t another man out there she could love and have children with.

  A short scream pulled her from her thoughts; hurt-panic swept over her. She turned to see a woman staring at her hand, which was turning red and swelling alarmingly. Her gaze fastened on Artemisia and she stumbled toward her. “Healer, help me!”

  Artemisia plunged toward her. “What is it?”

  “A stingsect. I’m allergic.”

  Artemisia could see that, could almost sense the poison pumping through the woman’s body. No time to get her to the HealingHall. Grasping the woman’s hand in both of hers, Artemisia drew in a deep breath, concentrated, and sent her Flair from herself into the woman’s body, making it magnetic to the venom. The woman’s system was already reacting and Artemisia braced her patient against her as she worked.

  Not difficult. Tiring, but also satisfying as she used her talent to help. She held her patient as she vomited, sent much of the venom out that way, as well as pulling it from the wound.

  Soon they were both sitting down on the grass, her patient’s skin skimmed with perspiration as she panted.

  Artemisia handed her a few softleaves.

  “Thank . . . thank you.”

  Satisfaction infused Artemisia. “You’re quite welcome.”

  “And thank the Lady and Lord you were here.”

  Artemisia nodded. “Yes.” She leaned close and wrapped her arm around the other’s waist, feeling more than one set of eyes on them. “Let’s get you to a HealingHall to be checked out. I work at Primary HealingHall—”

  The woman clutched Artemisia’s arm. “No! My council health care is through MidClass HealingHall.”

  Artemisia frowned, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know the teleportation pads there, and you aren’t in any shape to ’port us both. I do know those at AllClass HealingHall—and I know FirstLevel Healer Lark Holly, who works there.”

  Leaning against her, the woman said, “That’s fine.”

  A few minutes later, Artemisia left her unexpected patient in good hands with Healers at AllClass HealingHall and walked out with a spring in her step.

  She was a good Healer. She did have skills to benefit to the community. All the time with Garrett when she could only sit by and alleviate pain, not fully cure him, was an anomaly in her life. Past and done.

  She was a better Healer, a better woman than most gave her credit for. Because she was quiet and didn’t like risk or confrontation. Because she wasn’t ambitious and only wanted a good and stable—and fulfilling—job.

  And previous to Garrett, she’d helped the Turquoise House, who valued her for what she was.

  She wouldn’t settle for a man who didn’t respect and value her as she deserved. She didn’t have to. And she tripped over a gnarly root that extruded from under the wall encasing BalmHeal estate because she couldn’t see it. Her vision was blurred from the tears in her eyes that dribbled down her cheeks.

  Help! Help me, Healer!

  This time the voice was telepathic, small and squeaky. Artemisia jolted to a stop. “What? Who’s there?”

  A whimpering cry had her moving again, searching. Her Family kept the brush heavy along the walls so they were obscured. But there had always been an animal path. She scanned the area to fix her position along the long concave wall that faced the city.

  She was closest to the door that led to the Healing pools, fine. Backtracking a few steps, she pushed through a light illusion spell that led her behind the dense bushes.

  I . . . am . . . here . . . There was a ragged gasp.

  Artemisia trotted along the path, ducking, weaving. Keeping her senses open to find the injured . . . someone. If not a person, a child, it must be a Fam. Breathing in liquid gulps, tears falling more at the hurt that throbbed through her from someone else, she followed the weak mental pattern. Easier to sense the hurt and follow it. Biting her lip, she did.

  And found a young and bloody animal—Fam animal.

  Pain filled its dark eyes. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was—its fur was thick and mostly matched
the brown of the dead leaves it was in.

  Help . . .

  Twenty-two

  She wet her lips and stooped—seeing enough of its muzzle to know it had sharp teeth. “I’m picking you up now.” Sliding her hands under the thing that was about the size of a cat, she lifted it. Again it cried out in pain. And she felt an object sticking from it, something she couldn’t take care of now because her arms were full of animal.

  It closed its eyes and went limp, though she believed it was still conscious. Saw you. Earlier. Saw you help. Saw you touch nice. Felt your Healing energy. Safe . . . now.

  “I’m not an animal—Fam—Healer. Let me take you to D’Ash.”

  It screamed—aloud and mentally, pain filled her head. No. No. No, no, no!

  Drawing in a shaky breath and the animal’s musky scent, Artemisia soothed, “Very well. You’ll be all right with me, with my Family.” She felt, smelled blood and urine trickle onto her sleeves. Wouldn’t be the first tunic she’d ruined that way. As she brought the animal closer, angled to cradle it in the crook of her arm, she saw its muzzle was very pointed and its fur was black around its eyes, like it wore a mask. Then she knew she should be able to name the animal—an Earthan animal—but it escaped her.

  I am a raccoon. A female raccoon, it—she—said.

  Artemisia swallowed. “All right, then. We’re close to the door and will be inside BalmHeal soon. I’ll take you to a Healing pool.”

  Bad person threw knife. I ’ported AWAY fast, then rested and ’ported again. I was drawn here, whisper in mind. Came. Hurt for a long time.

  “This is a good place for the desperate. I know you’re hurt.” Now she was able to feel the wound. Not to mention seeing the object still stuck in the raccoon—a hilt?—sticking out. A knife?

  The spit in her mouth dried as she studied the weapon, the handle wasn’t long, equal to the cross-piece arms. She didn’t think the blade was very long, either, but it was plunged completely into the animal—who had rallied a little.

  But the internal wound was bad. Artemisia must get to a safe spot quickly, remove the knife, cleanse, and Heal the wound.